Rachel prepared dinner as though for a visiting king, using her best dishes and
silverware, their best wine and best napkins. She fussed over Trevor while virtually
ignoring Norman. And continued to giggle and smile entirely too much for Norman’s liking.
He stared sourly at her as she bustled about, feeling jealousy gripping him again, now
mixed with anger.
It wasn’t for Trevor, though. He was just being Trevor. But his wife, who always
acted so dignified, so proud, so restrained, was now acting like a demented teenager
around Trevor. Stupid bloody bitch, he thought angrily. She was more vivacious than he’d
seen her in forever!
He brooded as he watched, and drank entirely too much wine. Rachel, meanwhile, was
drinking brandy, which she almost never touched, simply because Trevor was drinking it!
After dinner, Rachel quickly cleared the table, and for a wonder never even suggested
Norman do the dishes.
“Lovely bloody girl,” Trevor said. “Must be a joy to you.”
“Sure. A real joy,” Norman said sourly.
“Come on, lad, don’t tell me it isn’t wonderful to rest your head on those lovely
plump breasts of hers.”
Norman snorted. “Sure. When she isn’t too tired, or doesn’t have a headache, or an
early appointment, or it isn’t her time of the month, which seems to last about two weeks,
or…”
He was aware he was talking far too much, and saying things he didn’t want Trevor
to hear, but he couldn’t seem to stop the bitterness.
“Norman, Norman, Norman,” Trevor said. “If your woman isn’t wild to go, it’s not
her fault but yours.”
“Oh bugger yourself,” Norman said. “I’m not going to bloody rape her.”
Trevor sighed and shook his head. “Bloody amazing. I spend weeks and even months
away from women and, from what I gather, I get more than you do, who sleeps beside that
lovely bit of crumpet every night.”
“British women aren’t like your bloody foreign women, are they!” Norman said
resentfully. “They’re all equal, you know. They won’t be taken for granted. And Rachel has
always been – restrained.”
“There’s an idea,” Trevor said with a grin. “Tie her spread-eagle to the bed and
you can have your way with her.”
“Oh, get bloody serious.”
“I am bloody serious, my lad. You seem to feel women don’t want sex as much as we
do. They do, you know. It’s just that they’re taught to believe they oughtn’t. So you have
to teach them otherwise. Every woman wants to be a whore in her heart, but hasn’t the
courage. You need to give her the courage to be a wild, wanton whore, at least for you.”
Norman snorted in laughter and disbelief. “Rachel!? I assure you, Rachel wouldn’t
want to be a wild anything. It would muss her hair! And anyway, it would be too bloody
unseemly!”
Trevor shook his head in that irritating way he had. “Deep inside, your woman is a
whore like any other. You just have to let her know it’s safe to let that whore inside her
come out in the open and play.”
“You don’t know a fucking thing, all right?!” Norman glowered. “You’re here one
bloody day. Not even one bloody day! And you think you know my wife better than I do!?
I’ve lived with her almost twenty years!”
“I know women. And that one in there is all woman. Sure, she’s British, which means
she’s a cold fish on the surface. All British women are told it’s not bloody ladylike to
kick up their heels and drop their knickers. But inside, she’s a randy little tramp who
wants some man to jump her bones and ride her like a bitch in heat!”
“Fine. Whatever,” Norman said, shaking his head at his brother’s arrogant
stupidity.
Rachel returned, sitting down at the table and taking a sip from her brandy.
“Rachel, my love,” Trevor said.
“Yes?”
“If I offered you ten million pounds, would you sleep with me?”
Rachel seemed startled for a moment, then giggled. “Of course!”
Norman snorted.
“What about if I offered you ten pounds?”
“Ten pounds? What do you think I bloody am?” she demanded in amusement.
”We’ve already established that. Now we’re negotiating price.”
She stared at him, open-mouthed for a moment, then, as he guffawed, she giggled and
shook her head. “Oh you!” she said.
Bloody slut, Norman thought resentfully. As if that wasn’t so old it had gray hair
on it.
Trevor held up his empty glass. “Another please, love.”
“Of course,” Rachel said, getting to her feet immediately.
She’d have told Norman to get his own, he thought, and been quite obnoxious about
it, too. “What am I, your bloody slave?” she’d have said.
She bent over the edge of the table, taking Trevor’s glass, and her own, as well as
an empty bowl of chips. Trevor casually squeezed her bottom as she did, and she gasped in
mock outrage. “Trevor!”
She was giggling as she went back into the kitchen, though, and Trevor turned and
gave his brother an amused look.
“A slut,” he said.
“Watch your bloody mouth! You’re talking about my wife!”
“Well, I don’t regard the term as an insult, you know. Certainly nothing so bad as
you suggesting she’s an ice maiden in bed.”
“I never – said that,” Norman denied defensively.
Trevor gave him a look and Norman glared. “I told you, English women aren’t like
your bloody foreign women.”
“Not all fish are the same. So? You change bait a little, and you’ll still hook
them nicely.”
Rachel returned, this time approaching the table on Trevor’s other side, facing
Norman. As she bent over the table to set the glasses and chips down, her eyes widened and
she gave Trevor a reproving look, but her eyes were shining. And Norman couldn’t see
Trevor’s hand. He glared at his brother. Was he squeezing her bottom again? And why was
Rachel taking so bloody long to set those glasses down and sit her arse in her chair?
Trevor smiled at the blonde woman, his hand caressing the inner curve of her left
buttock. His long fingers slid between her thighs, and she felt her body quiver as she
bent forward more, slowly, very slowly, sliding the glasses across the table as his
fingers rubbed pussy. He squeezed in against her bottom as he did, and felt her push
back.
Norman looked suspiciously up at his inebriated wife. Her eyes were half closed,
and – no, it wasn’t his imagination – her hips were grinding back, as though… but no, that
couldn’t be. Trevor wouldn’t dare! And she’d have his head off if he – but what on Earth
was she doing!?
He cleared his throat, and Rachel seemed to waken, sitting down quickly, face
flushed. Norman turned to Trevor, who only gave him a bland look.
“Shall we ask Rachel about my philosophy?” he asked.
“Oh yes, please do,” she said, somewhat breathlessly.
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