The Wrong Type: A Short Story Collection

9. The Trophy Wife - Part 2

Nobody would dare call Caroline Pearson an arm candy, she was tall and dark and looked perfectly matched standing next to Mick, her clawed hand on his elbow.

"You didn't say your ex would be here," I said once we were alone, glancing up at Mick.

"Walter must've invited her," he said, raising his champagne glass to someone in the crowd. Then he turned to me. "Is that an issue?"

"Of course not," I said, taking his hand. "I want to show you something." He gave me a quizzical smile, gulping down the full glass of champagne before following.

I led him down a long, dark hall past the study, watching me closely when I started to fiddle with the buckle of his leather belt.

"Really, Kyla?" He chuckled, grabbing both of my wrists as I dropped to my knees on the hard, parquet floor.

"Everybody's at the the bar getting drunk, don't be shy," I teased, looking up at him through my lashes, then, leaning forward I licked his length through the slacks.

He squeezed my wrists tight before letting go, unzipping his pants the rest of the way down. "Fine. Just be quick."

His large hand clamped hard on the back of my neck as I took him in my mouth. I moaned against his velvet smooth cock, our clandestine situation turning me on like crazy, making me forget all about Caroline Pearson.

"Jesus, Kyla," he groaned, his thumb stroking my throat.

Grabbing his thighs I pulled him forward, stretching my mouth over his girth, choking on his cock as my eyes watered, the steel buckle of his belt making a clinking sound as I bobbed my head back and forth.

His belly shuddered, spurting pre cum and I let go with a wet pop, stroking the thick meat of his cock with one hand I sucked in his balls lovingly, cupping one then the other.

"Careful," he hissed, jerking back when I nipped him, then he hang his head back against the wall, his mouth open, eyes closed as I worked between his legs.

I heard the sharp clack of her stilettos before they stopped. I felt him still, his harsh intake of breath when he laid eyes on whoever stood there.

Mick's hand in my hair tightened, keeping me there as if unsure whether to choke me on his cock or push me away. Then I heard the sound of her footsteps again as they disappeared and suddenly I was pushed away.

"You knew she was gonna walk in," he accused, zipping up his red, pulsing cock, still wet from my saliva. I felt sorry for him. That had to hurt.

"Who?" I asked, wiping my mouth, my mind still a little dazed.

"Caroline!" He bit out, his angry, grey eyes shooting daggers as he buckled his belt with jerky movements.

He could be so uptight.

"I didn't know she was gonna walk in," I replied, trying hard not to smile. What were the chances? He must've seen something on my face because he was watching me closely, his face steadily turning hard, impassive.

"Fucking child..." he muttered, raking a hand through his dark hair with streaks of grey.

I pouted. "You're only mad 'cause you didn't get to come, baby. Here," I reached for him but he pushed my hands away, pulling me up by the arm instead.

"Get up, Kyla. We're going home."

Finally.

...

"Are you mad at me?" I asked after our silent car ride home.

Dropping his keys on the side table I helped take his suit jacket off.