The Secret Lives Of Housewives. Joan Elizabeth Lloyd. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Joan Elizabeth Lloyd
Издательство: Ingram
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Жанр произведения: Эротическая литература
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9780758282064
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You’ll find any way you can to get out of baby duty. Can’t you just once volunteer to take the babies off my hands? But she sighed and said, “Okay, babe. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

      “Actually this works out really well. Jordanna bought a new sound system and I told her I’d help install and wire it up for her. I’ll just stop there on my way home.”

      Jordanna. Tony’s ex-wife, who couldn’t seem to stay totally ex. On one hand, Angie was glad they had a good relationship. So many divorced couples were so hateful to each other. But why did they have to be so friendly? Gorgeous Jordanna with her corporate job and high five-figure income. Never-had-a-kid Jordanna with no stretch marks and perky breasts. Clever Jordanna with her sneaky ways to keep Tony close. Jordanna, who’d be there to pick up the pieces should things go wrong with Tony’s marriage to poor little Angie.

      Angie bit back an angry reply. It really was good that they got along. Wasn’t it? Damn them both. Tony would spend a few hours with the lovely, needy Jordanna and by the time he arrived home, the babies would be changed and fed and he’d be relaxed with his ego bursting. She took a deep breath. Get along. Be a good sport. Don’t make problems where you don’t have to. “Whatever. Say hello to Jordanna for me,” she said. And feed her a cyanide cocktail for me, too.

      She heard the front door close behind her husband and chastised herself for her negative thinking. She wandered into the kitchen, spread a thick layer of peanut butter on a slice of bread, and folded it over. Chewing, she poured baby cereal into a bowl and pulled a jar of strained apricots out of the closet. Empty baby bottles covered the back of the kitchen counter and she scooped powdered formula into two of them. Brandon gets the lap this time, she remembered, and MaryLee gets the high chair. At least they weren’t breast-feeding any more. What a relief it would be when they held their own bottles. She’d read that ten-month-olds should be doing that, but hers seemed to be conspiring to give her extra work.

      Stuffing the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth, Angie heard the first slight rustle through the baby monitor. If the twins woke slowly, as they usually did, she’d have about ten minutes to change out of her sweaty clothes and then it would be “Twins Time!”

      Chapter

       4

      With a small prayer, Eve started her 1996 Toyota and heaved a deep sigh when the engine caught. She really had to get it over to the mechanic today but she didn’t want to take the time. She needed to get home, just in case.

      She drove through the center of town, down Main Street with its collection of stores, gas stations, and restaurants. Villa Moretti’s. Yeah. She hadn’t been there in quite a while and a plate of linguini with meat sauce would taste really good. She had long since stopped minding sitting by herself, reading a good romance novel, and filling her stomach. She’d go there later—if she felt like going out.

      For now she turned onto Pinetree. East Hudson was such a nice, ordinary little town, she thought. Ordinary streets with ordinary people doing ordinary things. A ball field and kiddy park. An elementary school on the next block. That was fine with her. She was basically an ordinary person with ordinary needs.

      This particular section of town was filled with apartments and inexpensive condos, near enough to the railroad tracks for some commuters to make the long walk to the station and for her to hear the train whistles. Others thought the sound of the long, low wails was lonely, but to her it was a dreamy sound, particularly on a hot summer evening when all her windows were open.

      It made her think of the movie Picnic. She loved old films and that was one of her favorites. William Holden and Kim Novak making love beside the railroad tracks. You never saw anything that wasn’t G-rated, but it was obvious that they did it that night.

      She must have seen that film at least two dozen times, and each time she played it she worried that eventually her videotape might just wear through. If it did, she’d buy another. William Holden would be much too old now for her thirty-one years but in that film he was everything she wanted.

      She considered what she wanted and realized that Mike might be calling right now. She resisted the temptation to speed but she had to get home. She knew he wouldn’t leave a message, no tangible evidence. Maybe his wife would go out for lunch or take the kids somewhere and he’d be able to call and talk for a few minutes. It seemed like forever since she’d seen him. Of course, it had been only yesterday at the office but that wasn’t the same as really seeing him. She pushed her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose and deliberately slowed down to twenty.

      They’d been able to get a funch, as he called it—fuck for lunch—the previous Tuesday. God, those were good. Grab a hot dog, separately, of course, from the vendor on the corner or bring in sandwiches from the deli on the next block, then hurry to a small nearby hotel where no one asked any questions. Okay, when she really thought about it, it did seem a bit furtive, but it was always worth it. Mike was wonderful in bed.

      Frustrated, she arrived at the Garden Grove Apartments, parked her car in its assigned space, grabbed her purse, and dashed up the walk. She’d had to drive through the complex really slowly since the street was filled with children. Bikes and balls filled the sidewalks and spilled over onto the roadway. Elementary school girls covered the walkways with colored chalk designs and drawings while the teens and preteens talked in small groups.

      Her unit, number 206, was up one flight in the back, very private. She had dreams of Mike being able to get an evening to spend with her. As she headed for her building she allowed herself just a moment to fantasize.

      He’d come to her apartment. No one would see. His hair would be a bit mussed and she’d smooth it away from his face. His wonderful face. It wasn’t handsome exactly, with its heavy nose, chiseled chin, and heavy, black-framed glasses. But his eyes. God, his eyes. Almost black and so seductive. When he looked at her, even in the office, she’d melt. His mouth was full and so sexy that it took all her willpower not to rush over and kiss it.

      “This is heaven,” he’d say, looking around her modest apartment, and she’d watch his lips form the words. She’d be able to look at him to her heart’s content. No need to be circumspect. They’d share a glass of wine and talk about romantic movies, novels, or television shows, anything but the office. He’d put his feet up on the coffee table, lean his head back onto the sofa cushions, and relax.

      Then he’d turn to her, cup his hand on the back of her head and pull her close—close enough for a long, searing kiss. She’d touch him, stroke him, undress him slowly, and he’d do the same for her.

      Then they’d walk, hand in hand, to the bedroom and stretch out on the bed. The windows would be open and she’d hear the distant train whistle. He’d sigh and agree that it was a lovely sound, tell her how he also loved riding on trains. They would do that on their honeymoon, once he was free of Diana.

      He’d touch her then, long slow caresses. As he touched, she’d feel herself swell and her wetness increase. In the light from the bedside lamp she’d watch his cock grow, thickening and lengthening until she knew he was ready.

      He’d take his time, rubbing her wet folds, caressing her clitoris, making sure she was ready for him. She would be eager for him and he’d slowly slide into her, taking a long time before he came. And she’d climax, too, just a moment after he did.

      The dream had flashed through her mind in only a few seconds, but when she returned to the present she lamented the time wasted and quickly rushed up the walk, idly waving to a few of her neighbors, sitting on lawn chairs on the grass, surrounded by children. As she turned her key in the lock, she heard only the wail of Maxie, her male Siamese, and the galloping feet of Minnie, her coal black female alley cat. No, she was a mixed breed, a domestic short hair like they said on Animal Planet. And Minnie wasn’t just a domestic short hair—she was much more. She was a friend, a confidante. When she couldn’t talk to anyone else, she could talk to Minnie. She flashed on the three women she’d met earlier. Maybe…

      Eve opened the door and scooped Minnie up before she could slip out. Maxie turned his back and sauntered toward the kitchen as