Handing Over the Hotwife

Handing Over the Hotwife Holden and the Hotwife Book Two Lily Chase Copyright Copyright © 2023 by Lily Chase All rights reserved. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Contents 1. Proceed with Caution 2. Afternoon Delight 3. Party of Four 4. Home Also in this Series Also by the Author About the Author Chapter 1 Proceed with Caution “Rob, have you seen my wedding ring?” Jane calls from the bedroom of our suite. I pull my focus away from the Saint Lucia beach where the morning sunrise still faintly stains the horizon over impossibly blue water. Across the huge living room, coffee is brewing behind the bar, which is scattered with glasses and room service plates. “It’s not on the bedside table?” “Nope.” I go to pour us two cups and step into the luxurious bedroom, where I’m greeted by Jane’s ridiculously nice ass. It’s encased in cheek-accentuating, filmy baby-blue sleep shorts, and sticking up from where she’s on the floor with an arm beneath the bed. “Bathroom counter maybe?” I suggest. She stands, topless, and I admire her lightly freckled tits and the way her coppery hair falls over her shoulders in the sexy dishevelment she jokingly refers to as “advanced erotic disarray.” I’m surprised it’s not a complete rat’s nest after the energetic fuck she enjoyed with Holden—our vacation “guest friend”—last night. “I checked there too. Everywhere, really.” She bites her shapely lower lip. The look she gives me implies she wants me to say it first. I hand her a coffee with a sigh. She takes a sip, smoke-gray eyes watching me over the rim, brows pinched with worry. “Do you think… someone… walked off with it?” I ask. “Of course not,” she replies immediately. But her eyes don’t match the words. I sit on the foot of the bed and pat the covers, and she sits beside me. “Okay, but we’ve known Holden three days, babe. And sure, some of the million tattoos the guy’s got say ‘I’m a frustrated twenty-something intellectual trapped in the life and body of a construction worker,’ and others…” I wince. “They sorta say ‘I got these in prison.’” “Don’t be snobby.” It’s apparently my job to say the shitty thing so she can scold me for it even though it’s in her head too. And I love Jane, so of course I let that dynamic play out. I loop an arm around her and kiss her cheek. “It’ll turn up.” “And if it doesn’t?” I stand and head for the closet to pick out some clothes. “If it doesn’t, it’s insured. The ring is just an object—it’s not… our marriage.” As I slide shirts across the closet bar, I mentally acknowledge that symbolically, taking the ring would be perfect. Could it be part of Holden’s alpha-dog cuckold game—showing me who currently holds the strings with Jane? If this is some sexual dominance mindfuck, I just hope he discreetly puts the ring back on the bedside table two days from now when it’s time for us to fly home. Seeing him narrow those dark eyes as he commands Jane, watching the leonine power of his muscular six-foot-four frame as he fucks her, the way his big hands can either touch her clit with feather-light finesse or spank her ass pink as she moans and squirms over his knee… goddamn, this has been the hottest three nights of my life. But it’s also not been without its perils—trusting a near-stranger like this. I can’t help but wonder if, ultimately, we might lose more than a $20,000 diamond ring. Here’s the funny thing about this voyeurism/cuckold fantasy we’ve been living out with a guy we met in our hotel’s bar: Holden doesn’t go out of his way to dominate. He doesn’t have to. Based on some of the porn I’ve seen, I assumed he’d have me tied up in a corner in frilly underwear with a rutabaga up my ass, watching him stuff Jane’s every hole while she tells me my cock is a disappointment. But nothing like that has happened. Holden may be built like a brick shithouse, and has a stare like liquid nitrogen, but… he’s just naturally in charge. And I’m insanely turned on by how it affects Jane. The second he walks through the door, she’s dripping like one of those 70s “rain oil” lamps. He’s taller, stronger, and fifteen years younger than I am. He has a voice as quiet and low as distant thunder, a thick nine-inch cock, and an air of mystery—we’re still not sure whether “Holden” is his first or last name. But he’s spent the past three nights plowing and punishing my wife, and goddamn if this isn’t the best seventeenth anniversary I could’ve imagined. Just before noon, I’m walking out of the surf after a swim, heading up to the lounge chairs where Jane’s been reading under the shade of an umbrella. She’s typing on her phone with a private smile, thumbs flying. I sit sideways on the next lounger and towel myself off. She taps the screen and sets her phone aside, leaning on her hands in a way that thrusts those scrumptious tits forward. “Hey, do you like surprises?” she asks me, poking my calf with her toe. I chuckle, trying to get the water out of one ear. “Why? Are you gonna build me a dildo-chair, like in Burn After Reading?” “Watch it, buddy, or I fucking will,” she teases, standing to pivot and flop onto my lap, hugging my neck. “Ooh! Your skin is cold.” I gather her close and nibble at the smooth curve of her shoulder. “And you’re hot. Outside…” I