The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom Read Online Free Page B
Author: Robyn Harding
Tags: detective, Literature & Fiction, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction
to have me! And I was lucky to have him.
Yes, he’d gained a few pounds over the years and the hair on his head was
receding nearly as fast as the hair on his back was advancing, but he still had
broad shoulders, strong, manly hands, and those warm, brown eyes that shone
when he smiled. Two such attractive people should have no trouble kick-starting
their love life! If Jane could have an incredible sex life with her
fifty-eight-year-old husband, I certainly could with mine.
Still naked, I padded to my bedroom and rummaged through my
lingerie drawer. Buried under a mountain of Jockey cotton briefs and A cup
bras, were the garments I sought. I removed the black push-up bra, the G-string
panties, and the garter belt with fishnet stockings, laboriously untangling
them from one another. The outfit had been a gift from one of my college
friends at my bridal shower twelve years ago. I had thought it was a joke; it
probably was a joke. But for some reason, I had kept it, and desperate times
called for desperate measures. I struggled into the complicated ensemble and
took in my reflection in the full length mirror.
Not bad… not bad at all. Of course, it was a little
depressing to note that my post-baby breasts no longer filled the B-cup bra,
but other than that, I looked pretty damn good… definitely good enough to
seduce my own husband. Soon, Karen Sutherland wouldn’t be the only one in the
neighborhood having incredible, passionate sex! I was determined. “Get ready,
Paul Atwell,” I said out loud. “I’m about to rock your world.”
Chapter 4
Rocking Paul’s world would have to wait. He was called to
Cincinnati on the Friday-night red-eye. It was about a LAN or a WAN or a server—something
had crashed. Paul called me with the news.
“The blabbidy blah’s crashed,” he said. “I’m going to have
to fly to Cincinnati with the elite support team to see if we can remedy the
situation. We’re in danger of losing this account.”
“Yeah, well you’re in danger of losing your wife,” I wanted
to retort, but didn’t. I was really pissed off, though. How on earth were Paul
and I going to develop a sex life to rival Karen’s and Javier’s, if he was
never home? In his defense, I hadn’t divulged my plan to surprise him in full,
porn-star regalia and ravage him like a nympho. Maybe then, he would have tried
to get out of the trip. But lately, even on the evenings we did spend together,
he seemed distracted, still absorbed with work. I wasn’t feeling very positive
about the current state of our relationship. Paul and I needed to talk. I still
planned to put in the extra effort to improve our marriage, but it was going to
take two of us.
Thankfully, I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it. On
Saturday morning, Trudy invited us all around to her house for homemade
cinnamon buns. When Trudy said “homemade cinnamon buns” she did not mean
pre-made, Pillsbury dough-in-a-tube that you sliced, put on a tray, and popped in
the oven. She meant homemade dough that you had to knead, and then let rise,
and then knead, and then let rise, and then knead, and then let rise… Trudy was
a throwback to another era.
Just before ten, I called up the stairs to the children.
“Kids! Time to go play at Emily and Cameron’s house! Don’t forget your coats.
It’s chilly this morning!” Spencer bounded down the stairs joyfully, followed
by his sister. “Okay, let’s—” I stopped mid-sentence. “What are you wearing?” I
addressed my daughter.
“What?”
“What do you mean ‘what’?” I was incredulous. “What do you
call that?”
“It’s a baby T . Like duh? All the cool stars wear
them.”
“You’re not wearing a T-shirt meant for an infant out in
public. Go change.”
“Why? What’s the big—”
“JUST CHANGE!” I was not in the mood for more of her
insolence.
“God! What a nazi,” she muttered, stomping back up the
stairs.
Finally, with a petulant Chloe wearing
Yes, he’d gained a few pounds over the years and the hair on his head was
receding nearly as fast as the hair on his back was advancing, but he still had
broad shoulders, strong, manly hands, and those warm, brown eyes that shone
when he smiled. Two such attractive people should have no trouble kick-starting
their love life! If Jane could have an incredible sex life with her
fifty-eight-year-old husband, I certainly could with mine.
Still naked, I padded to my bedroom and rummaged through my
lingerie drawer. Buried under a mountain of Jockey cotton briefs and A cup
bras, were the garments I sought. I removed the black push-up bra, the G-string
panties, and the garter belt with fishnet stockings, laboriously untangling
them from one another. The outfit had been a gift from one of my college
friends at my bridal shower twelve years ago. I had thought it was a joke; it
probably was a joke. But for some reason, I had kept it, and desperate times
called for desperate measures. I struggled into the complicated ensemble and
took in my reflection in the full length mirror.
Not bad… not bad at all. Of course, it was a little
depressing to note that my post-baby breasts no longer filled the B-cup bra,
but other than that, I looked pretty damn good… definitely good enough to
seduce my own husband. Soon, Karen Sutherland wouldn’t be the only one in the
neighborhood having incredible, passionate sex! I was determined. “Get ready,
Paul Atwell,” I said out loud. “I’m about to rock your world.”
Chapter 4
Rocking Paul’s world would have to wait. He was called to
Cincinnati on the Friday-night red-eye. It was about a LAN or a WAN or a server—something
had crashed. Paul called me with the news.
“The blabbidy blah’s crashed,” he said. “I’m going to have
to fly to Cincinnati with the elite support team to see if we can remedy the
situation. We’re in danger of losing this account.”
“Yeah, well you’re in danger of losing your wife,” I wanted
to retort, but didn’t. I was really pissed off, though. How on earth were Paul
and I going to develop a sex life to rival Karen’s and Javier’s, if he was
never home? In his defense, I hadn’t divulged my plan to surprise him in full,
porn-star regalia and ravage him like a nympho. Maybe then, he would have tried
to get out of the trip. But lately, even on the evenings we did spend together,
he seemed distracted, still absorbed with work. I wasn’t feeling very positive
about the current state of our relationship. Paul and I needed to talk. I still
planned to put in the extra effort to improve our marriage, but it was going to
take two of us.
Thankfully, I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it. On
Saturday morning, Trudy invited us all around to her house for homemade
cinnamon buns. When Trudy said “homemade cinnamon buns” she did not mean
pre-made, Pillsbury dough-in-a-tube that you sliced, put on a tray, and popped in
the oven. She meant homemade dough that you had to knead, and then let rise,
and then knead, and then let rise, and then knead, and then let rise… Trudy was
a throwback to another era.
Just before ten, I called up the stairs to the children.
“Kids! Time to go play at Emily and Cameron’s house! Don’t forget your coats.
It’s chilly this morning!” Spencer bounded down the stairs joyfully, followed
by his sister. “Okay, let’s—” I stopped mid-sentence. “What are you wearing?” I
addressed my daughter.
“What?”
“What do you mean ‘what’?” I was incredulous. “What do you
call that?”
“It’s a baby T . Like duh? All the cool stars wear
them.”
“You’re not wearing a T-shirt meant for an infant out in
public. Go change.”
“Why? What’s the big—”
“JUST CHANGE!” I was not in the mood for more of her
insolence.
“God! What a nazi,” she muttered, stomping back up the
stairs.
Finally, with a petulant Chloe wearing