Split 2

By Renata W. Müller

Second book of the Split Series 

„The girls and Sven were teasing me all day about the satisfied, dreamy smile that wouldn’t leave my face. They had a point! Gran, thank God, is better, business is going well, I love my work, and I’m the happiest wife in the world. So why wouldn’t I be all smiles? My life is finally on the up.”

These are her last thoughts before total chaos overwhelms her life.

A peaceful life without complications? Forget it, Hannah Logan! Destiny has something else in store for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Werthmüller Renáta
• Release date: Oct 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9786150033440

Book preview

SPLIT

Erotic Romance Novel

BOOK TWO

By Renata W Müller

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are fictitious or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognizes the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products or works mentioned.

Thank you for purchasing this eBook. This eBook remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. This eBook, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

Copyright © 2018 by Renata Werthmüller

ISBN 978-615-00-3344-0

https://www.facebook.com/renatawmullerbooks/

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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased is entirely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

Also by Renata W Müller:

Chapter 1

HANNAH

I am woken by a chill running through my entire body. Shivering, I curl up on the mattress. I drowsily open my eyes, and as soon as I see the empty space next to me, my throat tightens. I’m alone in my old bed, at Gran’s place. Jamie’s not with me to keep me warm, and since I’ve kicked the cover off in my sleep, now I’m reaching for it with a stiff neck to pull it over myself again. I turn on my back, and staring at the ceiling, I try to recall what day it is. Wednesday. This means, there are only three more lonely nights to go, and we’ll be together again – I’m thinking, to encourage myself. But then frustration gets the better of me. Oh, no! Three more long, lonely, sleepless nights, until we meet again. I clutch the corner of the cover and pull it over my head with a sigh. Just then, something cool hits against my forehead, and this pulls me out of the feeling of melancholy. It’s the stone of my wedding ring. The ring Jamie had carried in his trouser pocket for weeks, before he thought the moment right to pull it on my finger. The cold shivers are immediately replaced by waves of warmth running down my spine as I recall the unconventional, but all the more passionate manner of our engagement. No doubt, Jamie has his own, unique way in everything he does. These are typical Jamie stuff I have grown addicted to in recent times, whose lack is torturing me now like crazy. And I don’t just mean sensual things, although… the truth is, this special guy has opened the gates of such an exciting and erotic world before my eyes which used to be totally unknown to me. His love for me, the lustful, sensual energy that emanates from him when we are together, has liberated me and made me a real woman. But there are also those adorable faults of his which used to confuse and bother me, however now, I have managed to appreciate, even love them. It’s adorable the way he places the spoon beside the cup with a thousandth millimetre’s accuracy, and always at the same angle when he makes our coffee every morning. The way he avoids wearing vivid colours, and only puts on monotone clothes, preferably black, or at least something dark. And even this adds to his charms, as I swear, there’s no man in the universe hotter than Jamie Hailey in a black suit. Or when, regardless of previous therapies, he always misunderstands other people’s ironic or funny comments, and informs Mandy with an educational tone in the shop that the computer’s wire is actually called a power cable, which is a copper-based transfer medium consisting of four pairs, with all of its eight copper cables surrounded by insulation. Such remarks are usually followed by an astonished silence, and people stare at my sweet weirdo as if he had come from Mars – which causes me to transform into an amazon, feeling like I have to protect him from their prejudices. By the time Jamie realizes that he has messed up again and mumbles an embarrassed apology, it’s too late, because these remarks burst out of him from time to time totally uncontrolled. Yet, I love him even for this. I don’t know if I’m right, but I feel privileged because, while this hyper-intelligent, hot guy refrains from other people’s touch, he becomes a passionate lover as soon as we are alone, and he’s unable to take his hands off me, no matter where we are. I don’t know why, but this is the truth. He wants me, he is devoted to me, and he needs me. He says that I’m the centre of his universe, and who wouldn’t feel special being loved like this?

With a smile, I plant a kiss on my ring, and kick off the cover. Come on, Hannah, pull yourself together. Enough of this daydreaming! Your husband will be home soon, your gran needs you, and there’s work piled up at the shop.

I’ve never been the type whose eyes just pop open in the morning, and gets out of bed being able to function at a hundred percent. I need my coffee, and a little later a second one, and a lukewarm shower to fully wake me up. Or else, I need Jamie, who has his own, naughtily erotic ways to get sleep out of my system super quickly. Since the second option is completely off the table this morning, I sit up on the edge of the bed with a sigh, stretch, and my eyes fall on my mobile. I unlock it, and the first thing I see is a text from him. He is thinking about and misses me, and he informs me about this fact about six times a day, in writing. Yes, exactly six times a day. With a deadly accuracy, every four hours. The man would drive me crazy if I didn’t adore him so much. But before my thoughts would wander off too far – and well, my thoughts are stubbornly wandering under the folds of Jamie’s elegant black suit and his grey shirt – another text arrives, this time from Bree.

Honey, cut out the morning musings about your sexy hubby, and get going, because our Fashion Week meeting has been shifted to 10am. Pick you up at Bond Street half 9, xoxo B

I pull an involuntary smile. Am I so predictable, or is Bree able to read my mind? Whatever it is, her message sobers me up. I glance at the clock and see that I have to pull myself together if I don’t want to be late.

~

The scent of mint tea fills the kitchen. I made a big pot for Gran, so it should last until I get back after work. I’m putting the pot on the tray and placing a mug beside it. Lately, I’ve had to push her to take some food. Something comes to my mind, and I begin to rummage through the kitchen cabinet. There should be some custard creams left in there. She will not be able to resist them, for sure. I get down on all fours and search the lower shelf, in the meantime, mentally running through my list of things to do for the day. It’s not so bad. As a matter of fact, I’ve even caught up on some work since Jamie left. It’s a bit sad, but since he has been away, I’ve had more time to work. On the first day, after I had brought Gran back from the hospital, I only went in to get my laptop and was on my way back to hers. I didn’t want to leave her too long when she wasn’t used to the cast yet. I spent the day with her, but she mostly slept due to her medication, so I had time to work. Yesterday, after we finished breakfast, although with a heavy heart, I had to leave her. She insisted I shouldn’t neglect work because of her, she would be okay on her own. Since I knew one of her female friends was coming over that afternoon, I agreed. If I keep a good pace today and skip lunch, I will be finished as soon as five and can be back here again to help her shower. Today David is coming to see her, and I’m pleased about that, but because of this visit, we had to spend 45 minutes with dressing in the morning. Gran was so fussy, and also stubborn like a mule. It was out of the question for her to see Mr McKenna in her PJs, or, heaven forbid, in her dressing gown. Oh no! In vain, I tried to convince her that after all, it was just about someone coming over to visit an ill friend, she didn’t necessarily need to look impeccable for it. No joy with that! A different generation, with different habits. She insisted on wearing a skirt and her blue blouse with the tiny flowers. As it turned out, the blue flowery blouse and the cast are not friends. We tried and tried for half an hour until I managed to more or less put the blouse on her. The cast was too thick and an awkward shape. I couldn’t pull the blouse through her arm without ripping the material. I spent the next fifteen minutes stitching the tear on her casted arm. I put the cardigan on her, which, thank goodness, was knitted, so it gave easier when I dragged it on. I combed and padded her on the sofa, with the remote control and today’s paper by her hand. My darling got so exhausted by this complicated activity that she even dozed off while sitting.

Finally, I find the opened pack of custard creams. Yay! I neatly arrange them on a small plate and put it onto the tray. She will not be able to resist this treat! It will probably last until David arrives and they have lunch together. Once again, I check the plastic container in the fridge, with the label ‘layered pasta’. It’s done. I look around. The kitchen is in a chaotic state. It’s just as well Gran can’t see it. I shrug my shoulders. I don’t give a shit. The point is I’m seeing to her needs. Cleaning is of secondary importance. Perhaps I do it tomorrow – I pout my lips with discouragement.

The more I have to do, the less I think about how much I miss Jamie. Okay. Who am I trying to fool? No matter what, I keep thinking about him all the time, and I’m counting the hours until I can see him again. The eight-hour difference is not very handy for us, but we have spoken a few times. He says he misses me terribly. Well, I miss him too. Even worse. I try to sound not too desperate on the phone. I know how hard it was for him to leave without me. I know my reaction is rather irrational, since it’s only five nights we are talking about. But every time we talk on the phone, I sense he also takes the distance really hard, which creates a strange, ambivalent feeling in me. For one thing, a lustful contentment fills me at the thought that he is also suffering without me, but on the other hand, I hate that he is struggling, and it saddens me to hear his voice so gloomy on the phone.

With a sigh, I lift the tray, and putting a smile on my face, I manoeuvre myself out of the kitchen, balancing the tea. I can’t make much use of the smile, as entering the living room, I see Gran is still asleep. Cautiously, I put down the tray, and hesitate a while, not knowing what to do. I don’t want to just be off without a word, so I decide to wake her up. I tap her hand and call her name. At once, her eyes pop open, and she blinks around with embarrassment. Have I fallen asleep again? She asks, which makes me smile. Although there is no need, she apologizes and mentions as an excuse the medication makes her drowsy. She feels strange about these medicines, and I can’t wonder that. My Gran has never been on any pills before. She has a body like iron. I repeat for the twentieth time that I have left lunch in the fridge with a label, and David is coming at 12 to keep her company. I place the phone within her reach, and make her promise she would immediately give me a call in case of any trouble.

And what could happen, Love? she laughs at me naughtily.

How do I know? I shrug. You could even break your arm, considering what a twitchy lady you are, I wink, making her laugh out with merriment. But seriously, call me if something happens.

I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me, dear! We’ll be great. You just focus on your tasks. How’s Jamie? When did you talk?

Last night. But only briefly. They were on their way somewhere when I called.

She pats my hand with sympathy, and tilting her head, studies my face.

He’ll be here soon again. Won’t be long!

I know, I nod, forcing nonchalance on myself, without much success. Gran knows me better than anybody else.

I can see how lost you are without him, she notes, and I make big eyes at her.

Do I look lost without him? Hell. Could it be so obvious? I sigh and decide not to get into a fight with her in defence of my independent and confident female self. Why would I? It’s enough to recall how I felt the past two nights, crouched into a foetal position, clutching a cushion, and I realize she is right.

I plant a kiss on her cheek and make my way towards the door. Just as I step out, I hear a message has landed on my phone. I quickly take the phone from the bottom of my pocket, and my eyes are glued to the display. It’s Jamie!

„I miss you like"

What? For God’s sakes! What time is it now in Seattle? Must be about 1 AM. I’m just about to type, like what? When the next text message comes in:

„Crazy"

My heart is filled with warmth, and I start walking with a wide grin on my face as the next text arrives:

„It’s insane."

Holding the phone against my chest, I wave down a taxi, and even though the driver looks at me funny, I’m not capable of erasing the elevated smile from my face.

~

I must admit, the seniors made it through the day pretty well. When I got home, I found Gran with a flushed face and glittering eyes in the living room, with Mr 007 by her side. They were eating popcorn, playing cards, and visibly having a great time. The kitchen still looks like a bomb blast site. This will be my project tomorrow, I think: kitchen cleaning for frustrated housewives. Now it’s half seven. We are past dinner, have sent Mr McKenna home, and thank heaven, we have successfully completed the chore of showering as well. Only those who have tried to get under the shower with a cast know what I’m talking about. I thoroughly foiled her cast, then pulled a bin bag over it, and sealed it with thick tape at her upper arm. When the masterpiece was finished, we laughed our arses off. I had the definite feeling that she was better, and her mood was also getting back to the normal ‘sunny’ state. I suspect it wasn’t exactly to my credit, though. Mr 007, many thanks to you!

I exchanged a few messages with Jamie through the day. He sent a picture which had been taken on the top floor of a tower, with a breath-taking panorama of the famous Space Needle and Elliott Bay. It was without a doubt a stunning sight. He wrote he wanted to take me there one day. Just us two. I said I couldn’t wait, and there was no place on Earth where I wouldn’t go with him right now. And I didn’t even exaggerate. Not fifteen minutes passed through the day without a tiny detail that reminded me of him. His absence is so soul-wrenching, it causes physical pain. I’m really surprised about it. I never would have thought that I’d ever feel this way about a man again. That I would feel like this about Jamie. While I open the door to the upstairs bathroom, I go through our previous, lustful and amorous text messages. All fire, sentimentality and lots of exaggeration. A perfect reflection of my present state of mind. I put the cell phone on the edge of the wash basin, and with a dreamy expression, I stare at my image in the mirror as I start to peel my clothes off. My body is on fire, pulsating with oppressed desire. My period is finished, and my whole being is pining for Jamie’s touch. I take off my bra and slowly run my fingers over my skin. I take my nipple between my fingers, and closing my eyes, I imagine his hand against my skin. I am torn by an agony of desire, because he is not with me. There is no effect. It’s pointless. I cannot deceive myself. This is not like him touching me. With a sigh, I slowly shake my head at my mirror image and pull a bitter smile. Then suddenly, something comes to my mind. A naughty and downright kinky idea. What would Jamie think? Would he be happy? Or would he freak out? I begin to chew my nails. As I know him, he wouldn’t mind a little fun. I pick up the phone and press the video button. Perhaps I could surprise him with a very intimate, very 18+ video. Even just the thought of it makes my blood boil, and turns my complexion pink. I get quite aroused and begin to study the premises, where I should position the phone. I take out a large terry towel, and put the tooth glass on it, upside down. I set up the phone on top of it. I change the setting to selfie mode. Yes. Perfect. My original idea was to create a sexy little strip-tease, filming it all. But since I’m down to my panties already, I’d have to get dressed again for it to make it impressive. Nooo! That would be too forced. Plus, I’m not terribly talented in such things. Granted, my foot would be caught in my trouser leg, and I would fall over on the bathroom tiles. I discard the idea. This whole thing is so stupid, anyhow! Holy crap, Hannah! Are you really out of your mind? I shake my head and reach for the cell phone to switch it off. I’m such an idiot. Aren’t I? Oh, shit! After all, no one else would see it but Jamie. I would do it for him. Just a little entertainment sent from far away. There’s nothing bad about that! I hesitate for a while, then place the phone in position, once again. Let’s go, Hannah! Don’t be a chicken! I take a deep breath, press record, and begin to pull down my undies. Then suddenly I have a thought, and I quickly put them back on. Hell! I jump to the door to turn on the lock. Not that it’s one of Gran’s habits to open the door on me while I’m in the shower, but you never know. Let’s be on the safe side. I pause the video and delete the previous recordings. Okay! My fingers are drumming nervously on the edge of the wash basin. Again, I have an idea. Why not make it natural? Let’s say, I’m… having a shower. I’m in the shower, and completely by accident… I forget to turn off the video on my phone. Idiot! – I roll my eyes with frustration. Or let’s say, the recording function turns on by itself, by accident. As if I didn’t notice it. Yes! That’s it. I don’t look into the camera. I pretend it’s fully spontaneous. I check the scope of the camera, modify the angle slightly, and then press record. Take two!

Slowly and as sensuously as possible, I begin to pull down my slip, with my butt facing the camera. I’m so nervous as if I’m at a casting. When my slip lands on the floor, I reach out for a hair clip and put up my hair. Then, with the most graceful move I can muster, I try to step inside the shower cabin. I turn around to pull the door, but then remember that with the door in the way, nothing could be seen of me. The glass would be covered with steam in an instant, and then it’s not sexy anymore. Oh, crap! My plan has too many flaws. I leave the door open. I consider the wet floor a necessary damage. Not a big deal. I’ll dry it after. I take my hands off the slide door and reach for the shower head. I set it to the proper height and open the tap. I scream out a little as the first, ice cold drops run down my body. The water slowly warms up, and I also begin to relax. I let the water run on me, and with pleasure, I lift my face to the ceiling. Slowly, I turn around, putting my lustful body’s every square inch on display. I reach out towards the shower gel, let some of it drop into my hand. It comes to my mind to use the sponge, but finally decide to use my bare palms. This is hotter. At least, I think that. Of course, who knows what crosses the mind of a testosterone-driven male? Until I am more specifically informed regarding the issue, I will use my palms. I feel embarrassed as I touch myself, considering that he will see all these things. What will he think? I close my eyes and picture Jamie. Slowly, I start soaping myself, from my lower arm on to my shoulders, making my way up. I think about Dover and our first time. I recall Jamie’s knee-wobblingly masculine and powerful torso. I imagine us together, his palm sticking to my body. I want him so much, it’s driving me crazy. My breathing gets quicker and quicker. By the time I rise to my feet, I’m perfectly wet, and this has nothing to do with the water running onto me. My imagination is on its wings, and the shower cabin reminds me of our wedding night. When he came in after me, and for the first time… I took him in my mouth. I couldn’t wait to please him this way as well. He went like dynamite. And I… hmmm, I enjoyed it just the same. The blood gets into my cheeks at the mere lustful memory. Holy shit! Why should I feel ashamed now? My body shivers with desire, and with a shaking hand, I reach for the shower head. I haven’t planned this, but suddenly I’m driven by erotic spontaneity. I guide the water from my neck downwards, and my sensitive nipples go stiff. Slowly, I progress south, the water tickling my belly and navel. As I reach the most sensitive part, my lips form his name, and I groan out loud, Jamie!

~

I’ve surely lost my mind. I’ve gone totally crazy, and it’s official. It’s 11 PM now, and I lie on my bed holding the cell phone, and can’t get myself to believe that I’m actually the one featured in this video. It was hard to get myself to view my work, and it’s so lame I couldn’t get myself to watch the whole thing. I don’t know what to do. My opinion, whether to send it to him or just delete it completely, alters by the second. I have never done anything as kinky as this! On the other hand, it’s so dirty and thrilling. What will Jamie think when he sees it? Will he like it? Or will he freak out? I wish I could see his face when he watches it. My thumb hesitantly hovers over the send button, but I’m not capable of pressing it. I toss the phone onto the duvet, and exhaling loudly, I throw myself on my back. Then, another thought flashes through my mind. Holy crap! What if the video lands in the wrong hands? If let’s say, I send it to the wrong address by mistake, and someone else watches it instead of Jamie? He watches it and puts it online. And by tomorrow, half of YouTube will be laughing at me. Hell! I jump up on the bed, and quickly grab the phone. I carefully open the prepared message and check the number. It’s the right one. It’s not indicated that anyone else would get a copy, and I know for sure that Jamie would never show it to another person. I’m ruining my own sanity with this shit. Rolling my eyes, I finally decide to give it a day. I send him a good night, I love you loads type of text, but for the time being, without the video.

~

JAMIE

Last night I fell asleep in the armchair, stretched out. It’s still dark at dawn as I wake up to a stiffness in my neck and whiskey spilt on my lap. This is also a kind of a wet dream. I have no chance to go back to sleep, so let’s get plan B out. I must somehow burn my excess energy. I’m not a big fan of gyms, I’d rather swim or run outdoors. But since I don’t know this place, I have to make do with what there is. It’s an advantage that no other soul is around in the hotel’s fitness court at 5:30 AM. I run 9 miles at turbo speed, then row for half an hour, until I just about spit my lungs out. Physical loading does me good. But such compensations only work temporarily. As soon as a text comes from Honey, my heart thumps in my throat, not to mention the reactions of some of my other body parts. I knew it would be crap. But this much?? I take my time under the shower, and regardless of my previous determination, I relieve myself there. I can’t go on otherwise. There’s too much tension in me, and this influences my negotiation sessions badly.

It was a mistake to come here on my own. Without Neil, that is. He is much better at things like this than me. I don’t have the foggiest how, but the Cadex guy has caught wind of the other company interested in the software. I wanted to keep it a secret that two negotiations were in progress, but for some stupid reason it transpired. Since then, there has been an awful big hassle from both sides. It takes me a lot of effort to handle these arseholes, to see their real motive behind their words – the tricks, the white lies they are trying to tell. It’s tiring and annoying as hell. I must refresh all the idiotic methods I was forced to learn through my years of therapy. Gestures used in social interaction, metacommunication and the other shit. Randy’s presentation was brilliant. I had not expected it to be otherwise. Those chaps were blown away. But regarding anything else, he really sucks. He offers zero help during negotiations.

I get dressed and check my email. I quickly respond to Neil and scan the news. I send a text to Honey. Then another. Nothing has come from her since last night, and it really wears me out. I hope there’s nothing wrong. I hope she is well. Hell! I put on my jacket and look at the time. It’s time to go. I meet the others in the lobby. The other company has invited us for brunch, to some posh restaurant. They call it ‘showing face’, if I remember correctly. How much I loathe this stuff! I wish it was over. I wish Honey was with me. Two more fucking days until I can hold her in my arms again.

We arrive at the given address by taxi. We are greeted by six people, a whole delegation at the entrance, and by the time I have shaken everybody’s hand and we are done with formalities, I feel desperate to go and thoroughly wash my hands. I am led into the hall, and a middle-aged guy with a red beard called Tim explains to me the restaurant is on the top floor of the skyscraper. I nod, and in the meantime, I’m thinking that tomorrow afternoon I will be flying home at last, and I’ll leave this whole shit behind. It’s unbelievable there are people who actually enjoy things like this – meeting complete strangers, eating and doing small talk with them.

While we wait for the lift, the guy called Tim is constantly talking to me, and what’s even worse, he keeps entering my personal space. I back away, and he follows me. I feel like punching him in the face. The only person whose closeness I desire is Honey. I endure it from my parents, but that’s about the end of my tolerance. Should I tell him to get the fuck out of my face, so that we could keep the bloody eighteen inches? I know I can’t, so I just take a deep breath, and with every nerve in my body, I focus on his questions, analysing them, and just like in similar situations, I automatically deliver the answers I’ve prepared in advance to such questions. I make sure my intonation is not too monotonous, but speaks of interest and enthusiasm. Sometimes I smile, and when I feel it’s time to do so, I occasionally insert words that express interest, such as Really? Great. Amazing! This works almost always without fail. I can do it. Not a problem.

After what seems like hours, we finally get into the lift. I stand in the corner, Randy is with his wife, next to me. I sense the phone fizzing in my pocket. I’ve received a message. It might be Honey. Hell, I hope it’s her! I can’t help myself but take the phone out of my pocket, and glance at the display. It’s her. But it’s a… video? Furrowing my brow, I look around. The lift is quite crowded, and Tim is still carrying on with his banter. I grab the device, dying to find out what the message is about. I carefully glance at the screen and mumble a quiet ‘excuse me’ under my nose to the blabbermouth. My device is set to silent mode, so there will be no problem with that. I step into the corner even farther away from them, and unsuspectingly press ‘play’. FUCKING HELL. My chin drops as I see Honey’s sexy white bum on the screen as she pulls down her slip and steps into the shower cabin. I quickly press ‘stop’, turn the phone downwards, and look around apprehensively. The chap with the beard is now talking to one of his colleagues, and Randy tensely focuses on the blue flashing display of the lift. My heart beats like an air hammer. What the hell is this about? I swallow nervously, my palms are sweating. I must take another glance at the video. Could it be just some kind of joke? Or a mistake? No way! That thing on the screen is obviously Honey’s inviting backside. To whom else would my wife want to send a nude picture of herself if not to me? There can be no mistake, damn it! I break out in cold sweat, my pulse shoots up to about 200. I must have a peek again. The lift has stopped. People are coming in and walking out. I take out the mobile phone, and position it at an angle that definitely no one else can see it but me. I start playing, and after a few seconds it hits home: there can be no mistake. Good God! Honey has sent me a sex video. I stare at it with my mouth agape, as the water runs down her perfect boobs… oh… I miss them so much! Paralyzed, I clutch the phone and make an effort to close my mouth before my saliva starts dripping down my chin. I can’t believe this is true! My little girl. My sexy, graceful bombshell, my charming, hot princess. I lean against the wall, the lift turns with me. A lustful wave drags over my body as I watch her soaping herself with wanton moves. A warning kind of pulsation starts spreading from my crotch to the rest of my body. Too bad. Chill, boy! Sure as hell, you will not have a job for about two more days, so… I’m in a lot of trouble, but the screen has cast a spell on me. I can’t take my eyes off her mind-blowing body. My breathing is uneven, my pants suddenly feel too tight. How can she do this to me? The film is not the clearest, yet, I involuntarily groan as she removes the shower head and starts moving it down her wonderfully moist curves. Is that really…? Tim turns towards me inquisitively as the lift stops with a thud. Damn! I quickly pause the video and slide the phone into my pocket. This is our floor. We should get off.

I’m wondering if it would be too bad if I said I have to make a quick call, and we’ll meet in the restaurant. I cut in behind Randy, in order to cover my stiffness which had grown quite big by now. I’m done for. This thing has taken me by complete surprise. No news from her since last night and now this. I wipe my moist forehead. Damn it! I need a little privacy, and right now. At the reception we are told where our table is, but before we move on, I excuse myself and start walking towards the lavatory. I do the last few yards as though running. At this moment I don’t give a shit what they think about me. I feel puzzled. The mixture of anger due to bad timing, shock and sexual frustration inside me is threatening with a blast at any minute. I rush into the men’s room, tear one of the doors open, enter a cubicle and close it on myself. Panting, I lean against the wall and take out the cell phone. I left it where she was moving the shower head down her belly. I press ‘play’, and the show goes on. With a fixed gaze and a stiff dick, I hold my breath as I position the display. I’m lost. I know this woman is my destiny. I have had my share of sexual practices that were out of the ordinary, but this one – my wife stroking herself under the shower while groaning my name – is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. I reach down with one hand and undo the button on my trousers. It flashes through my mind that I’m actually really old for things like this. That is, for wanking at a public toilet, but I simply can’t do anything about it. I’m