Erin's Story: The A-Z of Trophy Wives, #5

By D.D. Grey

They're young, beautiful, with fast cars and luxury homes—with absentee, older husbands. Bored and lonely, each of our trophy wives has her own solution.

 

Erin's husband is a close friend and political ally of the mayor, who is up for re-election. At the fundraiser at a local art gallery, Erin is stunned when her husband bids a fortune for the artist, who happens to be the mayor's son, to paint her portrait.

She knew it was a tax-deductible way to fund the mayor, but the expansive gesture brought a blush to her face.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on your point of view, for Erin, the artist had seen her blush, and knew that was the color tone he wanted for the portrait. When he wants an off-the-shoulder look so Erin can't wear a bra, she's embarrassed but goes along for the sake of her husband.

As the sitting progresses, Scott needs to get Erin to blush more and more. As his outrageous methods become more and more overtly sexual, can Erin see where the line between embarrassment and seduction should sit? Or have they already crossed that line?

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.D. Grey
• Release date: Aug 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223199366

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jeremy’s words floated up the stairs, followed by the slow creak of a couple of the treads as he followed them.

Are you ready, yet? We’re going to be late.

Erin smiled as she rolled her eyes. Her husband’s habit of punctuality could get the better of him. She finished slipping her second heel on and stood up, smoothing down the red sequined dress over her hips. Glancing at the clock, she knew they had at least ten minutes before they had to leave, and even then, another fifteen minutes leeway, so they weren’t the first to arrive.

Almost, you don’t have to come and check on me.

She turned to face the door, smiling as he appeared. She watched as his gaze ran from her face down over the outthrust bust. She’d worn a push-up bra to emphasize the dress. His lips pursed into a soundless whistle as his gaze traveled down over the way her tight dress captured her hips before encapsulating only the top part of her thighs, leaving her nylon cased legs on show down to her matching red heels. Absently he made a twisting motion with two of his fingers, and she knew he was asking her without words, to turn and let him get the back view. The dress didn’t plunge as far at the back as it did at the front, but she’d bought it the second she saw how it framed and captured her butt.

He crossed the room as she turned back, pulling her into his arms.

You look amazing, Eri, I could eat you up.

She shivered, even after four years of marriage he could still get her hot with just one searing look. His hands dropped to her ass, pulling her lower body into his. She could feel his cock stirring inside his dress pants.

Stop it. You’re the one who’s fussing about being late.

We’ve got time for a quick...

She batted his shoulder with his hand, and he took it as a signal, backing away. No, because then I’d arrive with my hair and makeup mussed and my face red, trust me that’s not a good look for the mayor’s fundraiser.

He smiled. But will my sexy wife allow me to... afterward?

She smiled back at him, shivering at the thoughts that filled her mind. Nodding, she took his hand and led him back to the door, grabbing her matching red clutch purse on the way. At the door, she turned and kissed his cheek.

Unless of course, you don’t want to go at all...

Minx! He playfully slapped her butt, and she gasped in surprise. It had been a playful tap, but in its own way, it had contained a promise.

Come on, Jeremy, we’re going. I’m not going to spend two hours in the salon, and two hours getting ready just for you to rip it off me.

He grinned at her, then returned her favor, brushing his lips over her cheek. Just as long as you remember, I’m intent on stripping you out of it when we get home. If you’re lucky, you might keep it on long enough to reach the bedroom. If you’re unlucky, I’ll have you out of it in the car.

Jeremy! She was giggling, though, pretty sure he didn’t mean it. On a couple of nights out he had started things going in the car, but not to the extent of removing her clothes. He had a teenager’s mind when it came to sex, but his forty-one-year-old body liked the comfort of a bed or a couch. She licked her lips, conscious of his eyes on her face. There was a pretty good chance he was thinking about bending her over the arm of the couch when they got home. Her core warmed at that thought, and she shivered, the prospect appealing to her.

* * * *

They wandered around the gallery, arm in arm, comfortable with each other. Erin especially liked these times together out in public. In some situations, their age difference played itself up, embarrassing her or annoying him. Sometimes it was the whispers and the looks, sometimes more blatant. Here, in the heart of the establishment of the city, the movers, and shakers, everything was far more relaxed.

At least a dozen of the company CEOs present were clients of Jeremy’s, and he knew most of the others. At the same time, she was on at least nodding terms with most of the wives, and the glances, the sotto voce comments were at a minimum.

Standing in front of a large canvas scattered with large splodges of red and yellow paint, she cocked her head to one side and then after a moment, giggled.

What’s so funny, Eri?

"You know it's titled self-portrait, right?

He shrugged. It’s an abstract, most of the titles are as meaningless as the image.

You Philistine!

I am not.

That piece of artwork is true to itself, it’s a portrait, although not of someone’s face.

I still don’t get it.

She leaned in close, making sure nobody else could hear her whisper. See that sharp blue line, angling up from the bottom left quarter into the middle on the right.

Yeah... but...

Look at the three shapes at the top of it, one red, one yellow, one green. What do they remind you off?

He paused for a moment, cocking his head over at the same angle she had then started to go red in the face before chuckling.

The cheeky beggar.

She laughed. There’s an old joke in there somewhere—I bet if you look closely you’ll see a paintbrush and a hammer.

Oh?

I’ll tell you it later, but not now, it’s too rude and way too corny.

He pointed toward the top right. That cloudy bit there, is that the outline of a hammer behind it?

She peered up at it and nodded. They both studied the painting for a few moments then Erin jumped up and down and pointed at the bottom edge, right in the middle. I was right—there’s the paintbrush.

Jeremy shook his head, and she squeezed his arm. I’ll tell you later, but he should have called the picture The Virgin Test.

I see someone has, at last, got my little joke.

Erin spun on her heel with a gasp and came face to face with a man only slightly younger than her. His dark floppy hair hung down, almost shielding his eyes and she watched as he flicked his head to clear it from his face. His face had a chiseled look, and as she took in more details, she didn’t think he hadn’t had a proper meal for a week. A fact his paper plate, overflowing with appetizers gave further evidence to that thought. With her four-inch heels, he was still four inches taller than her, about three taller than Jeremy. Despite a rather emaciated appearance, his clothes fit well, although a tie-dye tee shirt and jeans were out of place in this crowd. She was surprised she hadn’t noticed him before. His clothing stood out that much.

Your painting, I take it?

Yes. You like it? He sounded hopeful, but then all artists put their works in galleries like this one in order to sell.

She smiled. Yes, I like it, I like it a lot, but I’m afraid it’s too big for us, wrong palette to fit in with everything.

Ah, well, you win some, you lose some, I hope you find something you do want to buy. He waved his plate in front of himself, perilously close to losing a couple of crostinis off the edge. An artist has to eat you know.

Then he was gone, swallowed up into the throng circulating around the gallery. Jeremy chuckled. I think he was quite taken by you. You have an admirer.

Don’t be daft.

I’m not—he never once looked at or spoke to me.

Hmm... Not my type.

I know, you prefer the solid, dependable CPA, not the hippy-chickee, free-love, artsy type.

She looked up at him quickly, but he was grinning, enjoying his joke. He didn’t tend to get jealous, but sometimes...

Grabbing his arm, she steered them back over to the bar and grabbed another couple of glasses of sparkling wine. Come on, the fund-raising auction is about to start, and I want to see who’s bidding on what.

I might bid on something.

She gave him a look, a look that said, what?

A couple of young Scott Allen’s paintings show some promise.

Scott Allen—is that who that was? She paused, her brow furrowed in thought, Wait a minute. The mayor is Frank Allen...

Scott’s father.

And your friend as well. I didn’t know his son was an artist.

An up and coming artist too. His pictures are rising in price too. So, buying a couple might be a way to make an investment.

As long as you don’t buy that Virgin Trap!

Why do you call it that?

I said I'd tell you later, and in any case, I do not want to be the one explaining it to your mother—you know she’d spot the details in an instant.

"My mother