The Hotwife Summer Read Online Free PDF

her, accusing her in my mind.
    Or was I enjoying the accusations I had come up with? Still watching a cock slide through her open pussy?
    As I watched her, clumsily chasing the tomatoes and laughing as they rolled away from her, my thoughts became dark again.
    She seemed drunk. And why would she be drunk and coming home late when we always had standing plans now? Or why hadn't she called?
    Realizing, suddenly, like waking from a dream, that I was being an idiot, I jumped up and started to help her.
    “What's with you?” she said, looking at my face, which I could not make stop frowning.
    I set the tomatoes down on the counter after standing up. I let out a sigh, and realized that I also had very little I could legitimately be mad about.
    “You're awfully late,” I said weakly.
    Summer was already on to another topic, which infuriated me. “They have these little purple tomatoes down the street. They're so sweet they taste like candy. Here, try one.”
    I swatted the tomato away as she held it to my lips. “That's been on the floor,” I said grumpily.
    As the words were leaving my mouth, I felt like a child, but I couldn't stop myself.
    Summer popped the tomato into her mouth and again the expression of amusement that I find so hard to describe flickered across her face. “What's with you?” she said.
    But she didn't seem truly concerned.
    Or did she?
    “You seem tipsy,” I said, deflecting.
    She put a hand on her hip. “I am,” she answered, matter-of-factly. Then she started digging into her bag again.
    I felt the slip again. The feeling that I was losing some kind of control. I mean, what in the hell was wrong with me? My wife was one hour late, and she had some wine, and she went grocery shopping in Italy. She was smiling and happy, and I was acting like a child.
    But something about Summer's cool answer was what was bothering me.
    Pre-Italy Summer would have had more to say about this. Pre-Italy Summer could never let anything go without explaining it fully and to death. She would have told me where she had been, and then analyzed why I was upset, and then discussed which part of my childhood made me feel that way. She would have done all of this without me ever having to say anything.
    The old Summer would not have teased me by bursting a cherry tomato the color of ox blood in her mouth, letting it drip over her lips, smiling a mysterious smile, and then digging silently in the bag of groceries.
    She wasn't just getting out the groceries, either. She was waiting for me to respond.  She was teasing me. She knew she was infuriating me and turning me on.
    This was hot – don't get me wrong. But it was just another thing that made me uneasy. It was so unlike her. Part of me liked it. Okay, my cock really liked it. My cock was doing all of the thinking as I watched her finger swiped the juice of the tomato she popped from her lip, and then suck on it.
    She couldn't actually be doing that, and leaving me in the dark about where she had been after her cooking class with the hot chef, and not know what she was doing, right?
    She placed another cherry next to her lips as she turned to me. She didn't eat it, she just held it there, brushing it lightly over her plump lips, amused in that indescribable way. She was watching me, watching my reactions. She knew exactly what she was doing.
    “Can you pour me a glass of wine?” she said, and her voice poured out of her throat like bourbon.
    As I was pouring it, I could take it no longer. “Who did you go out with?” I squeaked.
    She gave the little twist of her hips that she had started doing. Inviting, teasing, admonishing all at once.
    “The instructor. Some people from class. We had a test today.”
    Her eyes were sparkling and full of an unusual sentiment. She was being naughty.
    “Oh yeah,” I said, and I decided to play along, even though she was half-freaking me out. “And how did you do on your test?”
    She took a step toward me, so that her breasts were