The Tenant: A Very Naughty Hotwife Novel Read Online Free PDF

She was flirting, with her food and her wine, and her desire to get everything 'just so.'
    I mean, people did not make this big of an effort for other people unless some small part of them wanted to bang the other person. Even if it seemed out-of-reach, even if it was only a sliver of a chance. I myself was the person who always said this, especially when any man was nice to Anna and helped her out.
    “Just trying to get in your pants,” I would say.
    “Nah, this guy was married..fat...he had no chance with me...he was old...”
    “There needs only to be the smallest chance,” I would explain to her , “like, that a meteor will strike us all dead right now except for you and him, and you will have no choice but to fuck him or let the human race die out...and that small chance, is enough.”
    “Or a man wouldn't be friendly to a woman?”
    I always looked like I was thinking it over. “No,” I would say. “No, I do not believe they would.”
    “What explains men being helpful to other men?”
    “The slightest chance of gay sex being the only thing left on earth after a meteor kills everyone but you and him, or you get locked in prison together for some reason.”
    Anna always laughed.
    “Or that he has a girlfriend you will be able to have sex with at some time in the future.”
    “Sick.”
    But Anna didn't actually need any of that explained to her. She knew every man she met would gladly fuck her. She just enjoyed pretending like she was clueless sometimes, for comedic effect.
    The only thing I didn't know is if she knew exactly how crazy it drove me, seeing her flirt with other men. 
    I looked at the clock. 5:30. Only half an hour until John arrived.
    I went upstairs and sat on the bed, watching Anna through the open door to the bathroom, inhaling her soaps and shampoos. I pretended to be deliberating between two shirts as she came out wrapped in a towel, and threw open the drawers.
    I liked watching her as she actually thought about several outfits. I savored the sharp-edged sweetness of watching her be choosey about what she would wear. Selecting her outfit with care, deliberately not getting fancy, and not getting too casual.
    She made an unusual choice, and selected a pair of tight jeans and a white t-shirt. I watched her first slide a black lacy boy-short pair of underpants up onto her creamy skin.
    Nothing unusual there. Right? She wore those all the time.
    I imagined them traveling down her body in reverse, being peeled away from her taut body by John's large, black hands.
    I shook my head.
    She trotted into the bathroom – still having completely ignored me – and kicked the door shut with her foot.
    I did not get to see the rest.
    I pulled a shirt over my head, and found myself briefly considering what to wear for John as well, before I went downstairs to decant and drink some of the wine.
     
     
    Anna skipped into the kitchen. Her hair was damp, which she had done on purpose. Everything about her was on purpose, from the shade of her dark blue jeans, and the fact that she was wearing jeans at all (she always wore skirts) to her bare feet, to her white shirt.
    To her white shirt, a thick material that clung to her skin, and showed off her tight stomach, her long torso, her lack of any trace of body fat, and...her breasts. Her full breasts with the dark areolas and the dark nipples, which were unencumbered by a bra. This was not by omission, but rather because Anna thought every single thing through.
    The effect was very satisfying, I had to admit. Because the material was thick, it was not outrageous. But the outline of her nipples could be discerned, if you were looking right at her breasts, and once you saw it, you had a hard time not looking there to see it again. It was, in fact, the only thing either of us could think about. I caught John trying to look, trying not to look, trying to look at something else. It was deeply satisfying to be united in the same struggle, and Anna was also very