The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
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My skin burned with unfamiliar heat. After months without my husband's touch since the baby came, these forgotten sensations threatened to overwhelm me completely.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, my body writhing of its own accord against the sheets. The desperate ache between my thighs felt unbearable.
"Your husband's been neglecting you, hasn't he, Mrs. Laurent?" Ethan's voice was velvet against my ear. "Let me take care of that for you."
His tongue traced slow, torturous circles that made my toes curl. Reality came crashing down - this was dangerous, wrong. I needed to stop him.
But my traitorous body had other ideas, melting into the mattress like warm wax beneath his skilled hands.
Just as pleasure began to drown my better judgment, everything stopped. I tore off the blindfold to find Ethan undoing his belt, his arousal evident. My breath hitched at the sight.
"Trust me," he murmured, that cocky smirk playing on his lips. "I'll put out that fire completely."
Every sensible thought screamed for me to stop this madness, but my body arched toward him of its own volition. When his warm breath ghosted over my sensitive ear, another shudder ran through me.
"You're making your own lubrication," he observed huskily, fingers slipping beneath my underwear. The contact burned - my husband hadn't touched me like this in so long, the intensity nearly shattered me.
"Does it hurt being ignored?" Ethan whispered between kisses. "Let me make it better."
Shame flooded me even as pleasure followed his every movement. I should end this now. But my limbs refused to cooperate, utterly surrendered to sensation.
Then - a miracle. The baby's cry sliced through the haze like an alarm. Maternal instinct kicked in violently. I shoved Ethan away with sudden strength, my body still thrumming with need as I stumbled toward the nursery.
My son's tear-streaked face snapped me back to reality. What kind of mother was I? While he needed me, I'd been...
After nursing him, studying his tiny features - so like his father's - regret washed over me in crushing waves. I'd nearly thrown everything away.
Ethan appeared in the doorway. "Get out," I spat, voice shaking. "I'll transfer your payment."
He left without argument. By morning, the living room showed no signs of our encounter. I deleted the security footage, swearing never to repeat my mistake.
When my husband returned, he noticed nothing unusual. The relief from Ethan's massage proved temporary - the pain returned within days. I hired female consultants instead, though none compared to Ethan's technique.
One evening as I struggled to nurse, my husband frowned. "Maybe we should call that male consultant again. You're clearly in pain."
I nearly laughed at the irony. If only he knew how close his wife had come to betrayal.
Weeks later, he announced another business trip. His frequent travels had started during my pregnancy. I'd checked his phone repeatedly, finding nothing suspicious. Eventually I dismissed my doubts.
Rarely leaving home with the baby, I finally ventured out for formula. After dropping my son at my mother's, I pushed my cart through the supermarket parking lot.
Then I froze.
My best friend - the serial dater, the divorcee - was locked in a passionate embrace with a man. Just another fling, I thought... until he turned.
The ground dropped out from under me.
The man kissing her wasn't some stranger.
It was my supposedly devoted husband - the man who should have been hundreds of miles away on business.
I bit down hard on my lower lip, my body writhing of its own accord against the sheets. The desperate ache between my thighs felt unbearable.
"Your husband's been neglecting you, hasn't he, Mrs. Laurent?" Ethan's voice was velvet against my ear. "Let me take care of that for you."
His tongue traced slow, torturous circles that made my toes curl. Reality came crashing down - this was dangerous, wrong. I needed to stop him.
But my traitorous body had other ideas, melting into the mattress like warm wax beneath his skilled hands.
Just as pleasure began to drown my better judgment, everything stopped. I tore off the blindfold to find Ethan undoing his belt, his arousal evident. My breath hitched at the sight.
"Trust me," he murmured, that cocky smirk playing on his lips. "I'll put out that fire completely."
Every sensible thought screamed for me to stop this madness, but my body arched toward him of its own volition. When his warm breath ghosted over my sensitive ear, another shudder ran through me.
"You're making your own lubrication," he observed huskily, fingers slipping beneath my underwear. The contact burned - my husband hadn't touched me like this in so long, the intensity nearly shattered me.
"Does it hurt being ignored?" Ethan whispered between kisses. "Let me make it better."
Shame flooded me even as pleasure followed his every movement. I should end this now. But my limbs refused to cooperate, utterly surrendered to sensation.
Then - a miracle. The baby's cry sliced through the haze like an alarm. Maternal instinct kicked in violently. I shoved Ethan away with sudden strength, my body still thrumming with need as I stumbled toward the nursery.
My son's tear-streaked face snapped me back to reality. What kind of mother was I? While he needed me, I'd been...
After nursing him, studying his tiny features - so like his father's - regret washed over me in crushing waves. I'd nearly thrown everything away.
Ethan appeared in the doorway. "Get out," I spat, voice shaking. "I'll transfer your payment."
He left without argument. By morning, the living room showed no signs of our encounter. I deleted the security footage, swearing never to repeat my mistake.
When my husband returned, he noticed nothing unusual. The relief from Ethan's massage proved temporary - the pain returned within days. I hired female consultants instead, though none compared to Ethan's technique.
One evening as I struggled to nurse, my husband frowned. "Maybe we should call that male consultant again. You're clearly in pain."
I nearly laughed at the irony. If only he knew how close his wife had come to betrayal.
Weeks later, he announced another business trip. His frequent travels had started during my pregnancy. I'd checked his phone repeatedly, finding nothing suspicious. Eventually I dismissed my doubts.
Rarely leaving home with the baby, I finally ventured out for formula. After dropping my son at my mother's, I pushed my cart through the supermarket parking lot.
Then I froze.
My best friend - the serial dater, the divorcee - was locked in a passionate embrace with a man. Just another fling, I thought... until he turned.
The ground dropped out from under me.
The man kissing her wasn't some stranger.
It was my supposedly devoted husband - the man who should have been hundreds of miles away on business.
End of The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to The Consultant’s Postpartum Trap book page.