Diary of a Hot Wife

Diary of a Hot Wife

Part 1 Where It All Began

Day 1

Everything in the world is about sex except sex. Sex is about power – anonymous

1

I stretch luxuriously in bed as a quiet moan escapes my lips. Morning sunlight filters through the cracks in the blinds, casting golden lines across my bare skin.

My fingertips move over my breasts, tracing my nipples until they harden beneath my touch. My right hand cups one breast, squeezing gently before rolling my nipple between my thumb and forefinger.

My left hand slowly moves down my body, over my stomach and towards my hips, slipping inside my panties.

I take a deep breath as my fingers move lower. Instead of giving myself what I want immediately, I run them along either side of my pussy. I can feel myself responding, but holding back only makes me want more.

Eventually, I give in.

My fingers circle my swollen clit as my legs spread wider without me even thinking about it. The slow movements soon become faster.

I slide two fingers inside myself and use my thumb against my clit.

‘Fuck!’ I cry out as my fingers press against my G-spot.

My hips buck upwards, drawing them deeper. My body shudders with each movement as the familiar pressure of an orgasm takes over.

It’s close now.

‘I’m going to…’

Nothing.

No climax. No further arousal.

I wake up.

Now that caught your attention, didn’t it?

For a moment, I lie there staring into the dim bedroom. The air is cool, and morning light is trying to force its way through the small gap beneath the blinds. Unlike my dream, there is no sunshine and no golden lines dancing across my body.

How disappointing, I think.

I roll onto my back and look to my right. Danny has long since left the bed and is already on his way to work. Some mornings he lets me know he’s leaving; other times he doesn’t.

He leaves early to beat the morning rush through Manhattan. I have the luxury of avoiding it and can leave whenever I’m ready. That’s one of the joys of running my own business. I do have a mid-morning meeting at a coffee shop, though, so I can’t stay in bed forever.

Danny is a lawyer at a Manhattan firm, where he also has a management role just off East 34th Street and has been there for about five years. He enjoys what he does and the job pays well, but he’d like to run his own business one day, giving him more freedom and the chance to travel with me.

As for me, I’m an author and speaker on sexual wellbeing. Most of my work focuses on helping women become more confident about sex, relationships and their own bodies. My first book found an audience far bigger than I ever expected and eventually became a New York Times bestseller.

Now I need to figure out what comes next.

Elisa thinks she might have the answer.

My career was never really planned. What started small somehow grew into a life I never expected to have, and Danny has been beside me through all of it.

Seeing my name on a book cover still makes me smile.

I’m not sure that will ever wear off.

I sit up, stretch and climb out of bed before making my way to the window. Pulling open the blinds lets the dull December morning into the room.

The rain hasn’t started yet, but judging by the sky, it won’t be long.

Looking down, I realise I’m wearing nothing but my red lace panties. Anyone looking up from the street—or across from one of the neighbouring buildings—would be getting quite a view.

I turn away and head into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

The large shower is one of the best features of the apartment. We’re paying New York prices for the privilege while getting little more than we had back in North Carolina. Still, the opportunities here are difficult to argue with.

Even so, I miss North Carolina.

Most of our family and friends are still there, and no matter how settled I become in New York, part of me will probably always think of North Carolina as home.

I run the water for a moment, watching it fall from the rainfall showerhead before removing my panties and stepping inside. Warm water runs over my body, and it feels wonderful.

I wash my hair with a mango-scented shampoo that Danny seems to love. The shower fills with its sweet fragrance as I lather it through my hair.

After rinsing it out, I grab the handheld showerhead. It’s perfect for reaching those awkward places—and for more intimate moments when the mood strikes.

As the water runs over me, I notice my pubic hair beginning to make a comeback.

For years, I kept things trimmed, painstakingly using scissors before eventually deciding a razor was far more practical. These days, I prefer being smooth. It feels cleaner, and I like the way it looks.

I’ve never been brave enough to try waxing, though.

Maybe one day.

Once I’m finished, I grab my towel and step out of the shower before heading through the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Coffee first.

Always.

Danny and I are incredibly particular when it comes to tea and coffee. We buy good coffee beans and quality loose-leaf tea because neither of us sees the point in drinking something disappointing when we can make something better ourselves.

For coffee, we stock Colombian, Jamaican Blue Mountain and a robust Italian blend. For tea, we keep jasmine, chamomile and chai.

A good cup can set me up for the day. A bad one puts me in a foul mood.

Dramatic?

Yes, certainly, but I stand by my beliefs.

I grind some Jamaican Blue Mountain beans, tap the portafilter and let the machine do its thing. While the espresso brews, I froth some milk and pour it over the coffee.

As I rinse the pitcher, I spot Danny’s cup sitting in the sink again.

Of course.

He isn’t messy, but he has little habits that grate on me. Not rinsing his cup is one of them.

I take a long sip of coffee. It’s about as close to perfection as I can manage with my home setup.

Drink in hand, I wander back towards the bedroom.

Somewhere between leaving the shower and making my coffee, I seem to have lost my towel.

It’s probably lying abandoned on the kitchen floor.

Which means I’ve been wandering around the apartment completely naked without even noticing.

The thought gives me a small thrill.

I place my drink on the bedside table and start choosing an outfit. The meeting is slightly more formal than my usual coffee with a friend. Elisa says she has an idea for my second book, but she’s been frustratingly vague about what it actually is.

Apparently, it’s easier to explain in person.

That means a blouse, fitted pencil skirt, tights and jacket.

It’s far too cold for a dress.

I choose pink lace panties and a matching bra before slipping into both. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I take a moment to look at myself.

I’m happy with what I see.

The gym and yoga are clearly paying off. I won’t pretend I don’t enjoy seeing the results.

Once I’m dressed and the last of my coffee is gone, I return to the kitchen.

The towel is exactly where I thought it would be, abandoned on the floor.

I pick it up and drop it into the laundry basket.

Keys in hand, I pull the apartment door closed behind me and head for the elevator.

Elisa has been cryptic, and it’s been driving me insane. I’m hoping the coffee is good enough to make up for it.