The Handyman (18+ Only) [COMPLETED]

1: In Which She Tries to Get Off

1: In Which She Tries to Get Off

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The holiday home was quaint. That was the only way to describe it.

I wondered how much Jack had paid for the rental, but I knew that he would never in a million years confide in me about that. Finances were just never discussed in our household. In fact, there was no joint account. Jack and I had separate VISAs. Every month, he’d deposit a certain amount of money into my account. That was just the way it was, the way it had always been over the ten years of our marriage.

“Holly arrived here yesterday. Sofia? Earth to Sofee.”

Jack’s gruff voice pulled me out of my thoughts, back to Earth, and back into his Lexus.

I snapped my head in his direction, pulling off my Ray-Bans and rubbing my eyes. “That’s good. I can’t be bothered to start dusting right now.”

Holly Carter had been our maid – and my confidante – for years now. In fact, when I married Jack, I married her as part of the bargain. She was forty-five, five years older than my husband, plump, and always had a smile on her wrinkled face. She was a godsend and one of the few friends I had.

“The housewife that can’t clean,” Jack quipped, forcing some lightness into his voice. He pushed open the door and got out, stretching after our two-hour drive from London into The Comptons.

I stared after him, eyes concrete. Despite his forced joking tone, I knew how much it irked Jack that I couldn’t so much as polish a marble floor. But it irked me that he had never taken me seriously when it came to my job. After the first two months of our marriage, he’d convinced me to quit my job at the hospital. That job had been my saving grace and he…took it from me.

“You coming out?” he demanded.

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yes. I’m coming out.”

***

 

Early twilight, after dinner, was the best time to do it.

Jack took such an amazingly long time to come to bed, and this “vacation” was no exception. I had seen that, aside from sending Holly up early, he’d taken the liberty of sending some of his office work up as well, and he was now shut in the study in the next room.

Old habits die pretty fucking hard, I thought bitterly, discarding the Agent Provocateur lingerie I’d bought specifically for our first night in The Comptons.

Naked, I stood in front of the mirror, analysing my body. Maybe I just wasn’t attractive anymore. Maybe Jack preferred one of the young, bouncy interns at his law firm. Hell, maybe he was boinking her on the regular. Maybe she got the honour of blowing him on weekdays.

At my age, my body wasn’t exactly runway-eligible, but it wasn’t a horror show. Cupping my breasts in both hands, I figured perhaps they could’ve been a little less saggy. And that lone stretch mark on my right boob? It was like a silent accusation: Your boobs are too big for your ageing body, missy. Too large, and too saggy. What are you, fifty?

I glanced at the closed bedroom door, then turned my gaze back to the mirror. If Jack wasn’t going to make me feel good about myself, well, then I just had to do the job myself.

Eyes trained on my reflection, I let my fingers trail down my stomach, slowly tickling over my navel, and into the soft mound of curls I kept for Jack, whenever he dared to venture down there – which was…never.

I don’t know how long I spent trying to come – toying with my clít, rubbing my palm against it, heck, even begging my pus$y to feel something – but it sure as hell didn’t work.

Damn Jack.

He’d even taken the pleasure of pleasure away from me.