Eight thirty arrived and dinner was cooking as I opened the door. Our mouths hit the floor when we saw what they were wearing. Sharon had a leather zipped up top on, and matching leather trousers, long stiletto heels, her figure trapped inside bursting to get free. Lynda had a pale blue blouse on, in the light it looked slightly see-through, tan slacks, that accentuated her thighs and hall shoes. They certainly were a vision.We ate dinner and drank a few glasses of wine, laughing all the time at my jokes, then I noticed Sharon during that time, her zipper on her top was coming slowly down, exposing more flesh as the evening wore on, my dick went hard under the table, I had to rub it and straightened it up, then re-composed myself. We finished dinner and turned our attention to poker. I brought out my box of chips to play with. Bryan won four hands in a row and suddenly had to leave us. because he became unwell. I was disappointed at first, but it was short lived though,. Later that evening I beat Erica 6 - 2 and 6 - 3. She asked if I was all right. I smiled and told her not to worry.The room was spacious. It was a suite, really. The afternoon sun tried to pierce the drawn shades. It resulted in a warm, intimate atmosphere. Golden specks danced in the narrow beams of sunlight that spilt around the edges of the shades.The hands on my watch crawled closer to the appointed hour. I guess there is nothing as efficient in making a man doubt his motives as having time to kill. Why was I here in the first place? Hiding behind a screen to watch my ex-wife destroy the last spark of affection left inside my sorry excuse for a heart. Why — after two years, for Christ's sake — did I still have this seething need to get back at her? I should have thrown away the pathetic box and the gruesome picture. Better yet — I should never have let her into my room in that Dallas hotel.Through the slits of the tasteful Japanese screen I had a view of the king size bed. I could.
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