Overwhelmed
OVERWHELMED
Marita A. Hansen
CONTENTS
Copyright
Acknowledgements
1 Kelly
2 Past
3 Present
4 Past
5 Present
6
7 Past
8 Present
9 Past
10 Present
11
12
13
14 Tom - Past
15 Kelly - Present
16
17 Eric
18 Kelly
19
20
21
22
23 Tom
24 Kelly
25
26 Tom
27 Kelly
Epilogue - Eric
About the Author
Other Books by Marita A. Hansen
Copyright
OVERWHELMED
Kindle Edition
Copyright 2014 © Marita A. Hansen
Editor: Carol Allen
Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs
Cover Photography by Cokacoka
and sourced from http://depositphotos.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means whatsoever without the written permission of the author, nor circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. For subsidiary rights inquiries email: marita.a.hansen@hotmail.com
All characters, names, places, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to everyone who has helped me in getting this book published, especially my long suffering family for having to put up with all the time I spend on trying to make my writing career a success.
In addition, I would like to say a special thanks to:
Carol Allen – my fantastic editor for Overwhelmed.
Andrea Braccio, Lisa Benn, and Elaine Makri – my beta readers from Goodreads.
Vanessa McGrath and Kelleane Miles – for supporting this book through Indiegogo and Facebook.
PLEASE NOTE:
UK / Commonwealth English is used throughout the text, which differs slightly from US spelling.
For example, we say maths instead of math, colour instead of color, arse instead of ass, while mum is mom, centre is center, ploughing is plowing, and realise is realize. So, if you see slight variations, they are not errors.
Any other differences may be due to the book being set in New Zealand.
Although I haven’t used slang, there are a few distinctive New Zealand words that have gotten through, such as dairy. A dairy is basically a 7-Eleven, although it closes around 8. Also, a rumpus room is a recreational room, while kia ora is a Maori greeting New Zealanders often use to say hello.
In addition, my editor for this book is American. Therefore, she made me change anything that she didn’t understand, thus making it legible for non New Zealanders.
Lastly, thank you for choosing to read OVERWHELMED.
I have put my heart and soul into this book, so I hope you enjoy the story.
All the best, Marita.
Overwhelmed
It was a chance meeting
That changed everything
Before only one man loved me
Now two do
One is my husband
The other a lover
I didn’t cheat
We had a threesome
But the problem was what followed
My lover wanted more than one night
My husband got angry
My lover got dirty
And I got overwhelmed
1
The sound of my husband getting out of the shower caught my attention, the loud clunk of the water being turned off, a clear warning to hide the laptop. I quickly closed it and stuffed it under the bed, then turned over, pretending I was still asleep. The bedroom door opened and closed with a bang, Tom not knowing the meaning of being quiet.
His footsteps padded around the bedroom floor, stopping in front of me. “Kelly, you awake?”
How could I not be after that entrance? I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He was standing over me, wearing only a towel, his body glistening from not being dried properly. A line of water ran down the curving Maori tattoo on his right arm, dripping onto the carpet. He had the type of body made from a construction site—powerfully built and tanned, his muscular biceps and six-pack not from a gym. He pushed a hand through his wet brown hair, the stubble from last night gone. He was delicious, but all I wanted was for him to get dressed and go to work, so I could get back to the countless messages I had to answer. There were too many to deal with, all to do with my writing. My thoughts made me feel guilty, even more so since Tom was staring down at me with need in his eyes, the proof pushing at his towel. But, I was overwhelmed with work, overwhelmed with stress, and I really didn’t need him adding to it.
Tom’s lips pulled up at the corners, giving me a cheeky smile I used to love seeing in the morning. His blue-green eyes sparkled with mischief, which meant he was going to pester me until he got sex, something I really didn’t want to deal with right now. Guilt instantly hit me. When did my career become more important than my husband?
“Kelly?” he said, waving his hand in front of me. “I know I have a big cock, but my face is up here.”
I looked up at him, not having realised I’d been staring at his towel. I hadn’t been focusing on anything, just lost in thought. He started talking, his words barely registering. I attempted to listen, but my mind kept wandering back to my work. I had two interviews to complete and send out, edits to do, and the next lot of chapters from my current book to email by tonight. Thank God my sister had given me the day off from work, because this was turning my hair grey.
“Are you listening to me?” Tom asked.
I snapped out of my damn thoughts again and rubbed my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Sorry, I’m still half asleep.”
He frowned. “I told you not to go to bed so late. What time was it? One?”
I nodded, even though it had been three in the morning. He’d wanted me to go to bed with him last night, practically begged me for sex, but I had a deadline to meet. One of my editors needed the first chapters for my new book, something that probably would lose me money, like all the others did. But, writing was an addiction I couldn’t give up, plus the hope that I could make a living from it spurred me on. It was an overwhelming need that took over me: my thoughts—my life. I wished I had never started it, because it was a harsh career to choose, one that ate away at me. The criticism at times was nasty, leaving me wondering why I was putting myself through it all, and even more since Tom hated me spending so much time on writing. Regardless, I still couldn’t give it up.
“You can’t keep staying up so late,” Tom said. “You’re exhausting yourself.”
“I know, but I finished what I needed to do, so it’s all good.” I touched Tom’s hip, smiling up at him apologetically.
His cheeky grin returned, probably because I had touched him. All it took was a smile or a touch, and he thought I was hot for sex. He was as horny as a teenager, while I resembled a tired old grandmother walking up a steep hill.
He whipped his towel off. “Give it a kiss.”
Amused, I leaned forward and kissed his very hard cock, relieved that he wasn’t pressing the point about me going to bed late.
“Now, suck it,” he said.
I flo
pped back onto the bed. “You’ll be late for work.”
“I don’t care.” He climbed on top of me, making me squeal, the man not as light as he thought he was.
“You’re squashing me,” I said, trying to push him off.
He rolled to the side and whipped the covers off me. I was wearing a T-shirt and knickers, PJs not my thing. Sometimes I fell into bed fully dressed, too tired to take my clothes off.
He leaned his head forward and kissed me, not taking no for an answer. I kissed him back, allowing his tongue to enter my mouth, my man tasting of minty toothpaste. I felt a hand sneak under my shirt, tickling the underside of my breasts, his calloused fingertips adding to the pleasure. They moved over my stomach, burrowing their way into my knickers, his talented finger rubbing my clit, making me gasp into his kiss.
He pulled back. “I think I need to call in sick today, because, Mrs. Hamlin, your pussy needs a thorough seeing to.”
I breathed out, wishing he hadn’t stopped, the break making me see sense. “You can’t, we both have to go to work.”
“All I hear is blah, blah, blah.” He leaned down and nibbled my ear, still muttering, “Blah, blah, blah.” His fingers slipped back into my knickers, one of them pushing inside of me.
“Tom…” I gasped, knowing my protests were a lost cause.
His lips moved to my throat as he removed his finger from my pussy and pulled down my knickers. He flung them to the side and ran his finger in between my folds.
“So wet,” he murmured into my ear. He climbed between my legs and took a hold of his cock, penetrating me with it. All thoughts of work disappeared, my attention wholly on Tom filling my body as well as my heart.
He pushed up onto his hands. “What do you want me to do to you?” he asked, staring down at me, his pupils widening.
“A quickie,” I answered, knowing we couldn’t take long or he’d be late. Although I wished he wouldn’t ask, because I wanted to be taken, not to have to think, his words distracting me from the pleasure.
He smiled and bent down to kiss my lips, then without another word he started thrusting again. I angled my arse so he could hit me just right, wanting to come quick. My body was still exhausted from the late night, but I wasn’t willing to stop until I got my release. He thrust again, hitting my pussy perfectly. Biting my bottom lip to stop from groaning, I wrapped my legs around his waist. He lifted them over his shoulders, his expression telling me he also wanted to come quick. I looked down at his cock as it plunged in and out of my pussy, the sight entrancing.
I could hear a soft rumbling start in Tom’s chest, making me look up at his face. He looked so damned erotic with his flushed cheeks, hooded eyes, and those perfectly curved lips, parted and panting. The sight was a slap to my face, reminding me of how sexy he was—something I took for granted, everyday life grinding down my appreciation of him.
Without warning, he pulled out and flipped me onto my stomach. His cock probed below for a second, then he thrust inside of me again, making me gasp, the angle intense. He grabbed my hips and pulled me to my hands and knees, then started driving inside of me to the point of pain. But I loved it, loved everything about Tom taking me from behind.
I groaned as he picked up speed, the pressure within me building rapidly. His grip tightened on my hips, almost bruising them, but I was past caring. He slammed into me again, fulfilling my wish to come quick. I gasped, going rigid as the pressure let loose, radiating through my body. Only the sound of his balls slapping against my thighs and the waves crashing in my ears were comprehensible in my state of bliss. With my name on his lips, I felt his cock pulsating inside of me, filling me with his seed.
I waited in a dreamy state for him to finish. After a few moments, he pulled out. I turned over as he grabbed his towel, the post-orgasmic expression on his face delicious, making me want to freeze that moment, so that all the other facets of my life didn’t destroy my lust for him.
He leaned down to steal another kiss before pushing off the bed. He gave me a grumpy look, although I knew it was fake. “You evil woman,” he said. “Now I need another shower.”
“You’re the one who wanted sex.”
“Oh, you wanted what I have, so don’t give me that,” he laughed, all pretence gone. “Not that I can blame you with all this,” he said, pointing at his body.
I rolled my eyes, but still smiled, finding his cockiness adorable.
His smirk disappeared, a serious expression now in its place. “I do love you, you know, even though you drive me crazy.”
My smile dropped. “Why can’t you just say you love me without the rest?” I already knew I drove him nuts, not only with my writing, but resisting his suggestions of getting full-time work. He wanted to get a nicer house, go on holidays, and save for when we retired—as well as pay the bills without getting into further debt, our credit card a constant stress. The latter concerned me the most, but I still couldn’t give up my writing. Instead, I wanted to prove to him that I could earn from it, because if I went into a nine-to-five job he might as well send me to a loony bin and bypass the pain it would cause me. I just couldn’t sit in an office for eight hours, five days a week. My part-time job as a tax assistant was torturous enough, and if I didn’t work for my sister, I was sure I would have quit a long time ago.
Tom wrinkled his nose. “You do drive me crazy, but I still love you.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers over my stomach, his expression still serious. “So, is your mum still okay with looking after the kids tonight?”
Now it was my turn to wrinkle my nose. “Yeah.”
He stopped stroking my stomach. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m really nervous about tonight,” I said, his idea of going to the sex club scary.
“You do know we can leave if you don’t like it? And, we don’t have to do anything with anyone if you’re not comfortable. It’s just for you and me, something we can experience together, see if we like it.”
“I’m still not sure,” I said.
He’d suggested going to a sex club a year ago for his thirty-seventh birthday, saying it could spice up our sex life, but I’d dismissed it, the idea making me feel uneasy. I’d only been with Tom. We were high school sweethearts, our friends all saying we were living the happily-ever-after dream. Only if they knew the truth: all the stress that we went through with our daughter and our busy careers as well as our differences. If this was what they thought a happily-ever-after consisted of, I didn’t even want to know what their lives were like behind closed doors. Anyway, I had eventually relented and gone to the sex club with him, one that he’d said was supposed to be tame, and thankfully it was. Couples went off into rooms or quiet corners to kiss or have sex: nothing out in the open or in your face. We ended up playing pool with a group of people, and if it wasn’t for the porn on the large TV screen, it would’ve been like a pub. Overall, we enjoyed the night, although the second time we visited the place, it had been empty and a disappointment. Which was why Tom had suggested another club—the one he wanted to take me to tonight, this one supposedly far from tame. A few of the people we’d met at the first club had mentioned having gone there, all of them saying it was explicit.
“This isn’t just for me.” Tom frowned. “I don’t want to hold you back. I’ve experienced plenty before we met, but I’m worried you need more than me, and…” his frown deepened, “…that I’m not enough for you anymore.” He dropped his gaze, the cockiness from before now completely gone. It was as though I was looking at a different person. Tom knew I wasn’t happy. Maybe it was a mid-life crisis, I didn’t know, but the lustre in life had disappeared for me.
He looked back up. “I still think you… no, we both need something more.” He ran his hand over my stomach again. “It’s great when we’re in the moment, but outside of it, things are hard,” he breathed out. “I want that spark back, I want excitement, and Dillon said this place fired his and Julie’s relationship up.”
I scowled at
the mention of his best mate and business partner. “You should stop listening to him, he’s sex-crazed.”
“No, he’s not, and he said this club was fun, and that Julie loved it too. Only couples are allowed in, and there’s absolutely no pressure to do anything you don’t want. He also said if you don’t like it you can just leave,” he repeated, his long babble again showing how much he wanted this. “And we need to do something just for us.”
It was true. I did need to do something with Tom since I often neglected him, which was mostly due to my writing. One night, that was all, one night couldn’t hurt. I refocused on Tom and nodded. “I’ll go,” I said, hoping I wasn’t going to regret my decision.
2
PAST
20 Years Earlier
I utterly … absolutely … unequivocally, hated, loathed, detested, and despised mathematics. So, guess where I was? In maths class, staring blankly at my book, all the numbers in a jumble. My sister had dyslexia, where words didn’t make sense, and right now I was dead certain I had the maths version. I really didn’t want to take maths, after all I should’ve gotten to choose my own subjects for my last year of high school, but my mother wanted me to be an accountant, and what my mum wanted, she got.
I looked wistfully out of the window at the English department, which was across a strip of concrete and an expanse of grass, the trees partially blocking my view. When I’d told my mother I wanted to be a writer, she’d retorted that it was a waste of time, and that no one ever made a living from being an author, except for a lucky few.
A group of boys walked into sight and sat down on the benches outside my classroom. I recognized a few of them. They were seniors like me, and were the type of boys my mother told me to stay away from, which I had no problem in doing, since I was totally clueless when it came to boys. Unfortunately, when I’d finally diagnosed why I never got dates, the boys had learned to stay away from me, unless they wanted to be humiliated. I never turned them down on purpose, and most of the time, I didn’t even realise I had turned them down. Once, while I was at a cafe, a guy stopped by my table and started talking, asking my friend out, so I ignored him. It wasn’t until he’d left that I realised he was asking me out, not my friend, and if my friend hadn’t hit me for it, telling me off for being rude, I still wouldn’t have known he’d been talking to me.