BED RIDDEN

Chapter Five:

Chapter Five:

Not realizing she had caught the attention of Rudd Lewinsky, Inga stepped onto the front porch and rang the bell.

Nick looked up from his computer, an image taking hold of a breathtaking statuesque blonde, standing naked, waiting for him to open his door. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought.

The time had come and though he ached to have Inga inside the privacy of his home, he could have wished for better circumstances. By hiring Inga he somehow felt he had betrayed Cloey. No– it wasn’t like that, he scolded, trying to convince himself. Inga was the only caregiver available. He didn’t have a choice in it.

But he could not quell the overwhelming s****l urges, just from knowing the woman was standing just outside, waiting on his porch. Nor the feeling there would be an ulterior reason why he would gladly sign her pay checks.

Damn. What will Cloey think? How can I possibly explain it to her?

“Please come in,” Nick said, standing back to let Inga pass. She actually stooped slightly, he noticed, to clear the door frame.

She blessed him with her wide smile. “Mr. Chase...”

He ushered her into the hallway. “Nick will do, Inga. If you don’t mind the informality. Come along, Cloey’s in the front room.”

Cloey’s eyes circled wide at the sight of the big Swede moving across the carpet. Nick saw the bright surprise etched across her brow, but it quickly dissolved into a look of embarrassment. And that cut him deeply. Cloey, always the center of attraction, had been upstaged. Nick had told Cloey her caregiver was dropping by but now wished he’d had the courage to explain. Clearly Cloey had expected an elderly woman, a kindly mothering type: a Mrs. Brownridge type. Not this overly sexed woman who looked to have just stepped from a magazine centerfold.

Inga made it worse by moving to the side of the bed and speaking to Cloey as if she were a mere child. “My, you are a cutie,” and she cupped Cloey’s cheek, “we’ll have so much fun together.”

Peaches was annoyed by the intrusion but swept aside before she could voice her disapproval. Inga’s large hand closed on the puppy and with a surprised yelp, Peaches was dumped to the floor. She scurried to the furthermost corner looking as if she had been dunked in ice water. Nick said nothing.

Inga set her over-sized shoulder bag on the floor and rummaged among the contents. She pulled out a stethoscope and a blood pressure monitor. “Okay,” she adjusted the stethoscope in her ears, “let’s have a listen, shall we?” And she popped the top buttons of Cloey’s pajamas.

Nick discretely stepped back from Cloey’s line of sight so he could search-out the curves of Inga’s body without Cloey knowing. Stooped over Cloey with the business end of her stethoscope stuffed beneath Cloey’s pajama top, Nick found Inga’s chest to be an arresting sight. Her breasts, bell-like pendulums, moved into the opening of her shirt, swaying as Inga hovered over his wife. And as Inga leaned further forward, the hem of the shirt lifted in back revealing two muscular orbs swathed in spandex, held high and round– a sight that left his hands feeling hot and empty.

There was a solid knock at the door and Nick flinched. He had a vision of Mrs. Brownridge, under a full head of steam, marching in to take over his house, and his life. “Excuse me a moment.”

His neighbor, Rudd, stood shuffling his feet in the doorway and Nick swore under his breath. He’d had a major problem with the guy in the past.

Rudd had seemed like a pretty decent neighbor in the beginning, when Nick and Cloey had first arrived in Gainesville. Rudd had helped them move furniture, lined them up with a guy who painted the fence and told Nick about a repair shop where the mechanic actually cared about the work he did. Rudd took Cloey around to a great butcher shop and carried her groceries.

But the guy had started to hang around a little too often for Nick’s liking but when he mentioned it to Cloey, she just laughed it off. “The guy lives alone,” she had said. “He likes our company.”

Nick shrugged but, deep down, he was beginning to suspect Rudd was taking an unhealthy interest in Cloey. Then Nick had rounded the corner to the dining room one afternoon and saw his wife, bent forward, working hard against the arm of chair. Rudd was also there, but instead of helping, he was enjoying an unobstructed look down the front of Cloey’s shirt where her unhaltered breasts were also working.

It was enough for Nick. He had been civil, even thanked Rudd for all of his help, but Nick made it clear he and Cloey could take it from there. Rudd seemed to get the message, had laughed, and they shared a beer. Nick figured that was the end of it.

But Rudd continued to hold a blatant interest in Cloey and was not shy about concealing his lusty intentions. Cloey handled it better than Nick, perhaps because from an early age she had learned to ignore men who viewed her body as nothing more than a hunk of pork.

But it irked Nick all to hell to watch the man struggle with his d**k every time Cloey entered the room. Even so, Nick had remained friendly, even accepting invitations occasionally, to watch a ball game on Rudd’s theater-style television. But even though those invitations always extended to his wife, Nick never took Cloey along.

Nick eyed his neighbor carefully. “Rudd. Big surprise. What’s up?”

Rudd peered over Nick’s shoulder. “Heard Cloey was home. Just stopped by to see how she’s doing.”

Rudd took a step forward and Nick moved to block the doorway. “She’s with her nurse right now. Sorry pal– your timing is a bit off.”

“Her nurse? So that’s it...”

It was obvious now, Rudd had seen Inga pull up to the house and was sniffing around for an opportunity to meet her. Nick was aware of the defenses again, rising up just like at the restaurant. “Look, Rudd, why not come by later, once Inga’s gone.”

Rudd’s eyes bounced back from where he had been trying to penetrate the darkness of the house. “Inga? Her name’s Inga? That’s Swedish or something, isn’t it? Oh man...” And he chuckled dirtily.

Nick was losing ground. “Or something... Later, okay?” He moved to close the door.

“What. You don’t got a beer for your old buddy?”

Nick considered slamming the door in the guy’s face but that’s not the way he’d been brought up. “Okay– okay. But just one. We can sit in the kitchen. Give the women their privacy.”

“Sure. You got it.” And Rudd practically shouldered Nick out of the way in his dash to get through the door. “Sure, the kitchen, no problem.” But as soon as Rudd was in the hall he spied Inga in the front room, leaning over Cloey and squeezing the rubber bulb of the blood pressure monitor. “Hi,” he waved, “I’m Rudd– the neighbor.” And to Nick’s consternation, Rudd took the straight-track right toward the hospital bed.

“Oh shit.” Nick chased after him but had been slowed by the necessity of closing the front door. By the time he caught up, Rudd was already standing at Cloey’s bedside and gloating. He was staring at Cloey’s chest. With his guts in a turmoil, Nick realized the three buttons of her pajama top were still undone and Rudd was enjoying an unobstructed view of the inside swell of Cloey’s left breast. Nick stepped in to block Rudd’s view and reaching down, he buttoned-up his wife’s top.

When he looked again, Nick found Rudd had diverted his attention to Inga. Inga looked up from Cloey’s breasts with a knowing smile curling her lips.

Rudd took a breath. “Man. Look at the size of you. They sure grow ‘em big in the Alps.”

Inga kept smiling. “Yes– they do. It’s always been a problem for little weeny guys.” And she purposely stepped forward and looked down on him.

It took Rudd a moment to realize she had insulted him. He stood flatfooted, squinting up into icy green eyes. God, she was magnificent. Then she rolled her head back and laughed and the blood in his veins started moving again.

“I didn’t mean anything by it...” Rudd blurted, but Nick already had him by an arm and was pulling him toward the kitchen.

“Of course. You couldn’t have...” Inga called after him and he wondered if she had insulted his intelligence once more.

“C’mon, Rudd. The beer’s in the fridge.”

Rudd pulled his arm free. “Well if you’re going to be that way about it, maybe I’ll go drink my own beer.”

“Suit yourself.” Nick shifted directions, propelling Rudd out the front door and he slammed it closed after his retreating neighbor. “Ass!”

Inga was chuckling, a deep mellow sound like the beating of a owl’s wing.

“Sorry about that,” Nick called from the doorway. “The guy’s a tasteless bore.”

Inga, still smiling, waved him off. Nick surrendered, shrugged, and feeling defeated, he sidestepped into his study. Incredibly, Rudd had managed to ruined his afternoon with the most unbelievably vivacious woman he had ever met. Then the image of Cloey with her breast partially exposed raised the pressure in his veins. Rudd had got an eye-full. And Nick couldn’t get past the feeling Inga had let it happen. There had been plenty of time for Inga to pull Cloey’s pajama top closed but she hadn’t. She had purposely lifted her hands to let Rudd have a look.

God. He’d seen her tit. Rudd poured Canadian Club rye whiskey from the bottle he kept by the sink. He’d actually seen her tit. Finally, after all this time. He squeezed the front of his jeans. Okay, the n****e was covered, but just barely. Even so, he had seen enough to realize the size and shape of the precious mound. Something he had longed for since Cloey and Nick moved into the neighborhood.