The Other Man (8 page)

But Bianca didn’t share his opinion, and though she wasn’t much of a drinker, (I’d never seen her have more than two drinks, and even that was only over a four hour or more stretch) she did enjoy a drink from time to time.
 

She never drank enough to impair her judgement, something she slowly, over time, had made James understand, and so the couple had eased into the understanding that, though James would never touch alcohol, and that was fine, Bianca would enjoy the occasional drink with her girlfriends, and James had learned not freak out about it.
 

Their love story was one that touched me, as well.
 
Both had suffered through dreadful childhoods.
 
Bianca’s father was such a monster that she still celebrated every year at the anniversary of his death.
 
She was not a hateful woman, so it wasn’t lost on me how awful he must have been for her to do that.
 

James had suffered through some rough stuff of his own, but I wasn’t privy to the details of it, and I’d never be boorish enough to ask.
 

But I
had
seen his sex tape (before I knew either of them, mind you), and I knew he was into some seriously kinky shit.
 

From what I’d gathered, he’d introduced Bianca to said kinkiness, and it seemed to be a lifestyle that worked for both of them.
 

Even as I had the thought, I saw him fingering her collar, his eyes on hers, the two of them so immersed in each other I doubted they even remembered where they were.

What I’d give to have a man look at me like that, with his whole heart in his eyes.
 

When I lay down to sleep that night, in my big empty bed, in my big empty house, my mind lingered on my marriage.
 

Why had I not expected more from my husband?
 
How had I settled for such a sterile marriage and not held out for something like what I’d witnessed tonight?
 

The only answer I could come up with was that I’d never seen it, hadn’t known that love like that was out there to look for in anything aside from fiction.
 

My parents were good people, but they’d had a sterile marriage themselves, and though their parting had been more amicable than mine with my ex, it had been just as inevitable.
 

I’d always known their lack of love for each other was why I’d been obsessed with romance novels since I was fourteen.
 
It only just occurred to me then, though, that their loveless marriage had perhaps inspired my own.
 

The twenty-year-old me that had settled for Eduard had never seen anything like the way Tristan smiled at Danika, the way James looked at Bianca, the way Stephan doted on Javier.
 
I’d always been attracted to the idea of a love like that, but that’s all it had been to me—an idea.
 

The realization made me sad, but I could hardly regret my marriage.
 
My children were my everything.
 

Still, I felt a small change in me that night, a slight shifting, as the resolve in me stiffened.
 
I’d be alone the rest of my life before I’d settle for less than a man that flat out adored me.
 

CHAPTER
 

EIGHT

A FEW WEEKS LATER

I ran into Dair at the market, and we wound up going for coffee again.
 
We chatted easily, and I marveled that I could know someone for so long, be interested in them, and have things stop dead at friendship with every encounter.
 

It was the polar opposite of what had happened with Heath.
 

I knew that wasn’t good.
 
I should
want
to pursue something further with Dair.
 
That would be the healthy urge, because clearly Dair was a good guy, and there was a potential for a future between us.
   

Instead, I was relieved when we parted ways with just a brief hug a few blocks shy of my house.

I should have felt disappointed that he didn’t mention going out sometime, or calling me sometime, or doing something, anything, that could be considered a date somewhere down the road.
   

Instead, I was stuck firmly at just being disappointed that I wasn’t disappointed.
 

I was almost to my house when I felt someone move in close behind me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a gravelly voice said close to my ear, “Who was that guy?”
 

I swung around, hand flying to my chest, wide eyes on an agitated looking Heath.
 

“You scared me,” was the first thing I said.
 
But the first thing I felt upon seeing him was much more embarrassing.
 

I was so relieved.
 
Whatever had happened between us, that crazy, passion fueled lunacy from weeks ago, I didn’t want it to be a one-time deal.
 

What I
did
want I wasn’t focusing on.
 
It was way too soon for that.
 
I’d settle for relief that the thing I
didn’t
want hadn’t come to fruition.
   

“Are you
dating
that guy you were just with?” he asked, eyes moving over my face like he was looking for something, like he could read me like a book.
 

Could he?
 

God, I hoped not.

“Um, no.
 
He’s a friend.
 
I ran into him at the grocery store, and we went out for a coffee.
 
What are you doing here?”

“I was heading to your house.”

“Oh.”
 
I smiled.
 
So it wasn’t a chance encounter.
 
He
wanted
to see me again.
 

It was pathetic how relieved and downright happy I was about that.
 

I licked my lips and watched his eyes move to my mouth.
 
“I could make us a late lunch.”
 

His jaw clenched like he was bracing himself for something.
 
“I don’t think I have time for lunch.”
 

My breath stuttered out of my chest.
 
I blinked once, and that one blink was like a light switch.
 
I went from being me to this sexual creature that just couldn’t get enough.
 
“What do you have time for?”
 

He didn’t even bother to answer, just took my hand and started pulling me.
 

And I let him.
 

Dammit
, once I again, I was going to make this way too easy for him.
 

But one look at his agitated face had left me with an agitated body.
 
The man could make me wet with one look.
 
It wasn’t lost on me how twisted it was that that look was a scowl.
 

Heath angry = Me turned on.
 

I really hoped that wouldn’t turn into a thing for me.
   

We barely made it into my house before he was on me.
 

He pinned me to the door, pushing my arms above my head, holding them there with one hand, mouth crashing into mine, and started working my pants down my legs.

He was in a hurry.

I was right there with him, desire pooling heavy in my belly, my entire body throbbing for him.
 

My trembling, erect nipples were pointing straight at him.
 
They were begging him.
 
I didn’t have to utter a word.
 
I doubted I’d keep them in for long, but they were unnecessary.
 
My body was doing the talking here.
 

I wanted skin on skin, but we never got that far.
 

He stripped me bare from the waist down, shoved his jeans down just far enough to free his big eager cock, crammed a condom on, and started working me onto his bucking shaft.
   

I got loud right away.
 
Even when his mouth covered mine, I couldn’t keep quiet.
 

I heard the dog somewhere in the house, moving around with his big clumsy paws, getting close enough to us for Heath to pause and bark, “’Tato, out!”

As if the dog understood him, as though Heath ran the place, my huge Great Dane went scrambling loudly through the house, out his doggy door, and into the backyard.
 

I circled my hips, moaning into Heath’s mouth.
 
He was still pushing in, but not fast enough.
 

His free hand gripped my hip hard and thrusting his tongue in my mouth, he shoved home.
 

I had one leg hooked high over his hip, but it wasn’t enough.
 
He pulled out, ignoring my loud protests.
 

I didn’t protest for long.
 
He turned me, pressing my palms against the door.
 
He spread my legs, grabbed my hips in both hands, lifted me to just the right angle, and started drilling me from behind.
 

His rough breaths panted into my ear with every thrust.
 

Neither of us lasted long.
 

He hit every perfect nerve going in and out, in and out.
 

My orgasm built like it had its own pulsing life, beating into me with each rough thrust, growing with each hard slam of his dick into my pussy.
 

My nails scraped against the door as I came.
 

He shoved home, to the root, and held himself there.
 
After a few beats, still twitching inside me, his hands went from my hips to the front buttons of my shirt, tugging it open, sending buttons flying with a few impatient tugs.
 
He unclasped my bra, not breaking
it,
at least, and palmed my tits.
 

He kept thrusting, in smaller movements, still milking himself into me, still coming in perceivable spurts.

I wanted to sob in pleasure, it felt so good, barely stifled the sob-like noises that were coming out of me.
 

He kneaded my breasts, leaning close at my back to speak into my ear.
 
“I need to go,” he rasped, nuzzling into my neck.
 
“Now.”
 

What the fuck?
I thought.
 
He was the one that came to
my
house.
 
He couldn’t spend more than a few minutes here before he ran off?
 

And on the tail of that . . .
Was I so spoiled from the last time that I just assumed he’d stay for more than one round?

“Okay,” I responded with what little breath I had.
 
What else could I say?
 
I wasn’t going to beg him to stay.
 

And still, he didn’t pull out, still making those delicious little movements inside of me, still breathing on my neck, his body against my back, my sensitive breasts still in his hands.
 

At least I was sure he didn’t want to leave.
 
It was something.
 

With a curse, he pulled away.
 

I went immediately for my discarded pants, not looking at him as he went into my nearby half-bath and started straightening his clothes.
 
He was fast, I noted, listening to his every move.
   

He didn’t even say goodbye, the
asshole
.
 

While I was turned around, still fumbling to re-clasp my bra, he walked out the door.
 

I didn’t move to the front window to watch him go, though it was tempting.
 

Instead, I moved into the half-bath, eyes on the discarded condom in the wastebasket that I’d need to take out right away, like
right away.
 
I’d be mortified if either of my boys stopped by out of the blue and caught sight of
that
.
 

Geez
, I thought, staring at it.
 
It was just so sordid, one big used condom in my spotless, feminine half bath.
 
The room was painted apricot, and there were flowers on the rug, for Christ’s sake.
   

I gave myself a good talking to, eyes on the condom.
 
I nearly had myself convinced, body still thrumming in a strange combo of desire, disgust, and a delicious sort of soreness that made me think of Heath every time I shifted my body.
 

This wasn’t me.
 

I couldn’t change myself, the things I wanted, what I thought was right and wrong, just for one man.
 
One
too young
man who apparently couldn’t spare more than a few minutes out of his too busy schedule to fuck my brains out.
 

The pep talk/self-lecture was good for me, or so I thought.
 
This sort of thing wasn’t my cup of tea.
 
It was too casual.
 
The man hadn’t even asked me how my day was going before he shoved his cock into me.
 

And I hadn’t gotten to look at his eyes as he came, when they did that extraordinary thing I loved.
 

It occurred to me then that this made a
huge
difference to me.
 
Physical relief, no matter how powerful, was not enough for me.
 
Watching what I did to him, how I made his eyes change from cold to that elusive
something else
was required, as well, for me to feel that this passing fling was worth my peace of mind.
   

All of the productive work I had planned for the afternoon seemed to fly out the window.
 
There was nothing to do for it but open a bottle of wine and call one of my girlfriends to talk it out.
 
It was one of the biggest perks of being self-employed.