Temptation
by
Diana
Walker and Reagan Kavanagh
This
work of adult fiction includes adult language and experiences; you have
been
warned. No offense
to any person, living
or dead, is intended. Roche
Laboratories
is used as the pharmaceutical house in this story because it was the
first one
that popped up in our Google search.
No
disrespect is intended or implied by the use of their name. © Reagan Kavanagh
and Diana Walker 2006.
Authors’
Note: This was borne of an
afternoon of
laughter. In
mid-chuckle, Diana’s head
shot up and the inspiration for this came tumbling forth. We hope you enjoy reading
it as much as we’ve
enjoyed writing it. Reagan
and Diana.
I should have known you were temptation
You smiled, luring me on …
I'm just a slave, only a slave …
Temptation, I am yours.
My
name is actually
Helen, but no one in Dallas
calls me that. I
did a legal name change
to Helené as soon as I got to Texas. Helen’s the name
I was given when I was born 32
years ago in Ash Flat, Arkansas. I got through high school
and the University
of Arkansas
in Fayetteville,
then high-tailed it out of the sticks and headed to Big D.
The
first thing I did
after finding an apartment in Dallas
was to sit down with a Dr. Pepper and a copy of the Yellow Pages. I needed a diction coach
and some
polish. I was
smart, and I knew
that. You
don’t come out of the University of Arkansas
with a 4.0 GPA and a Magna cum
Laude in Molecular Biology unless you have a lot more than two neurons
firing.
That
was all well and
good, but no one’s going to pay attention to you if you sound
like a hillbilly
every time you open your mouth, or you can't tell which water glass is
yours at
a formal dinner. One
of the local hotels
offers an ongoing class in social graces for business executives. I wasn’t an
executive yet, but I damned well
intended on being one some day in the foreseeable future. I’d signed up
and didn’t miss a class.
When it was over, I not only knew which water
glass was mine, I knew which fork to use and when.
I knew the difference in wine glasses, and
now I raised my eyebrow at those who
didn’t.
Finding
a job hadn’t
been hard; I left school with an offer from the biological research
division at
Southwestern
Medical
School in Dallas.
When I was at work, I mimicked the accents of the senior
people in the
lab. I was also
taking those diction
lessons at night. Within
six months, I
sounded as if I’d grown up in the Turtle Creek area of uptown
Dallas
and gone to high school at Hockaday.
An
interesting occurrence
one day started me thinking medical research was not where I wanted to
be for
the rest of my life. It
was challenging,
but I wanted more; I wanted a lot more.
I
saw a woman in a $1,000 Bill Blass suit pulling a sample case behind
her as she
walked toward the elevator bank at Southwestern; she wore a lapel pin
for one
of the major pharmaceutical houses.
I’d
seen her in the hallway and followed her downstairs.
While we were in the elevator, I realized she
wore perfume the way In Style said you were
supposed to wear it. It
was there, but it was subtle, and I knew
she’d sprayed it in front of her and walked through the cloud
rather than
spraying it on herself like I did.
I
didn’t know what the perfume was, but I knew it was good
perfume and a lot more
than I could afford on my lab rat’s salary.
I took a good look at her; I watched her walk out the main
doors and get
into a Mercedes coupe. She
already had
the life I wanted.
I
started sending out
my CV (such as it was) along with a copy of my transcript to the major
pharmaceutical houses and applying for positions in their sales
departments. I
thought I’d be a good fit
in sales because I like people, get on well with most of them, and had
the
professional background to talk in terms the health care industry used. I knew I had the drive it
took to be good in
sales. I wanted the
clothes, jewelry,
and cars; I wanted to be very, very rich.
I
interviewed with
half-a-dozen companies and got three offers.
I went to work for Roche Laboratories simply because I
remembered
someone back in school saying Roche had at one time been the largest
and most
powerful pharmaceutical house in the world.
I also knew they were the company that discovered and
marketed Librium,
Valium, and Dextromethorphan …that last one is the magic
component in the cough
syrup Robitussin. If
you have a cough
and Robitussin won’t stop it, you have serious problems.
That
was ten years
ago, and I’ve come a long way since then.
I’m the corporate vice-president for sales and
marketing for the Southwestern
United States and have been for two
years. My
promotions have come faster
than those for most women. I’d
gotten
two of them by knowing who to fuck and when.
The one I’d gotten on my own was a result of
having stabbed the right
person in the back at the right time.
I
own my own condo on the edge of Turtle Creek and drive a silver BMW Z4;
it’s
been five years since I was in Ash Flat.
When the Hogs come to town to play football, I leave for
the Caribbean.
*
I
had a two o’clock
appointment, and it was almost one.
I
hadn’t eaten breakfast and was paying the price with a
pounding headache. I
pulled into the valet parking lane and
tossed my keys to the attendant as I walked into Avanti. The service there is
always quick, and that’s
what I needed today. The
place was
packed, and there were 17 people in the foyer waiting for tables. I glanced around
…those 17 people were all in
clumps of two or more, which meant they needed a large table. I looked out into the
restaurant floor, and
it didn’t appear anything was about to open up.
Wait
…there’s a single
man sitting at a table for two. The
bus boy’s
just filling his water glass, and his napkin and cutlery are still on
the
table. He’s
just arrived. Can’t
tell much about him because of the
lighting, but those shoulders are impressive.
His hair could be any color from chestnut to black; again,
it’s hard to
tell in the subdued lighting. Nothing
to
lose, so I might as well go for it.
I
walked up to the maitre d’.
“Excuse
me, Bobby,
….” He
turned and smiled at me.
“Ms.
Bonner! Always a
pleasure to see you.”
“Thanks,
Bobby …I’m in
a terrific time crunch today. Do
you
think you could speak to the gentleman sitting by himself over there
and ask if
I could join him if he isn’t expecting someone?
Tell him I promise to keep my mouth shut and not be a pest. I just need to grab a bite
and get out of
here for my two o’clock.”
He looks
across the room to the man in question.
“Let
me see what I can
do.” Off
he goes. He leans
down to speak to the man, who looks
my direction. Still
can’t see his face very
well because of the damned lighting, but that doesn’t matter. He could have looked like
the south-end of a northbound
mule for all I cared as long as he let me share his table. Bobby straightens, smiles
and nods, and
returns to me.
“No
problem, Ms.
Bonner. Just follow
me.” The
man stands as Bobby and I approach.
He offers his hand and his name before I sit
across from him. Holy
Mother of
God. This just
might be my lucky
day. The rest of
him matches the broad
shoulders. Deep,
barrel chest, big hands
and feet (I can scan more quickly than you’d believe), and
what he’s packing in
the slacks of that custom-tailored suit made my mouth water. Nice even tan –
his hands were completely
bare. He could have
slipped a wedding
ring off and into his pocket, but a ring normally leaves an impression
or a tan
line. There’s
also just a hint of curl
in that gorgeous hair. The
eyes are the
clincher. They’re
a cross between blue
and green, and he has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen in
my life.
His
voice is a wet
dream. Low,
well-modulated, it’s a rich
baritone. Australian
or English? Hell,
I’ve never been real sure on those two
because I haven’t been around that many Australians or Brits. Who cares?
Actually, I haven’t done much traveling out of
the States because I’ve
been too busy working my way up the corporate ladder and hunting for
the man
who would allow me to kick that ladder away.
Now I was regretting my lack of international polish;
maybe it’s time I
took a vacation abroad. Back
to the
present. This man
can eat crackers – or
anything else that takes his fancy – in my bed any day. We make polite
conversation, and neither of
us has to work to keep up our side of it.
We exchanged business cards before I stood to leave, and
he stood with
me.
He
asked if I came to
Avanti often.
“I
stop by frequently
for lunch, usually toward the end of the week.”
He said perhaps we’d see each other again. I turned and walked away,
but I could feel
his eyes on my back all the way across the restaurant.
*
A
week later, I walked
into Avanti at one o’clock and scanned the floor. There he was, sitting at a
table for
two. He
didn’t look up, but Bobby came
toward me with a smile on his face, though that smile was a bit more
restrained
than I was used to seeing. Maybe
he knew
something about the man that I didn’t.
“Ms.
Bonner. The
gentleman said he thought you might be
joining him today and indicated I was to bring you to his
table.” I
smiled as much to myself as to Bobby.
“Did
he now? Well then,
I guess we’d better not disappoint
him.” The
fact that he was waiting for
me was further validation of the success of my diction and social
graces; I am
a scintillating luncheon companion.
Bobby
took me to the table, and Mr. Risk Management stood to meet me. I'd memorized his business
card; if I weren’t
careful, it would be in tatters before I ever have a need to use it. I’d gotten the
feeling last week that he
really didn’t want his name used in public. Even
without a ring, I’d bet a lot of money
he’s either married or in a committed relationship, but I
could live with
that. There has to
be some reason he's
here to have lunch with me. I
probably
should feel sorry for the boring woman he's with, but I just
can’t be bothered. If
she isn't woman enough to hold him, her
loss is my gain.
“Over
the last seven
days I’ve begun thinking of you as RM.”
He laughed but didn’t ask me not to use RM
either.
We
sat across from
each other and to the rest of the world we looked like two business
associates
having lunch together. In
his mind, I
might only be a pleasant luncheon companion.
In my mind, he could be either a good fuck or my ticket to
the good
life. I’d
like to be one of those women
whose major decision for the day is what I was wearing to
tonight’s charity
gala. He asked if
I’d like wine with our
meal or did I have an afternoon appointment that would preclude that
possibility.
“I
have a couple of
calls to make much later this afternoon, but nothing that would
interfere with
a glass – or two – of wine.” We looked
over the menu and made our selections before he handed me the wine list. He said I should choose a
wine I liked, that
he’d be happy with whatever I wanted.
Well, now. I
do like a man who
isn’t afraid to relinquish a bit of control on occasion, even
if it’s only in
wine selection.
We
enjoyed our wine
and lunch, and when the waiter came with the check, I reached for it. His hand stopped mine, and
I felt a jolt go
through me just from that momentary contact.
He said that in telling Bobby he was expecting me to join
him, he’d ‘invited’
me to lunch, and it was his treat.
He
looked at the check and pulled his wallet from his pocket, withdrew two
$50
bills, and slipped them into the check wallet.
He’s
operating on cash. There’s
a reason when a man like this one
doesn’t use a credit card for expense account purposes. So …he knows
the drill. Either
he doesn’t want to take the chance
that his bean counter will ask questions if he puts it on his corporate
card,
or he doesn’t want ‘her’ seeing the
charge slip if he’s married or living with
someone. Well,
‘she’ has nothing to
worry about yet. All
I’ve done is have
lunch with him – so far.
Of course,
‘she’ probably wouldn’t agree with my
nothing-to-worry-about thought.
*
I
started stopping at
Avanti for lunch two or three days a week.
Sometimes RM was there; sometimes he wasn’t. More often than not, he
was.
“Are
you really that fond of Italian food?”
He said that if the company was good, he liked it.
“Do
you always have lunch alone?”
He smiled
and picked up his wine glass; he said he wasn’t having lunch
alone today. He
put down his glass and picked up my hand,
stroking the back of it with his thumb.
Oh yes, I could get used to this.
“You
know what I
mean.” He
became more serious and said
that sometimes he had lunch with one or the other of his partners,
other times
with …and he let that one trail off.
Uh
huh. That’s
what I thought. He’s
in what my mother calls ‘a cheatin’
frame of mind.’
*
I’d
heard about this
great bar-b-que joint out in the sticks and decided I’d give
it a try. I pulled
into the parking lot and looked
around. High priced
clientele if the
cars in the lot were any indication.
I
got out, started toward the door, and stopped.
RM’s car was in the third space to the left of
the door. I made
the conscious choice to go
inside. I’d
bet my life that the woman
is with him, and this would let me size up the competition.
I
stepped inside and
let my eyes adjust to the gloom after the sunlight outside. I looked around, and there
he was. They
were at the far end of a table,
close to the wall. He
was wearing a flannel
shirt. She was one
of those blondes that
Dallas
has in
abundance. Nothing
special about
that. Unless she
knows more than the
average number of tricks in bed, she couldn’t touch me. The corporate VP behind my
name proved
that. Decision time
…do I go over and
say hello or not?
He’d
looked up as soon
as the door opened and saw me. His
face
didn’t change, but he reached across the table and picked up
her hand. I could
see his thumb stroking her fingers
from where I stood. He
pulled her hand
up and kissed it. Ouch. He’d rubbed my
hand, and I knew the effect it
was having on her. I
decided against
going over and saying ‘hi’ and ordered to go.
I’d already pushed my luck far enough by walking
in the door. As I
waited for my food, I looked back at the
two of them and checked out the blonde.
I smiled to myself. Well,
well, well.
That
was on Saturday. My
cell phone rang at ten on Monday morning.
Mr. RM.
He asked if I was free for an early dinner the next day;
the usual
warmth in his voice was noticeably absent.
“I
am.” He
asked if I liked Chinese.
“I
love it.” He
said he’d meet me for dinner at Draelion
on Oak Lawn at
five-thirty.
“I'll
be there with bells on.” He
didn’t laugh. My
little stunt on Saturday was obviously
ill-advised. He
said he’d make
reservations and would meet me there.
I
suspect he may have seen someone he knew at Avanti and meeting me there
was
getting a little dangerous. Seeing
him
with ‘her’ on Saturday had made him even more
cautious.
*
I
was about ten
minutes late thanks to the damned traffic.
RM was waiting for me in the foyer when I walked in the
door. His posture
– hands in his pockets – wasn’t
that of a man waiting for a would-be lover.
The first words out of his mouth were that he had to leave
at
seven. Right. He’s leaving at
seven and running home to the
Dallas Blonde. I
can ensure he’s late
for that seven o’clock homecoming, as well as several more in
the future. Ms.
Dallas Blonde has no idea what she’s up
against.
Now
you might wonder
how a woman from Ash Flat, Arkansas,
and raised in the strict Southern Baptist tradition can be so
blasé about
dating a man so obviously in a committed relationship.
First off, I'm used to it; I know what’s
necessary to get ahead, and I’m willing to do it. The good life
doesn’t come cheap. Second,
I had the feeling this man was worth
the risk. Third, RM
was absolutely the
most drop-dead gorgeous, magnetic man I’d ever met in my life. He was extremely
intelligent – always a big
factor for me – and hadn’t yet tried to get me into
bed, and that made him a
challenge. Hopefully,
he’d get past his
guilt and get on with the program in the near future.
I’d be working on lessening his current guilt
as well as giving him a lot more guilt to carry
around later.
The
maitre d’
took us to our table, and we sat.
He
didn’t ask what I wanted to drink, just ordered for both of
us. No wine tonight. He asked for a pot of tea. I still hadn’t
decided if he was Australian
or British, but a pot of tea made sense for either one.
Before I could say that I was glad to see
him, he proceeded to tell me that my behavior on Saturday
wasn’t what he
considered cool, cool being my word, not his.
Okay, Baby, the restraints are off.
I
slipped off one of
my Ferragamos and ran my foot up his leg.
He ignored it completely.
Damn! He’s
going to make me work
for this one. When
we sat, he’d made
sure that my back was to the door, and he sat across from me. After the second lunch at
Avanti, we’d always
sat side-by-side. I
moved my shoe to the
chair beside him, stood, and moved over myself.
My foot went back to his leg.
“I
had no idea you’d
be at that restaurant. Once
I saw you, I
could have come over and introduced myself to your wife or girlfriend,
but I
didn’t. Which
is she, anyway?” He
said that didn’t concern me.
I looked him dead in the eyes when I asked
the next question.
“Why
are you cheating
on her? I saw you
kiss her hand. That’s
the mark of a man who’s afraid he’s just
gotten caught with his pants down.”
He
said we’d done nothing indiscreet.
“Really? What about those kisses in
the corner booth
at Avanti?” By
that time, my foot was
under his pants leg and at his knee.
He
hadn’t made to move my foot away, and I took that as good
sign. He was the
one who’d allowed things to go as
far as they had. If
he’s allowed it to
get this far, once he’s over his huff, he’ll allow
it to go a lot farther. Oh,
yeah.
This man is ripe for the picking.
“I
think you know me well
enough to know that I’d never attempt to jeopardize your
relationship with
her. I
don’t do things like that.”
I was lying through my fucking teeth, but it
wasn’t the first time. He
said that
wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.
I
put on my most sincere look before I answered that one.
“You’ve
already taken
the risk. You need
to understand that
with me, it isn’t a risk.
I’m
looking for companionship. It’s
never
been my intention to make your life difficult.”
Companionship is a wonderful word. It
can have such a variety of meanings.
He unbent a little at that and looked at
me. He asked he be
the one to make any
future contacts. I’m
not sure why he
made that request …he’d been the one making the
contact this far. Well,
I suppose you could say I’d made
a few simply by walking into Avanti on days he was having lunch there,
but a
girl has to eat.
“I
won’t call you at
the office, and I’ll never try and get your home number. And since we’re
already here, why don’t we
have tonight be special?”
He reached
over and picked up my hand and rubbed that big thumb over it. GOTCHA!
I
thought he was about
to spill his guts about why he was with me, but he didn’t. Well, not in so many words. He said that his life was
hectic, and he was
out of town fairly often. Because
of the
demands of his job, he’d probably never be able to commit to
anything more than
a couple of days in advance. He
also
said that because of the nature of his work, he preferred meeting in
locations
he thought he’d be unlikely to encounter a client. I read that as
he’d also really like
not to encounter his business associates and/or any friends of the
wife/girlfriend either. He
said if that
was a problem for me, he understood, and we’d go our separate
ways. I smiled when
I answered.
“I
can live with
that.”
He
walked me to my car
at five minutes of seven and stood there for a minute just holding my
hand. It was plain
as the nose on your
face that if this was going to advance any time in the next century, I
was
going to have to make the first move, so I did.
He’d bought that crap about my wanting
companionship hook, line, and
sinker, and had relaxed. I
really didn’t
have any intention of making his life hell …right now. He hadn’t had
time to think about what I
might have actually meant when I said what I did, and he was at his
most
vulnerable. One
thing I learned as a kid
back in Ash Flat was to strike while the iron was hot.
I
stepped up to that
chest and kissed him on the lips – just a little peck
– and was about to step
back and write it off as a lost cause.
That’s when he stopped me. The
hand holding mine pulled me back in, and his left arm went around my
waist as his
right hand came up to my chin, raising my face back to his. The kiss he planted on me
curled my toenails.
I could feel the
heat start in my gut
and move upward like a flame-thrower.
I
was panting when he let go of me.
He
smiled as he let me go and stepped back and said he’d call me. I got into my car, locked
the door, and just
sat there watching him walk away and get into his own car. As I backed out of the
parking place, I
wondered how long it would take him to call.
*
RM
and I continued
meeting. The
restaurants remained
upscale but got smaller, more out-of-the-way, and more intimate. So did we …get
more intimate, that is. We
sat in tables in secluded corners; we
touched, we whispered, we kissed.
We
talked about our jobs. I
told him about moving
to Dallas. He didn’t tell
me about his background; he
said that in his industry, the less anyone knew about his former life,
the
safer it was for all concerned. He
spoke
briefly of his partners but only to mention their names. I already knew
their last names; they
were on his business card.
One
night as we stood
at my car, he said he was leaving town for a week on business and that
he’d
call when he returned. I
read it as a
kiss-off. This had
been going on for five
weeks, and he’d never suggested we go to my place or a hotel. I knew his firm kept a
corporate apartment in
downtown Dallas,
but he hadn’t suggested we go there either.
He never again mentioned the woman, but she was always
there like a specter
between us. It was
obvious that he was
in love with her; he was just as obviously in lust with me.
He
had someone to go
home to and on whose body he could slake his desire.
I had an empty condo, an empty bed, and a
hand-held shower head with a pulsing massage spray in addition to my
rabbit. Both were
getting a workout.
He
called three times
while he was out of town, so that hadn’t been a kiss-off.
“You
know, when you
get home, you should come to my place and let me cook dinner for you. I’m pretty good
in the kitchen.” He
said he’d enjoy that but didn’t think it
was a good idea. He
called me at ten the
morning after he got back to town and asked if I was free for lunch. He apologized for such
short notice but said
he’d missed me.
“I’ve
missed you,
too. Where do you
want to meet?”
He
told me where. I
said I’d be there at one; that was our usual
time to meet, and he didn’t change it.
He
was in a booth in the back of the place when I walked in, and he stood
to meet
me. Before I could
sit, he pulled me
into his arms and planted one on me.
The
man can kiss better than anyone I’ve ever known. I just wish I knew how
well he could fuck because
if he fucks like he kisses, I’d be on the short road to Paradise.
We were out in an hour because – you guessed
it – he had to get to the office.
I
was driving back to
the office when my cell rang. I
pulled
it from my purse and looked at it …it was RM.
I smiled.
“Hello.” He apologized for late
notice – he was really
good at that – and said ‘she’ had just
called and had a late meeting. ‘She’
wouldn’t be home until midnight,
possibly later. Was
it possible my
dinner invitation might work for tonight?
"I think I can work you into my schedule. How about seven?"
He said that was fine, and I gave him the address and
directions. I called my secretary and told her to cancel
anything on my calendar for the afternoon. When I got off
that call, I called Georgette Klinger's and made arrangements for a
manicure and pedicure, a facial, and to have my hair done. I
turned the car around and headed for the Linen Gallery to pick up a set
of 1200 count Egyptian cotton sheets and matching towels. I'd
also make a stop at my favorite shop and pick up new lingerie, and then
Marty's for wine. The poor man would never know what hit him.
Three hours later I was talking to my hairdresser as he blew dry my
hair.
"Special night?" I grinned.
"You could say that."
"So how do you want it done today?"
"Put it up, but no hair spray. As few hairpins as it takes to
keep it in place through dinner, and when he takes it down, I want it
to tumble
over my shoulders." Ramón laughed.
"Poor bastard won't stand a chance."
"That was my entire intention."
"Well, Honey, if it doesn't work out for you, give me his phone
number."
*
I got the new sheets on the bed and hung the towels in the bathroom.
The flowers in the living room were fine, and the wine was in
the cooler. The Waterford crystal glasses were sitting on the
bar. The Rougie foie gras was on a crystal plate in the
refrigerator. I looked around, and everything was perfect.
Time to get dressed. Well, maybe undressed was a
better term. I headed upstairs to my bedroom and laughed when
I looked at the La Perla lingerie on my bed. Bra and panties
with a darling little robe. As I said, the poor man wouldn't
know what hit him. It was ten minutes to seven, and I
changed, reveling in the feel of the silk on my skin. I went
to the bathroom, pulled loose the requistie tendrils of hair around my
face, and stepped back to admire the effect. We both knew
precisely why he was coming here tonight, and it sure as shit wasn't
for dinner. I'd been pretty subtle until now, but I was
pulling out all the stops tonight.
The doorbell rang
promptly at seven. I
detoured by the
refrigerator and got the pâté, setting it beside
the wine before going to the
door. I opened the
door and could smell
the alcohol on his breath. He
took off
his coat and tossed it on the couch then removed the gun and holster
that was
over his shoulder. He
didn’t say a word;
his hands just went to my hair. His
eyes
bored into mine before his mouth bruised my lips.
I’d given control of my body to him long ago;
he was finally getting around to taking what he wanted.
One
hand came down and
pulled me into his groin, and I could feel him.
Jesus Christ. He
was fucking
huge! He
doesn’t even have to know how
to use that thing …all he needs to do is point it in the
right direction, and
I’d make damn sure that happened.
My
arms went around him; his hands came back up to my hair, sending the
hairpins
flying. My hair
tumbled just the way I’d
hoped it would.
His
hands went from my
hair to the silk of my robe, pawing up and down my back like an animal,
stopping periodically to knead my butt as if he was trying to sculpt me
into
his own personal fantasy. I
could – and
would instantaneously – become whatever he desired. His mouth had been up and
down my neck and
came back to mine as his hands pulled my hips even harder into his. I dug my nails into his
scalp and deepened
the kiss. If I only
have one shot at
this, tonight and everything I do could be the make-or-break point for
my
getting him to dump the Dallas Blonde and make me
Mrs. RM.
His
hands left my butt
and moved all over my body again, but this time it was almost
professional. They
were everywhere. Up
my back, sliding forward and under my arms
and breasts, before moving down the front of my body, and over the part
of my
legs covered by the short robe. I
pulled
back and looked at him.
“What
the hell are you
doing? Checking me
for weapons?”
“Yes.” He grabbed my robe,
crumpling the shoulder.
“Take
this off.”
“Whatever
you
want, Darlin’.”
My voice was rough,
giving him permission to do anything that got his rocks off and would
keep him
coming back to me.
I pulled my
hands away and dropped my arms, letting the silk drift to the floor. I arched my back as the robe
fell, shoving my
boobs in his face. I
pulled one of his
hands to one breast and the other between my legs.
I smiled when his fingers moved the string of
the thong to the side and pushed into me.
His fingers inside me went so far up that I went onto my
tiptoes. They had
gone so far into me that it hurt,
and my instinctive reaction was to move away.
I wasn’t going to let a little momentary pain
stop me, and before I
recovered, I ground down on his fingers.
The
bra, panties, and
robe were soft and seductive; they were the camouflage for the
determined woman
wearing them. The
robe barely had time
to land before the hand on my boob dropped and grabbed my hand,
dragging me across
the room to the stairs and up. I
didn’t
really think he’d actually hurt me, but this was a very
dangerous man, and he was
on the edge. This
was going perfectly
according to my plans.
He
didn’t have to
decide which way to go at the top of the stairs because my condo is a
loft. He shoved me
toward the bed, and I stumbled,
catching myself as his hands went to his tie.
He loosened the knot and pulled the tie off; it flew
across the
room. I walked back
to him and started
on the buttons of his shirt. His
right
hand came up and grabbed the front of my bra and ripped it away. The gossamer silk
shredded, and the $390 bra
was history. If
I’d known he wanted it
rough, I could have worn something more appropriate, but that little
scrap of
silk had been a good investment while it lasted.
He unbuttoned the last two buttons of his
shirt and shrugged it off. I
shimmied into
his arms, starting low and moving up until I pressed my naked breasts
into that
chest. I moved my
hands between us and
started on his belt. His
fingers were
back inside me when I got his belt undone and reached inside his
slacks,
grabbing that rock-hard cock.
He
sucked in air like
a drowning man and fucking froze.
It was
like I’d thrown a bucket of ice water on him except for his
dick. His hands
grabbed mine, and he looked at
me. He shook his
head as if to clear it
and said one word.
“No.”
I
stood there
speechless and watched as he picked up his shirt and tie and walked out
my
bedroom door and down the stairs.
I
heard the front door close and knew I’d lost my chance.
*
I
couldn’t bring
myself to look for him any place other than Avanti because things
started going
south after we quit meeting there.
I
went there at least twice a week, and finally asked Bobby if RM had
stopped
coming there for lunch. He
said he
hadn’t seen him since the last time we were there together. After that day, I stopped
going there. I
thought I saw his car on the freeway one
day, but whoever it was sped up, and I couldn’t be sure it
was him.
I
was sitting in a
scummy little bar in Manhattan. I’d had one too
many and was spilling my guts
to the bartender. I
had a meeting yesterday
at headquarters in New Jersey
and was spending
the night in New
York
before going home. The
bartender mopped
up the sweat from the glasses and looked at me as I finished the tale.
“So,
that’s my
story. Guess you
hear a lot of them,
don’t you?” He
nodded. “You
know, I’m not sorry for what I did.
I just wish it had worked out differently.”
*
He
drove home
slowly. By the time
he walked into the
house, he was as at peace with it as he’d ever be. His behaviour had been
reprehensible, but
he’d stopped short before taking that final step across the
line. He would
never tell her because he wouldn’t
hurt her that way; he’d toss it away like he had so many
other things in his
life. It would
never happen again.
NOTES
| The
Hogs |
The
University
of Arkansas
Razorbacks. Their
football team is regularly in the top
ten of the Southeastern Conference, no small feat for any school. |
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