had to be a fool for not seeing what was transpiring before her very eyes.
So, Miles took the bull by the horns and took advantage—not the way he had planned it—but sometimes you have to take hold of the situation and seize the moment. And that’s exactly what he did.
He doesn’t regret a thing.
Olivia stirs. She turns on her back, and then sighs heavily before turning to face him, breathe in his face, inches from his own. Still out. Arm draped over his shoulder before dropping to her side. Miles places one hand on hers, caressing the flesh, feathering the curve to her digits as he masturbates with his other. Slowly, methodically, he draws her hand closer.
Inching nearer to his engorged state.
Miles finally places her hand on top of him. Wraps her fingers around his girth.
Tugging at his hardening member with her slender fingers.
Miles is grinning now as he lifts the silken fabric. Finding the space between his wife’s legs, he rubs her with the palm of his hand.
Olivia emits a slight moan, then parts her legs wider.
Miles considers his two lovers: Olivia and Ryan…Ryan and Olivia.
His wife is stirring, eyes fluttering before coming awake, feeling her hand on her husband’s sex.
Miles is thinking, I took Ryan that night and made him mine…just like I’m going to do to you tonight, my love.
Olivia is thinking, My husband is insatiable, but I can feel his cravings tonight, and this is something I can handle.
She smiles in the near darkness and spreads her thighs wider.
One more time…
Chapter 11
The harshness of sudden light makes his head throb. Like a siren in the dead of night, it is piercing, painful. Ryan, head down, glances up quickly. And just the act of doing so makes him dizzy. The bar is vacant. The bartender, Reese, is cleaning up behind him. She is scooping up half-empty beer bottles, placing them on a drab gray tray. A cup of coffee is positioned in front of him. Gingerly, he reaches out for the handle, puts the mug to his lips, and takes a sip. Lukewarm. He grimaces as Reese walks behind him, her hand on his shoulder as she leans in.
“You straight?”
Ryan nods imperceptibly, and then considers the absurdity of the question, considering his present circumstances.
Am I? Am I straight???
“Closing time, man, you gotta get going,” she says softly. “Coffee for the road?”
Ryan turns his head to stare at her. She is standing there, hand on hip, lower lip being mashed by her teeth. He watches her silently, nods. Reese moves behind the bar, removes the coffee mug, and replaces it with a fresh one. “Don’t have any Styrofoam cups here, so this’ll have to do. You can return it next time you’re in the neighborhood. Deal?”
She is only a few yards away, smiling, and Ryan, for the first time since his terrible ordeal, smiles back. He gazes upon her, notes a certain attraction. She is not at all like his wife, who is tall and thin, light skinned, auburn-colored hair that is normally worn flat-ironed and pressed. This woman is the opposite. Reese is shorter, more filled out, but with sensuous curves, a healthy ass, and large breasts. Her look, though, is what Ryan is drinking in now. The way she broods over him silently; the steel in her brow, nose, and tongue erotic, the afro puffs retro—and yet, it all works for her. And works well. The whole package says: sexy, neo soul. For the first time since he ran screaming from Miles’ car, he feels momentary peace.
Eye of the hurricane…
“You okay?” she inquires.
“Yeah, I’m gonna live,” Ryan responds.
“Good, ’cause I was worried about you. You’ve got this…this lost look to you. Like you just lost your best friend.”
Ryan considers her words. In a way, that’s exactly what happened.
“I’ll be alright. Thanks for the hospitality and the drinks.”
“It’s what I do,” Reese answers. She thinks to herself, There is something about this guy that I like…something intriguing.
Ryan rises from the bar, falters, and reaches out for support. Reese is there with a strong hand.
“Whoa—you need to take it slow. Listen, you’re in no condition to drive, so let me call you a cab.”
“Naw, I’m fine,” Ryan says, sucking in a quick breath before standing on his own. He reaches for his wallet and fumbles around inside before pulling out two twenties. “Keep the change,” he mumbles, palming them to the bar.
“You are too kind.” Reese grabs the bills and places them in the register. “I’m serious, man, you can’t drive. I’d take your keys right now, but then you’d have to wait until tomorrow evening to get them back. So, I’m gonna let you go—but only if you promise not to get behind the wheel.”
Ryan is waving her away as he takes several steps from the bar. It is obvious he has consumed too much liquor. His gait is that of an elderly man or someone with a knee injury. Reese comes from behind to join him, leading him to the door and up the stairs to the street. The going is slow. He needs to hold onto the railing for support. His other hand wraps itself around her waist. The air hits him in the face when they reach the street—a stark contrast to the warmth below. He pulls the halves of his jacket closer around him as he shivers involuntarily.
Reese leads him to the curb and says, “Here you go. You can catch a taxi. Shouldn’t be but a few moments before one arrives.”
Ryan glances around. He recognizes the street, but has no recollection of getting here. Automobiles line the road on both sides. Yet he doesn’t see his.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, arms still looped inside his.
“Can’t find my car,” he slurs.
“Told you, no driving. Want me to take your keys?”
She is leaning close to him. Even after a long night of tending bar and slinging beers, she still has a womanly scent. Ryan closes his eyes to lose himself in her scents.
“Not gonna drive,” he responds, his eyes locking with hers. “Just wanna know where I parked, that’s all.”
Reese grins. “Worry about it when you’ve sobered up. Listen, I gotta go—gotta get back inside to close up. It’s been real.”
Ryan attempts a smile. “Yeah, it has.”
She takes a half step away from him; Ryan wobbles; Reese stops.
“You sure you gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says softly, waiting for her to disappear, “as soon as I locate my ride.”
The dash reads 2:15 A.M. Reese
