of pleasure?” She stares at him, yet he looks away. “Ryan, is it really worth it?”
She barrels forward, finding the strength—the energy to go on, regardless of the effect it has on him.
“Three, we work together. We’re on the same team. You and I built this company together. I love what I do, and I know you do, too. Don’t want to do anything else; don’t want to work anywhere else. I know you feel the same.”
She spreads her hands wide, palms upturned. “So you see, Ryan, what happened that night was a mistake. All of it a serious error—I realize that now. I was being selfish—enjoying the attention, the stares, and the energy you threw my way.”
Olivia smiles weakly.
He has been sitting patiently, rubbing his palms together. He stands now, goes to the window, and parts the curtain to glance down at the street life below. He turns toward her to speak, his voice a whisper.
“You said I was beautiful.” Mustering up the strength to continue, he barrels forward. “I know things aren’t simple. I wish to God they were. I wish there weren’t these obstacles in our way. I wish we could just finish what we started. I’m not disagreeing with what you’ve said, nor am I implying that your reaction doesn’t make any sense—’cause it does. But affairs of the heart never make sense. They defy logic, Olivia.
“I know what I feel—what I felt that night, when you took me in your sweet mouth. I know what you felt, too—know it as sure as I’m standing here.”
Her expression has changed. It has suddenly soured and forces him to pause. She is staring at him as if he is not of this world. Instinctively, he waits.
“What are you talking about?”
“Kind of late in the game for coyness. You know what we shared.”
He moves forward, a wave of elation surging through him as he remembers the sweet details of their last encounter.
Reaching the foot of the bed, he climbs on. Olivia retreats to the headboard, back pressed into the veneer wood, hearing it groan.
“I think you should leave,” she says with sudden finality.
He strokes the lump where her thigh is positioned under the cover. She recoils like a caged animal.
“Stop it. This isn’t going to happen. Not tonight. Not again.”
He pauses, hand in mid-stretch. His gaze is galvanized with hers; her locs seem to tremble along with the rest of her body. In that moment, he feels extreme pity…and intense pain.
“Do you deny how you felt? How good it felt when we were together?”
Silence.
He reaches for her again. She lets his hand rest on the comforter. His lips are upturned.
“You said I was beautiful….”
Her head thrashes, but in slow motion. She opens her mouth to speak, and is interrupted by the high-pitched scream of the smoke alarm.
Hands immediately rise to their ears; both are shaken by the intensity.
It is close to 1:30 A.M., and the fucking fire alarm is wailing.
Unbelievable!
The next thirty minutes pass in rapid-fire succession—into the hallway, down countless flights of stairs, out into the pouring rain, away from the hotel complex that has been maddeningly roped off by the NYFD. Sirens, fire engines, police vehicles, hoses, hotel staff, and guests are everywhere. The guests scatter; already clogged streets become choked to near bursting with equipment and panicky, half-dressed out-of-towners. By the time he leads Olivia hesitantly to an all-night diner four blocks away, Miles’ shirt is soaked to the bone. Her nipples shine like beacons. Either she hasn’t noticed or no longer cares. She is freezing, dead tired, and drained of all emotion. At 2:18 A.M., they have only each other for comfort.
That thought alone is sobering.
They sit across from each other now, Olivia and Ryan, in a cramped, dingy booth, sipping lukewarm coffee. The silence and wobbly table are the only things separating them, as she tries unsuccessfully to forget this night, this man, this situation.
She is thinking, How on earth did things get to this point?
Chapter 4
He enters her slowly, feeling her expand as he fills her up. He groans in response to her grabbing his ass and pulling him inside of her. He glances down; Carly’s caramel skin is aglow with the sheen that accompanies lovemaking. Her body writhes underneath his frenzied thrusts. Her small breasts, with dark erect nipples, beckon him near. Her pubic hair is trimmed neat, and he loves to watch himself thrust in and out of the sweet spot between her legs.
At this moment, he is thinking of her.
He is savoring the moment of being inside his wife. Yet, he ponders her…Olivia’s legs, thighs, navel, breasts, neck, ass, and beautiful face.
He longs to drink her in, consume her in one bite, so he can carry her around inside of him wherever he goes. Since this is not possible, he dreams of her instead. Constantly. At work, during the commute home, while having supper, afterwards as he and his wife sit on the couch watching television, and even while they are having sex.
Now as he thrusts deep inside of his wife, he imagines he is making love to her. He thrusts harder, giving it to her the way he supposes Olivia would want it…deep, hard, and long. Carly’s eyes are glazed as he pummels her, mouth open, tongue poised at her lips, but no words emerge. She is not one to talk during sex—not even a whimper or a moan. She only makes faces, ushering him onward with a gesture here and there. She’s not shy—not afraid to take his dick in her hand and put it where she desires.
But she doesn’t moan.
And this is okay with him. It never even crossed his mind. Until the one evening when Miles and Olivia stayed over…
The rain pounded the roof with a vigor that frightened even him. He was huddled on the couch with Carly, while Miles and Olivia sat cozily across from them on the love seat. With the electricity out and half the city in the dark from the storm, their faces were bathed only by candlelight. It had been pouring for hours—started just as they arrived. They were supposed to be going out for dinner and a movie—and now had no choice but to change plans, deciding instead to dine in. Then, the power went out. They listened to the reports on a portable radio about the roads becoming flooded.
Ryan told them to stay over in the guest bedroom. No way were they going to attempt to drive anywhere in that deluge.
Later on that night, after exhausting the supply of chardonnay, merlot, and margarita mix, they retired to their separate rooms. Carly, as usual, drank a bit too much and had to be put to bed. So, Ryan lay beside her, stroking her smooth belly with one hand, tugging on himself with the other. In the next room, Miles made love to his wife. It was clear they tried to keep the noise down, but Ryan had no trouble discerning Olivia’s moans through the thin wall.
Ooooooooh.
Ahhhhhhh.
He imagined Miles
