Live up North and there are snow tires and sand trucks to keep the interstate clear. A few inches is no problem at all. Down South however, it is a full-fledged disaster, for there are no snowplows. And the frozen stuff quickly turns to ice. And ice is several orders worse.
It was still drivable for Diane and I as we picked our way home from our business trip. We stared at the white curtain past the wipers as the Range Rover ground its way up the freeway. The snow was fun at first, with my employee swooning at its beauty. An hour later, and the novelty had melted away. Another hour and we passed yet another car that had skid off that shoulder, a Jeep of all things. I slowed long enough on the deserted highway to look.
"You see anyone in there?" Diane craned an elegant neck towards the window, then rolled it down a few inches to see better.
"No. Hope they're okay." With that, she rolled the window back up. "Glad you brought the Range Rover, by the way."
"Yeah, me too." I patted the dashboard, thankful for the four-wheel drive and the heated seats. Before our three-day client visit on the Gulf, Carla wanted the BMW, something about showing houses to new clients, some out-of-towners. It was warm when we left town. But, a few days later, the winter storm caught almost everyone by surprise. Carla called that morning, worried about the forecast, and we wrapped the client planning session as quickly as possible. But now, a good two hundred miles from home, it was obvious we left too late in the day. Diane looked back over her shoulder at the abandoned Jeep, and noted its fresh skid marks.
"Whoever was in that car might have gone to the exit up here. Keep an eye out. If they're still walking, maybe we can give them a lift." She laughed. "Don't expect me to walk in these heels." She lifted her foot to make a point, a welcome flash of leg. A woman of thirty-three in good shape is a wonder of nature. Not that I'd ever tried anything with her. Or for any other woman during my marriage for that matter. But a man can look.
The exit was a mile away, but the McDonald's sign could be seen dimly through the snow shower. Creeping along, it would take several minutes to arrive. Home? Much longer. It was already six, getting dark, and would only get worse. We passed a billboard and I had an idea. But Diane beat me to it.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Five years working together meant she could read my thoughts. I was no longer surprised when it happened.
"I'm thinking, yeah, this might be our best bet. Want to call Mark?"
"No. He's in Chicago at some church conference. Mom has Nathan. I'll call her instead." As she made arrangements, we neared to the exit. I decided to not call Carla until we were settled. Otherwise, she would just fret if I were still on the road. In fact, she had already called twice in a panic over the past hour, but my wife could wait. I wasn't going to drive and talk in these conditions. My shoulders were already sore from the tension. No need to add more.
"Hope you like the Hampton Inn." Diane shrugged as she dug through her purse for a Kleenex.
"Sounds perfect. Might want to hit that McDonalds first. Don't know when we'll eat again." Twenty minutes and two Quarter Pounders later, we pulled into a full hotel parking lot. I sighed, knowing the odds were against a room, giving it the potential of a long night.
"Doesn't look good. Wait here." With that I unbuckled and opened my door, shutting it quickly behind me. The cold was a rude shock, given how warm it had been in Destin when we left.
The lobby was packed with travelers, fidgeting, tapping messages into their phones, or quieting whining children. Overhearing the desk clerk, the hotel was making arrangements for guests to sleep in the hallways, the conference rooms, wherever. Not for me.
"That was fast."
"No room at the inn." Diane just shrugged. Always a step or two ahead. She was already calling other options.
"The Holiday Inn and Ramada are full, too. I already checked."
"Shit." She flinched a little at that. A good Baptist girl, a preacher's wife, she never got completely used to my language.
"Cussing doesn't help. Let me try one more place." She dialed another number as I pulled into an Exxon. If I were going to get through the night, I needed gas and beer, not necessarily in that order. Returning a few minutes later, I was greeted with a grin. A triumphant one.
"Who do you love?"
"You got a room."
"Two rooms."
"Where?"
"A bed and breakfast. Turn right, one mile on the left. According to her, you can't miss it."
"That's it. You're getting a raise."
Well, not quite. The sweet older lady who owned the Victorian housed greeted us with regret as we struggled in with our suitcases.
"I bet you're the woman who just called."
"Yes. Diane Kelley."
"Well. I have bad news."
"Oh, no."
"I didn't realize that my husband had already given up one of the two last rooms. He never writes anything down." I stepped in.
"Do you have a sofa in the room?"
"Well, yes."
"We'll still take it." Diane looked at me, back at the owner, and nodded. I merely shrugged. It was likely the last vacant hotel room in this part of Alabama. My Visa was swiped, the room keys handed over the counter.
"Breakfast is served at 8 am." The owner had an official air. "Fireplace and TV are in there. Extra blankets and towels if you need them. Hopefully the roads will be clear tomorrow. But I can't make promises."
We carried our suitcases up the stairs. The room was decorated in early American country. Frilly lampshades. A picture of Jesus on the wall. Wallpaper that didn't match anything. In truth, it was the box where they keep the bed.
"It's not bad. A little cozy. But, um, that sofa." Diane laughed at her own joke. It was a loveseat, a sofa in the technical sense of the word. But I am six foot three. "Is that a pullout?"
I lifted a cushion to check.
"Nope. I'm not going to fit." A phone call to the desk. No foldaways. We both looked at the Queen-sized bed.
"You'll have to behave."
"Duh. But what do we tell Mark and Carla?" She absently flipped the controls to the TV. No reception. At least I brought a book to read.
"That the sofa was longer, of course. This room is a little cozy. I think there's a TV down in the main room. What's in the bag, by the way?"
"Beer." She wrinkled her nose as I offered a bottle. "Good beer." With that, she opened the door and I followed her out into the hallway.
"I don't drink, you know that. Of course, after the day we've had, I might make an exception."
The fire was perfect. The satellite reception was not. So I read while Diane pawed through some magazines and looked around the room at the fox hunting prints on the wall. Other patrons breezed in and out, made polite conversations about the weather, and left. I gently eased my beer onto the side table.
"Did you call Carla?"
"Oh, shit. I forgot."
"You cussed again. Another quarter in the jar when we get back. "
"Damn right." Carla picked up on the first ring, annoyed that I hadn't called earlier. She and the kids had a fire going. Chili was on the stove. Friends were dropping by. I could hear loud conversations in the background. Jack, our neighbor's raucous laugh burst from somewhere nearby. A snowstorm in the South is an occasion for a party, a moveable feast as long as the power holds out.
"So where are you staying?"
"A bed and breakfast." I started to mention that Diane and I were sharing a room, but thought better of it.
"Well, that's nice. By the looks of the weather report, you might have to stay there for more than one night." A pause, then Carla trying to sound casual. "So where's Diane staying?"
"In her room." With that, Diane shot a knowing look and waved an index finger at me. Naughty, naughty.
"Okay. Well, drive safely. We'll see you tomorrow. Maybe."
"Depends on how clear the road is. Love you." A burst of laughter on the other end. Jack telling a funny story in our kitchen. Or Vance next door. Whoever it was, they were likely wearing plaid pants. I never cared for our neighbors very much, the husbands of my wife's friends.
"Love you too." With that, I hung up while Diane chuckled.
"You are such a liar."
"You know. I'd just rather not have to explain anything. Not that I'd ever do anything with you."
"Well, thanks a lot."
"What?"
"Not that I'd wouldn't turn you down cold, but I'd like to think I still got it." With that, she swept back her long, coppery hair and smirked. The firelight danced in her green eyes.
"Oh, you've still got it."
"Well, thank God. I've still got it. Still. Like I won't have it much longer. First rule of holes. When you're in one, stop digging."
"Fine. You're totally hot." With that, she looked around. No one else in the room. The thought occurred to me. She's checking for spies. She flashed a brilliant smile.
"You think?"
"Oh, yeah."
"How many beers you got in there?" I stared down into the bag.
"Four left."
"Hand me one."
"I thought you didn't drink."
"I told you I might make an exception. It's been a long week." I opened the bottle and watched her tilt her head back for a long swallow, admittedly transfixed by her. The first time I met her, I thought she was beautiful, and my opinion had never changed. I was tired, and the alcohol was having its effect.
The conversation continued over the next hour as we slowly talked away the stress of the week. Occasionally, the owner or her husband would quietly enter, put another log on the fire, and depart. We talked about the job, our lives before meeting, and our lives since. Mostly familiar, for we had become good friends over time. She reached into my bag for her second beer.
"Wow. Breaking rules by the minute."
"Well, I could hold my own before I got married. Then my husband turned uptight."
"Oh, sorry."
"No, it's fine. That's what I get for marrying a minister. Life in the fishbowl. You look surprised."
"Well, you spend a lot of time disapproving of my swearing." At that, she slapped my forearm and giggled.
"Well, that doesn't mean anything. I have to put you in your place. Anyway, what about you and Carla. Did you give up anything when you got married?"
"Nope. Not really."
"Not really." Spoken skeptically.
"Well, okay. I used to sow my wild oats."
"Do tell." I arched an eyebrow at Diana. "Don't worry. This won't come up in staff meeting. I've worked for you how long?"
"Five years."
"I haven't thrown you under the bus yet. You're my work husband, after all." I laughed at that.
"What?"
"You know. A guy on the job you're really friendly with."
"Huh. I guess I'm your work husband."
"And I'm your work wife." She took another swig of her beer. "Okay. Another question. Might as well ask."
"Shoot."
"You might not like this one."
"I can take it."
"Did you know that there's gossip about us?" I thought about it.
"No. But I'm not surprised. I can guess what it is." Diane and I traveled together on business and often lunched together.
"Well, Sue in bookkeeping asked outright last month if we were fooling around. She was looking over the travel receipts for the trip to Charlotte. She acted as if it were some kind of joke, but I could tell she wasn't joking at all."
"What you say?"
"I couldn't stop laughing."
"Wow. Now it's my turn to get my feelings hurt."
"Whoa. I didn't say you weren't really good looking. And desirable." With that, another swig of her beer. "It's just that...well, the question kind of took me by surprise."
"Okay. I'll let you off the hook this once."
"But, hey. If I were going to have an affair, you'd be it." That was completely unexpected. I'll admit to having a daydream or two about my unattainable, sweet little Baptist colleague, what with her winsome smile and magnificent bustline. In the break room, in staff meetings, and when she leaned over my desk to show me some numbers, her blouse opening a bit more than she intended, revealing a glimpse of lace and something ample and yielding underneath.
"Wow."
"What?"
"Well, if I were going to have an affair, you'd be it, too." That met with a smirk from Diane.
"Then I guess we really need to behave then tonight. You might need that sofa after all. Okay. I'm beat. Let's head up."
As we crossed the lobby, there was a sharp report in the distance. The lights flickered, then the room was only lit by the fireplace.
"Transformer." Diane nodded in agreement.
A moment later, the owner came out to investigate. Seeing us there, she returned with a flashlight, apologizing that she only had one to spare, and saying goodnight as we headed for the stairs.
"This is creepy," Diane offered as I led the way. "Haunted mansion stuff." Then she stumbled on a step. "Ouch."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. Just can't see."
"Then hold my hand. Immediately, hers found mine. It was warm and supple. Her grip was gentle but firm. And when we reached the top of the stairs, she didn't let go.
Inside the room, I opened my suitcase while she opened hers.
"You change in the bathroom, while I change in here."
"Dave, I can't see."
"You take the flashlight then. I've already brushed my teeth. I can change in the dark." The flannel pajama bottoms came on. My undershirt remained. From behind me, the door opened a fraction.
"No peeking."
"Okay."
"I'm serious."
"I'm a man of my word." I stared out the window, squinting at the swirl of flakes silhouetted against the lights of a distant Wal-Mart. Behind me, the rustle of covers, then an apology.
"Sorry. I just didn't expect you'd see me in my nightie. Well, it's a big t-shirt. And grab an extra blanket. Look in the closet." I looked. There was one. A thin, insufficient one that I spread over the bed. Our bed. I eased under the covers.
"Stay on your side."
"Okay." We were both exhausted. Sleep came easily.
Another transformer blew, this time further away, a bluish white flash in the distance. But it was enough to wake me. Carla shifted a little in my arms, pushing more deeply into me before letting out a deep sigh. She stretched out beside me, pushing her ass into my now stony erection. Almost by reflex, I ran my palm along her abdomen, admiring the tone of her skin and how her trips to the gym were beginning to pay off. Her long t-shirt was soft to my touch as I slowly gathered it, pulling the hem upwards until I felt the warmth and smoothness of her skin. She snuggled more deeply into my arousal while I breathed in the aroma of her hair. Almost automatically, my hand slowly slid up Carla's ribs.
Except, I slowly realized, this was not my bedroom. And this was not Carla.
My eyes shot open and I slowly raised my head from the pillow to scan the unfamiliar room. My right arm was still draped around Diane's midsection. And my hard-on was pressed into the cleft of my employee's ass. As I lay in the darkness, wondering what to do next, I slowly extricated my arm from around her.
"Put it back. I'm cold," came the murmur from beside me in the dark, not quite wide awake, but still alert.
I obeyed, my hand resting softly on her once again. Diane exhaled and held put her hand over mine. Before realizing my mistake, I had pulled her up almost to the bottom of her breasts. In the darkness, we lay there together, listening to the wind and the sound our breathing, a new oneness, surprisingly natural. The eternity that passed between us, hearts beating, minds feverishly working making a lie of the silence. Until Diane spoke.
"No one can know, right?"
"Are you kidding? That would be a disaster."
"Good. Just wanted to make sure." With that, Diane pulled the t-shirt over her head. As she did, I moved my hand up and down her side, testing the boundaries. I felt the bikini thong, and pulled it down her hips. She lifted them to help me, then turned to me. Now it was her hands on me, the splay of fingertips on my chest.
"No fair."
"What?"
"You're dressed, and I am not." The kiss was soft and warm, tender and knowing. Something new and comfortingly familiar at the same time. Sweet and innocent, despite the circumstances. It was a cautious exploration at first, the opening of mouths, the entwining of touches. Then came the white-hot explosion of senses, two souls fusing. A moan of pleasure, the thrum of adrenaline. The thrill of finally satisfying long-held desire.
"You kiss beautifully. I've always wondered." She said it in short exhales, as if between gasps, while lifting my shirt. Up it went, until I sat up in bed and pulled it over my shoulders. Now it was her turn to touch me, only she traced my abdomen with her fingernails.
"No marks."
"Whoops. Sorry." Off the shirt was flung in the darkness and chill of the room.
"Oh. It's cold. Brrr. Get back under the blankets." Laying back down, I felt a hand trace the waistband of my pajamas until it found the drawstring. A tug at first, then an insistent yank. A loosening of my pants, a hand plunging in. A sharp intake of breath, my own.
"Your hand is cold," I said to the ceiling, feeling more kisses along my neck and alive to the gentle pressure on my cock.
"You're warming it up. Do you mind?"
"No. Don't stop."
We were both naked now under the covers, careful to not let the blanket slip. Soft, trusting kisses, unhurried. Her thighs opened, welcoming my touch. She trembled when I touched her sex, burying her head deep into the pillow, arching her breasts upwards to meet my mouth.
"Oh, God. Oh, shit." I laughed at that. "What's so funny?"
"You cussed."
"First for everything. Don't stop now. Okay, wait. Hang on." I stopped. Was this it? Would we come to our senses? "I'm not using any protection. Mark wants another."
"Oh."
"'Oh' is right." A pause. "Can you be careful?"
"I have before."
"What? Cheat?"
"No. This is the first."
"Good, I would be disappointed in you otherwise." Another kiss. Deep and slow, her nursing my erection with her free hand. Another minute. "I'm ready to be made a dishonest woman." I was surprised by her insistence as she pulled me on her. I shifted my hips. I felt her entrance.
"Ready?"
"Go. Before I lose my nerve." Some resistance, then release as I eased deeply into her. It was official, then. Diane, my employee. My friend. Now something more. As I moved with in her, she stretched her arms behind me, tracing my back and wrapping around my buttocks, pulling me deeper into her, more deeply, as I began my strokes.
"Oh, fuck. Fuck. That's so good. Fuck me harder." My cock swelled further, if possible, to the sound of my sweet Baptist goody two-shoes employee, swearing like a stevedore on the Brooklyn docks. There was no more speaking for a while. Only the grunt of pleasure, the sound of moist kisses, the wetness of our thrusts. The cold was forgotten. The blanket had slipped down my back as I raised up above her, it forgotten and unneeded.
"Harder. Oh, God. God forgive me. Harder, harder." Faster and harder, I thrust on, the entire world reduced to our mouths seeking each other out in the darkness, the tightness of her, the warmth of both of us. Her legs curled around mine, hips angling upward to better meet mine.
"Oh, fuck, that feels so good. Holy shit. Don't stop." As my pumping continued, as I fulfilled her need, Diane's head thrashed from side to side, her long hair whipping in the air. Her fingers dug into my ass, urging me on. Faster, harder. Faster, harder. Until I felt the familiar tingle in me, the sign that release was close.
"Diane," I gasped, never breaking stride.
"What? What?" She replied between kisses.
"I'm getting close."
"Oh. God. Don't stop. I'm so close." The thrusting continued. Sweat dripped from my forehead. Our bodies were locked in fierce, defiant coupling. It was coming. I could feel it in my balls.
"Diane..."
"Just cum, dammit. I don't care. Fuck..." With her permission, I couldn't hang on one more moment. Her heels digging into the back of my thighs were more than an invitation. They were a demand. In the moment of completion, I stretched my neck upwards, a silent, triumphant celebration of the moment. The strain of pleasure, the stretching of the moment for as long as possible. Finally, the exhausted collapse onto her, the soft pillowy comfort of her breasts and the beating of her satisfied heart. And, finally, a mutual realization. Diane spoke first.
"We've been really, really bad."
There were no confidences shared after the act, just a soft kiss followed by a deep and dreamless sleep. Except this time, Diane didn't sleep with her back to me, and there were no pajamas.
The cold woke me. That and sensation of Diane tasting me in the gray light of dawn. We made love again, less urgently now. More a steady rhythm, her on top, a savoring of the moment. As we finished. I heard the beep of the alarm clock, the deep rumblings of a furnace somewhere in the inn spurred to life. I considered mentioning the fact, but she was lost in the act, the blanket discard along with our inhibitions. Finally, a shudder deep within us. A guttural exhale, and it was now her turn to collapse into me. Lying there, we both knew our night was over. We were now back in the realm of light.
Breakfast was served at eight. The inn owner, Clara, bustled about, apologizing for the delay due to the power outage. Her husband fiddled with the satellite dish and cursed, not realizing how much I detest morning television. No, don't worry about. Really. I'm fine without the news. It's okay. Diane looked on with mild amusement.
It was the first emotion I had seen from her that morning. Earlier, she had risen from bed, slipped on her t-shirt, gathered some clothes from her suitcase and shut the bathroom door, as if modesty had been restored between us. I heard the shower run as she washed away the sins of the night before. I took my turn as she dried her hair in the mirror. She simply nodded when I suggested going down for breakfast. But now, she smiled, if only slightly.
"Damned satellite. I shouldn't've switched from cable. Don't know how we'll watch Fox News." The other guests mostly ignored the old man, exchanging comments about the weather and how they made it through the storm. "So how did you sleep last night?" the inn owner chirped.
"Like a log," Diane piped up.
"You must have a clear conscience." To that, she merely laughed.
The roads were mostly clear. We packed and zipped up our suitcases. I carried them both downstairs to the desk.
"Same card?" asked the hotel owner.
"Yes. Wait, hold on." I looked at Diane. She cocked her head, raised her eyebrows. "Can you bill me for two rooms?"
"What?" He looked at me, then Diane, as the truth slowly dawned on him.
"Sure. No problem. We're flexible."
Steam from the McDonalds coffee rose in the sunlight as I drove up the interstate. Not fast, maybe sixty miles an hour, for there were patches of ice on the freeway, not to mention plenty of cautious drivers. We drove in silence for a good fifteen minutes until Diane cleared her throat.
"Okay. We have some things to talk about."
"Yeah. I was just giving you some space."
"Thanks. You're a gentleman that way. How do you feel about what happened?"
"Um...I don't really regret it."
"You don't feel guilty?"
"Weirdly no. Let's wait until I get home to be sure."
"Me too. Huh. Is this an affair?"
"I've never thought of having one."
"Never. I've daydreamed."
"Me too. I'm just going to admit it. I've daydreamed about you."
"Yeah. Me too."
"So what are we going to do about this?" I stalled, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
"Well, one thing's for sure. We can't unburden guilty consciences to our spouses."
"Fuck no."
"You cussed again."
"God. Look what you've done to me." She opened a tin of Altoids and plucked out a mint. "Look. Um. I think we've always had this chemistry, wouldn't you agree?"
"Definitely."
"But we've never done anything about it."
"Right?"
"I think this should be a one-time thing. Okay?" I didn't reply. "Okay?"
"You're right."
"I know I'm right. Me. The wife of a Baptist minister. Okay, youth minister. But still."
"Yeah. So what about..."
"What about what."
"You know...the..."
"Oh...The protection? God, I don't know. Hope for the best. It wasn't a good time. Mark wanted another kid. I didn't really. He just um..."
"What?"
"...Just a feeling." A long pause. "Having another baby wouldn't make it better for us. I shouldn't have said that."
"I think we're way past secrets like that by now. I kind of knew you were struggling. Nothing you said."
"You're right. Guess I'll pray on this. But what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You and Carla."
"Oy. It's a good marriage. I never dreamed I'd do what we did last night."
"I don't want to be a homewrecker."
"Yeah. So we'll just not do anything about it. Okay?"
"Okay."
I arrived home. Carla was ready with fire, wine, and a peck on the cheek. Jack and Nell were on the sofa, him telling some long-winded story about a fishing trip on the Gulf. Meanwhile, there was a lack of interest in my own adventure in the snow. I was too tired to listen. So I pattied out hamburgers in the kitchen, knowing our guests wouldn't take the hint and go home any time soon.
At work that Monday, we picked up where things were before that night. Except the occasional 'shit' in the course of conversation. And one button undone more than necessary. Across the table at staff meeting, I caught her looking at me. I glanced back, and we smiled.
She would not smile two weeks later. I was editing a report when Diane walked into my office the first thing on Monday morning, closing the door behind her. I looked up. She was a wreck.
"Mark's been fired." I slowly capped my pen, put it down on the desk.
"What?"
"You heard me. He's been fired."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Just wait. It gets worse."
"What?"
"'Inappropriate conduct.' Like with one of his counselors. He moved in with his parents this weekend."
"Oh, God. So sorry."
"Well, I had a feeling. I hadn't really mentioned it before. I think that's why I...why I needed that night. Feel guilty yet?"
"Hasn't sunk in."
"Good. Cause I have some other news."
"Uh oh." I already knew.
"I'm going to be needing maternity leave sometime in October."
"Is it official?"
"No. But I took the test."
I sighed.
"Wow."
"Yeah."
Long moments passed. Outside, I could hear the bustle of the office. Phones ringing. Conversations in the hallway. People oblivious to the catastrophe unfolding on our side of the door. She sat patiently. I knew what she was thinking. This certainly wasn't just her problem. Finally, she spoke up.
"Don't worry."
"What?"
"I'm not going to tell anyone."
"I'm still processing here."
"I know you are. But you need to know that. The last thing I want anyone to know is that I'm carrying your child. You look enough like Mark."
"You're being awfully detached about this."
"Yeah, I know. Maybe it just hasn't hit me yet. But I do know one thing. I don't want to be known as the woman who got knocked up by the boss."
"Well, first thing's first. I guess you're getting a raise."
"I'd appreciate that."
"Overdue. And that has nothing to do with this."
"Right."
"Well, a little."
Breathe. Not quickly. Slowly. Don't panic. Keep your wits about you. Yeah, right.
Twenty minutes after Diane left my office, I finally gave up reading the same paragraph over and over again. The words simply did not register, for the conversation I just had with Diane pushed everything else from my head.
One night. That was it. My life completely screwed up. I always did all the right things. Good grades. Eagle scout. Worked hard. Grew a business. Rotary Club. Country club. Frequent mentions in the business press. Paid my bills. I leaned back in my chair and massaged my forehead with my palms. I am a success in life. Until I am not.
I replayed our conversation over and over, parsing its nuances. Would she keep it a secret? Would she change her mind? For the past five years, from the day she came in as a junior account executive, she was the soul of trustworthiness. So when it came to trusting her, I decided I had no choice. My options were almost nonexistent. I buzzed the receptionist.
"Marian, I'll be out for the next several hours. Personal business." By that, I meant driving around aimlessly. Some people stand in the shower to think. Others fish or play endless hands of solitaire on the computer. I drive. The knob of the gear shift helps somehow.
It was a sunny winter's day, so there was that, and the temperatures were mild. At least on the interstate, life gets simpler. There's only one direction to go. So I shifted, changed lanes automatically, and thought through the very few contingencies, each worse than the one before it. The phone rang. Carla on the caller ID. A flash of panic, the feel of being hunted. Shit, she knows already.
"Hi, hon." There was no rage in her voice. I was relieved. Don't be an idiot. How could she know already? "You're not at the office."
"Oh. Yeah, I needed some alone time in the car."
"Oh. Anything wrong?"
"No. Just thinking through a project. You know me." Well, no. Carla definitely didn't know me at all, at least not now. "So what's up?"
"Well, you left early this morning. I'm just reminding you about the dinner tonight at the club." Oh, God. Not the stupid fundraiser. For some stupid disease. On a Monday, no less.
"I'm glad you reminded me. When do you need me home?"
"Actually, I wanted you to meet me there. Seven o'clock, sharp. I need to help Nell set up. She's in charge. I'll change there."
"Oh, that's fine. What about Jodi?"
"She can pick up something on the way home from practice. Oh. I forgot to mention. She was accepted to Vanderbilt. Just got the e-mail." Finally, something to brighten my day. Our daughter worried her grades weren't good enough, as if only perfection would do.
"That's great!"
"Yeah." There wasn't much conviction.
"You don't sound happy."
"Well, I'm experiencing the empty nester thing a little. Jodi has been busy with school, and you and I haven't spent much time together lately." Less of an accusation, more a statement of fact. I thought over the whirl of the past few months. Christmas had been a blur of client parties, the last-minute flurry of projects, and closing out the year. Real estate had taken up most of her weekends of late. So, no.
"Well, let's do dinner, you and I on Friday. Catch up."
"Nice try, but we have plans with the Holcombs." Jack and Nell. Again. Now it was my time to sound unenthused. "You don't sound thrilled."
"You know how I feel about Jack."
"Well, get over it. Nell's my best friend in the world." Since when?
"I thought Susan was your best friend."
"She's been so weird lately. Always with the drama. I'm taking a break from her."
I returned in time for a working lunch, this time to act the figurehead during the sales meeting in the conference room. The team had been outstanding over the past few years, so there was little for me to do but nod and ask the occasional question. In the darkened room, my attention wandered from the PowerPoint through the glass walls to the corridor outside. There I saw the telltale flow of auburn hair and an intent walk, Diane holding file folders across her chest as if they were a shield. I couldn't help but think of her breasts, and how they had felt when pressed against me.
"Dave." Huh? "Hello...Anybody there?"
"Oh. Sorry, Rick. Didn't get much sleep last night." Probably won't get much tonight either.
"No problem. Anyway, if you look at page 15 on the report..."
I rallied to get through the afternoon. At five, I lowered the blinds on the west side of my office to block out what was left of the pure and fierce winter sunlight. Given that it was a slack time of year, the rest of the office emptied out quickly. Having crossed through the items on my to-do list I, too, could leave the office with a clear conscience. A tap on the door. Or rather a synchronized drum of long fingernails.
Diane again. She slipped in with a bashful smile, closing the door behind her. She flopped in a chair facing my desk. She looked a bit disheveled, her jacket unbuttoned to reveal the white silk blouse beneath.
"You okay? You were out for a while this morning."
"That was quite a bomb you dropped."
Diane breathed in deeply. Her breasts. Her fabulous breasts rose up beneath the blouse.
"Yeah. I just felt that you needed to know as quickly as possible. But I guess Monday morning first thing wasn't my best timing."
"There really isn't a good time for that. So no worries." She nodded, my cue to continue. "So. Tell me more about what's going on with Mark." She looked behind her, satisfying herself that the door was closed.
"I had suspected something for a while. Suddenly, too many reasons to work late. An extra couple of night spent at summer camp to clean up. Hangups on the phone. Plus he had a talking-to in October about being a little too friendly with the counselors. He played it off as if it were nothing."
"How old were they?"
"College aged, but still. After that, he played it cool. But he was way too protective of his phone."
"Yeah. That's a bad sign."
"Stupid. That's what it is. So he's called me five times today. I'm expecting flowers tomorrow, like that will make it all better."
"Well. Hate to bring it up, but..."
"Yeah, I know. We're not much better. But at least that was a one-night thing. Mark's fun evidently went on for a while. Months and months. It took planning."
"Doesn't matter."
"Well, there's first-degree and second-degree murder."
"Yeah, but the victim's still dead."
"Nobody's the victim here. Unless you count our families."
"Okay. Sorry. You're right. So. Still going to go it alone?"
"I think so. Mom's in town. The one time Mark did catch me on the phone, he mentioned something about maybe having a job. Equipment sales or something. Some friend from college. I didn't hear all of it, since I hung up." I looked dubious. Mark had never impressed me, only being able to talk about deer hunting and Jesus, in that order. Once, having learned about a client's swank hunting lodge, he begged to be taken on the next meeting there. As if I would ever let a nitwit like that within a mile of one of my clients. In my eyes, he was never Diane's equal in that marriage.
"Well, financially..."
"Yeah. Thanks for the raise. It was a nice one." The bookkeeper had raised an eyebrow when I told her the amount, but said nothing. Diane looked around the room. Always positive, always cheerful, this was a side of her I had never seen. Stony. Reserved.
"So what's the next step?"
"Divorce attorney. Yeah, I get it. I cheated too. But he cheated first, and a lot, too. If I thought for a minute that he was faithful, that little episode the two of us had wouldn't have happened."
"Does your son know?"
"Nathan? No. He's three. What would I tell him? Of course, the marriage wasn't all that good anyway. I tried, at least until two weeks ago."
She stopped for a moment, and looked up to the ceiling and blinked rapidly. I reached for the box of tissues in my desk and slid them over. Diane thanked me and took one and dabbed her face, while I checked the hallway outside. Everyone had left for the day. I turned to find Diane standing to go. She had been strong long enough. Now she was crying.
"I don't know what to do..." she sobbed. I hesitated, then engulfed her. Diane clung to me while I kept one eye towards the door. Despite myself, I found myself once again stroking her hair, savoring the silken feel on my fingers. Her warmth, her scent, the natural feel of the moment despite all the pain and worry that caused it, as if all my senses were alive at once.
She leaned against the desk for support while I held her. During the long moments of our conversation and then our embrace, the sunlight had angled upward through the blinds, creeping up the walls to shine on the ceiling and leave us in shadow. I fought my secret pleasure at being strong and needed in the moment.
Long minutes later, Diane stopped crying. Her sobs were replaced by long, deep breaths. I felt her body rise and fall against me as she exhaled. I felt the feathery touch of her breath on my forearm. The firm grip of her hands on my back, her fingernails digging in ever so slightly. My own hands were beneath her jacket, slowly easing up and down her spine, my way to comfort her.
The kiss on her forehead was intended to be innocent, a soft reassurance. To that, Diane smiled sadly and looked up. And then kissed me back. And again. Our kiss tasted of tears at first, only to be replaced by the tang of something delicious and forbidden. I felt myself well up against her as my hips pinned Diane against the desk, her hands once again pulling me into her.
"Oh, God. That feels so good," she whispered to me, a tongue in my ear. "I can't stop thinking about you." My hands at the buttons on her blouse, the freeing of the clasp on her bra. The warmth and firmness underneath. The melting of her beneath my touch.
"We can't take anything off. What if someone sees us?" I did not reply, instead reaching beneath her skirt, yanking the lacy confection of her panties down her thighs. Her moans were the only approval I needed. She stepped out of the thong while I felt the heat and wetness beneath her outer primness, and turned to lean over the desk. Her face was partly ecstatic, partly a bawd's grin as she waited for me to unzip.
"We have to hurry. Daycare," she said between grunts. I obeyed, wasting no time plunging into her. Diane threw her head back.
This was not lovemaking. It was fucking. A savage coupling, my pushing into her and her pushing back. The hem of her skirt was thrown over her back, her legs unsteady on her heels as I clutched her waist and pistoned in and out. She jammed a knuckle in her mouth as a way to mute her screams, in the event someone was still loitering out in the halls. Finally, a shrill, whispered release, the long release of air, a long and exultant "Yes." The last sibilant S finally trailed off, only to be replaced by the thump of the cleaning crew working its way down the hall outside.
Jolted by the prospect of discovery, we quickly straightened ourselves out. Diane fumbled at her buttons, while I tucked myself away and zipped up. I retrieved her panties out from under my desk.
"Here." She snorted amusement.
"Not keeping it as a souvenir?"
"God no." At that moment, there was a slight rap at the door, more a formality than anything. The door opened, and the custodian peered in.
"Okay to clean, Mr. Dave?" Raphael's English had improved over the past few months.
"Sure thing. Come on in." I tried my best to sound nonchalant as I gathered my things, relieved at our close call. "Diane, I'll walk you out."
The elevator ride down wasn't quiet. Diane spoke first.
"Okay. We were trying to be good."
"Yeah. That worked out."
"Well, I needed that, to be honest. At least one thing's a positive."
"What's that?"
"You can't get me pregnant again." Gallows humor. I didn't laugh. "I was trying to be funny."
"Yeah. It's a little early for that yet."
"Want to talk about this some more?"
"Fifteen minutes. Sorry to be rushed, but I have this event. So now I need a shower. And a scotch."
"Make it five. Day care, remember?"
So we sat in my car, the engine running to keep the interior warm. Her plan remained the same, claim the child as her husband's. But, in me, a kernel of doubt had taken root.
"Okay. This is going to be weird, given the circumstances. But do we really want to pin this on your husband?"
"Do you have a better idea? I wasn't actually going to say as much. I just figured the world would assume."
"Well, he's paying for a child he didn't actually father." Diane narrowed her eyes at that.
"It's kind of a strange time to suddenly get all ethical, Dave. I mean, are you going to tell your wife about this child we're going to have?" I flushed at that. Jesus, it just keeps getting worse.
"No, I..."
"Then what? You tell me. I'd really like to know."
"I don't know. Okay? I just don't know."
"The way I see it, it serves the fucker right."
"You cussed." My attempt at levity.
"Yes, I did. I'm beginning to how useful it is." We were quiet for a few more moments, the only sound being the heat pumping through the vents. In the twilit parking lot, we watched people leave the building in ones and twos, lives undoubtedly more simple than our own. Diane looked at me once again, as if to speak. A thin smile played across her face.
"What?"
"Dave, it's going to be fine. What's to be gained from the truth?" With that, she kissed me on the cheek, expertly wiped her lipstick with a thumb, and strolled to her car.
I arrived on time to the fundraiser, despite having showered at home to wash away the smell of Diane. In the hall outside the dining room, Carla inspected me with disapproval.
"Where's your tux?"
"It's black tie? On a Monday?"
"We were doing it for fun. Kind of a theme. Jeez, Dave. The invitation was on the refrigerator for weeks." I looked inside the room at the crowd thronging the parquet. Yes, most of the men wore tuxes. One even wore a kilt. Only a few wore suits like me, their wives making apologies on their behalf. I took an inventory of the crowd, one to whom we were fairly new. Carla had tried to branch out, expanding our circle over the past year. Now, I'm socializing with people I barely know, I thought to myself.
"Sorry. I was running late."
"It's fine. We're sitting with Nell and Jack, Vance and Elaine. Make nice."
Not my crowd. Jack and Vance made the conversation even louder than their matching plaid cummerbunds and bowties, a lame attempt at humor by two men who liked bathroom humor a little much. Nell was keeping pace, judging by the joke she was finishing up as we approached.
"...it comes in three sizes: six inches, eight inches, and 'Oh my God, does that come in white?'" The four of them burst out laughing, joined by Carla who I guess had heard the joke before. Who is this woman I am married to? A year ago, she would have been appalled.
"Dave!" Jack clapped a hand over my shoulder. I flinched at his touch. Always a bit too much. Nell, too. Although she was an attractive woman. More than once, in her cups, she had given me the boob rub on my forearm at a crowded party.
"Hello, everyone."
"You need to catch up. We've been at it for forty-five minutes now. Third glass of wine." With that, he beckoned over a waitress. Nell grabbed a glass of red and handed it to me. I felt a headache coming on, a product of the day's stress.
I would like nothing better than to recount the conversation, if only anything memorable had been said. It wasn't even chitchat. It was the same mix of double entendres, lazy gossip, and bragging that I had come to expect from this group. The goings on of people I didn't know. The name dropping and mentions of lavish vacations, lake homes, and children getting accepted to selective schools. Carla was far more animated than me, for my responses were mostly one word, as in "Great." Or "Excellent." I suddenly felt like the dullard in the room.
The chicken was rubbery. The speech and awards were tedium. More than once, I stifled a desire to excuse myself to the restroom and play a few games of solitaire and just think. At one point, during the long acceptance of a lifetime achievement award by someone I didn't know, I looked over at Carla. Despite the darkened room, I saw movement at the fringe of the white linen tablecloth, Jack's arm moving underneath. By the power of geometry, I guessed that his hand had moved to Carla's knee. She wiggled for a moment at his touch, then slapped his arm.
"Jack," she whispered. "Cut it out." Jack moved his hand back to his lap. Nell merely laughed. I made a note to ask Carla about that later.
That night, I hung up my suit while Carla chattered in the afterglow of the event's success, going on about who said what to whom. Most of the names were unknown to me. I just grunted my assent.
"So what was that with Jack," I finally interrupted. Carla's back was to me as she was unzipping her dress. I saw her stiffen.
"What was what?"
"Jack's hand. On your knee." With that, she turned to me, pulling one earring out, then the other.
"Jack's just grabby that way after he's had a few. You're not getting jealous, right?"
"No, I guess not." Oddly, that was the truth. I was surprised at my own detachment.
"He's kind of notorious for that. I don't know how Nell puts up with it." With that, Carla put her jewelry in the case and walked to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she emerged.
"New negligee," I offered with approval. She had always been so conservative that way. Carla beamed.
"It's not too risky, right?" Already knowing the answer, she fell into bed, scooting next to me.
"Uh, no. Who else would see it, anyway?" At that, she turned out the lamp. I felt the tug of the drawstring on my pajama bottoms. There was the pang of memory, that of Diane, one that I quickly drove away for the business at hand.
"Just you."
The next morning, the phone rang. I turned on my lamp, wondering who would be calling my mobile at, what, 4:45?
"Hello?" My voice was clotted with sleep. On the other end, I heard a deep wail. A sob. A struggle to speak. I was now alert.
"Dave?" It was Diane. Now, Carla was awake, too, squinting at me in the lamplight.
"Diane. What's wrong?"
"It's Mark. He's shot himself."
Funny thing, scandal. One should find a scandal wrenching, considering all the pain and humiliation involved.
Yet people love the devastation of others. It breaks up the monotony. Gives the bystanders a new topic to hash out in the break room or by the water cooler. 'Why do you think he did it?' followed by the inevitable speculation. Walking through the office after the suicide of Diana's husband became known, I overheard the whispers, and the barely disguised excitement at the novelty of it all.
Who are we kidding? When Diane's husband shot himself, it revealed a lot about the people who worked for me. A few were horrified and said the appropriate things. But more eagerly debated the reasons for her husband's death. To them, it was just something to talk about. I made careful note.
Mark's funeral was on Friday afternoon, unseasonably bright and warm for a winter day. We closed the office after lunch so everyone could attend and support Diane, newly widowed with a young child and now pregnant with a second.
Carla and I finally found the church, tucked away in a remote working-class suburb on the other side of town. If some film crew had needed a standard, B-flat Baptist church as a scene for a movie, they could have done worse. The red brick, the white columns, the spire soaring above the immense parking lot. In all, the exterior looked like something drawn by a bright sixth-grader with a ruler and a pencil. I found myself disliking its stern, smug simplicity, as if ornamentation and brightwork were ungodly vanities. Carla took note and studied herself in the vanity mirror.
"Big crowd," she remarked. The parking lot was full, with overflow already beginning to park on the street.
"Well, he was the youth minister. Guess he cut a swath." Distracted, Carla pulled a tube of lipstick out of her purse for a touchup, a muted burgundy out of respect for the occasion.
"I suppose. Have you spoken to Diane?" I parsed her tone. No significance to her tone. No hints that she knew.
"Only when I took over that food on Tuesday." It had been a horror show. Her small house thronged with family and friends, a siege by the well-meaning. And Mark's parents standing by, stony and unreadable. Had they been suspicious of me? No, there was no way they could have known.
"That was nice of you to do that. People have to eat, even when they don't feel like cooking." Adjustments made, she capped the lipstick and dropped it in her clutch purse and snapped it shut. Making one last flick of something from her black dress, she opened the passenger door. "Come on, David. I know it won't be easy. But we can't be so late that we sit at the back."
The church was jammed. We found the delegation from the office, all seated together in the enormous sanctuary, the two of us squeezing in beside Sue, my bookkeeper. Sitting on the aisle, I could see the casket on its bier at the front, an enormous spray of flowers atop the lid. Flanking the casket were untold numbers of arrangements, the tributes of family, friends, and community. The piano offered soft and comforting appeals to Christ. The latecomers stood and fidgeted along the walls, shifting from foot to foot on the flagstone to the music, hoping for a short service.
They would get their wish. The family filed in behind the minister, himself in a black three-piece suit, the kind of outfit bankers used to wear. I caught a glimpse of Diane, her expression downcast, unable to meet the eyes of the congregation. She sat with an older couple, most likely her parents. With a gesture, she offered another older couple the pew beside her, but they marched past her to sit at the end. Her in-laws, I remembered from my Tuesday visit.
The minister spoke for fifteen minutes about damnation and hell and the certitude of death. Carla and I exchanged glances. He spoke at length about Mark's service to the youth of the parish, without any hint of the reasons for his termination. The Lord's Prayer, the 23rd Psalm, "What A Friend We Have In Jesus," and then the benediction. Mark's goodbye had a perfunctory feel to it, an inconvenience now duly handled.
Pallbearers came to bear Mark away, bringing the casket up the middle aisle while we stood. Behind the pallbearers came Diane and the rest of Mark's family. As she half-wobbled down the aisle, she cast her gaze about the room until she saw me. Passing where Carla and I stood, the widow squeezed my forearm with her hand.
"Thank you for coming."
"Of course." With that, she continued out the church to join the burial procession to the cemetery. A private interment, the discreet, forgettable burial of a failed minister.
"That was awful," Carla remarked, breaking the silence on the way home. "You'd think that minister would have had have a few words of comfort. But, no. Just hell. I just don't understand those people. What did Diane say to you?"
"She thanked us for coming."
"Well, why wouldn't we? She's been a wonderful employee to you." I simply grunted in reply. "Do you know when she's coming back?"
"No idea. She's got a lot to deal with, from what I understand."
"And a child on the way. You need to help her."
"You're right."
Diane returned the week after. She sat heavily in the chair across my desk with a weary huff as I looked up from a report. She looked understandably haggard from the strain.
"Hi. How are you?"
"Fine. More importantly, how are you?"
She didn't reply. She only sighed deeply and stared up at the ceiling.
"You didn't have to come back so soon."
"No. I was already going stir crazy at home. People dropping by all the time. By the way, thanks for the food. I couldn't drink the wine, however."
"What? Because you're pregnant?"
"No. Because of my fundamentalist family. Trust me. I see why people drink now." I chuckled at her mild joke. "So. We need to talk."
"Okay." I had expected as much.
"It's Mark's insurance. No go on the life insurance. Suicide is their out."
"That's normal."
"Be that as it may, I have to do something. That was $250,000 I could have used." She paused for several seconds, as if to let it sink in. "Actually, we both have to do something." I flushed, wondering what would come next. Here it comes.
"I'm listening."
"This is your child I'm carrying. You know, the morning sickness, everything."
"Right. I told you I'd help."
"I'm glad, because I'm going to need it. My parents aren't broken out in funds and my in-laws aren't talking to me. You'd think I pulled the trigger." As Diane was about to say more, I was relieved to hear a tap at my office door. Jenny, apologizing, with papers needing to be signed. As I went through them, Jenny turned to Diane and expressed her condolences. Diane nodded, biting her lower lip, with the right mixture of sadness and strength. Jenny took the papers and left, but didn't close my office door. Diane turned to watch her leave before returning her focus to me.
"She's sweet. Funny, sharp, and really attractive."
"Yes, she is."
"Nice big, blue eyes. Like something out of a cartoon. Cindy Lou Hoo from Dr. Seuss, remember her? Good figure. Are you going to fuck her, too?" She laughed at my shock. It was much too soon for her to be joking. "I'm only kidding. Look, this is no time or place to talk business. You know where I live, right? I'll leave after lunch. Personal business. Show up there around two. I've seen your calendar for the day. Nothing you can't move."
At two on the nose, I arrived at Diane's ranch house. A nicely-kept yard, grass still the color of thatch. I parked on the street and rang the doorbell.
"Punctual as always. I've always liked that about you."
"Had it drilled into me at an early age."
"Well, let's go back into the den. The living room looks out on the street."
The house was tidy, with a few flower arrangements still scattered about the house. As we walked through the kitchen, a stack of thank you notes, envelopes, and postage stamps were spread out on the table. A casserole was defrosting on the counter, with cooking instructions written in red marker on the aluminum foil. The den was pine-paneled, decorated tastefully but no photos of Diane's husband anywhere to be seen. She sat on the sofa, in her dark-blue dress, the hem riding up past her knees. I chose the armchair.
"Thanks for coming. Want anything to drink?"
"Glad to." Who am I fooling? Of course, I would come. As if I had a choice.
"Well, I guess we should talk business."
"Wow. You got to the point."
"Well, I have to pick up from daycare at five thirty."
"Since we're being direct, do you need another raise?"
"That would be nice. And some assurances." The words were calm. But there was steel in them. She patted her stomach for emphasis. "This is your child. You fucked me after all."
"I think we fucked each other." Immediately, I regretted it.
"Really? Wow."
"I'm sorry. That came out wrong." Placate her, you idiot. Apologize. This woman could wreck your life.
"It sure did."
"I just don't like being accused is all. I'll take care of you." I thought about what would that mean while she nodded. "What do you need?"
"Well, another raise."
"I'll have to ask the partners."
"I don't care. You're the majority shareholder. You can do whatever you want." This was true. Pete and Meredith owned 10% each. I owned the rest. I could plead Diane's hardship. They were never very interested in the finances anyway, as long as their quarterly dividends arrived on time.
"How much of a raise?"
"Mark made thirty, but we were strapped. You already gave me that other raise, so that's part of it. So another thirty." I let out a low whistle. That was $50,000 in raises in a matter of weeks.
"How about another fifteen?"
"Are you bargaining?"
"No. But I have to be discreet."
"You're worried about getting caught."
"Well, um, yes."
"Fair enough. But I want a quid pro quo."
"What's that."
"A promotion to Senior Account Executive in another couple of months. With a raise for the rest. And, a year or two from now, partnership." To that I raised my eyebrows.
"Whoa."
"I'm not talking a big stake. 5% will do. I'm already the lead on three pieces of business."
"I'll have to think about it."
"Don't think long. And then you'll won't have to worry about this any more. And you won't even have to change the diapers."
I began running the numbers in my head. It was only February, but it was a good year so far. Two new contracts and current clients upping their budgets. I could swing this. I even had property in my name I could sell if push came to shove. Anything to buy time.
"Agreed." With that, Diane smiled and left the room. I heard rustling in the refrigerator. The clink of glassware. She spoke to me from the other room while I sat in the chair and ran through all the contingencies.
"Well, I don't think it's going to be bad at all. Your clients like me. I did great with the Florida people." There was a grunt and the pop of a cork, followed by the pouring of wine into glasses. "Remember, I'm the sweet Baptist minister's wife who doesn't cuss. I'm practically a virgin to everyone there. You're the only one who knows any differently, right?"
"Um, right." With that, she appeared back in the doorway. Only her dress was gone. As were her bra and panties. Her face was aglow with triumph and her nipples erect with anticipation. She glided into the room, handed me my glass and put her own glass down on the end table before sitting in my lap, I leaned back as she leaned forward to kiss me. She slipped a hand behind my neck and smiled as she whispered.
"Shhh. Be still and kiss me. After all, you know, there's only one way to console a widow."
Two hours later, my phone buzzed. I looked at the caller ID and put the phone back down again. It was Carla. In the bed, I heard the rustle of sheets as Diane stirred back to life after a nap.
"Who is it?" It was a drowsy murmur.
"Carla." Just then, a text came over. 'Remember dinner plans.' "Oh, fuck."
"What?" She had a wideawake quality to her voice now.
"Dinner. With Jack and Nell."
"I remember you talking about him. Or them." I recounted the fundraiser, the one where I saw Jack with his hand on Carla's thigh. Diane sat up, newly alert. She didn't bother covering her breasts. The sheet fell down in her lap.
"Really. That's odd."
"Yes. He's always that way. Really touchy feely."
"Are you a jealous husband?"
"Should I be?"
"Well, yeah. If he's doing that in public, you never know. You mentioned how Jack and, what's her name, Nell? Anyway, how they're always at your house. Maybe you should watch it."
"Really? I can't imagine Carla stepping out."
"Who would have thought it of you? Or me?" With that, she made an expansive, open-handed gesture to the both of us in bed together. "Women are sneakier than men, you know."
I grunted while I texted a reply. 'Client meeting running long. Meet you there at seven.' A moment later, a reply from Carla. 'OK.' But as I put down the phone, I felt Diane's fingers wrap around me as she slowly stroked. My cock stiffened immediately. She edged closer to me while keeping a slow, languorous rhythm with her hand. Almost involuntarily, I groaned as she gently squeezed. I felt the tickle of her hair, the tingle of her lips on my ear as she murmured.
"Do you want to fuck me again?" She dragged her fingernails down the back of my neck. I didn't answer, only closing my eyes. "Do you want to fuck the mother of your baby again?" A soft kiss on my ear lobe. The warmth of her breath spread out across my cheek. "You want to fuck me again. You can't resist." Her tongue on my earlobe. A gentle bite. "Come on. I'm already pregnant. What have you go to lose? You've turned this good girl into a slut."
With that, she kissed me. A soft but insistent tonguing. We kissed gently, her teasing me, me seeking more, until she turned from me, released my cock, and got on all fours, her magnificent heart-shaped ass presenting itself.
"Go on. Fuck me now. Fuck me hard." I couldn't resist. I rose to my knees. Reaching behind me, she grasped my cock.
"It's so hard," she moaned, guiding me in and collapsing on the bed. Her ass remained poised in mid-air. "Fuck me. Fuck this goody two shoes you corrupted." I slowly began thrusting in her. "Faster. Use me. I need it. Punish me for my sins."
My pace picked up. Faster I went while Diane moaned louder and louder.
"I'm going to have your baby. God I love being a slut for you. I knew I'd fuck you one day." I grasped her hips and pulled myself deeper into her. There was a sheen of sweat on her, but her skin was silken. Faster, harder, almost an angry taking of her.
"You can have me anytime you want. On the board room table. In staff meeting. I don't care. You've made me into this. Fuck me the way Jack is fucking your wife." Jack? Fucking my wife? I should have been angry, I should have stopped and defended Carla, but the only thing I could do is keep thrusting as she kept on through gritted teeth.
"This is your revenge on Carla. You fucking me, because she's fucked around on you already, I bet. I know it. A woman knows these things." Faster and faster we thrust. The sweat was dripping off my chin. "You're getting harder. You like this. You like that Carla's getting fucked while you're fucking me in revenge. Ohhhh." With that, her hips bucked and I struggled to hold on. Completion became even more important than ever, for it was the reaffirmation of my manhood as I tightly gripped her slippery flesh. A tingling in the balls. A boiling up within me. An explosion like no other. A silent stretch of the back to find more purchase within her. The pouring of seed into a womb that had already claimed part of me. An exhausted collapse on top of my lover, her reaching behind her to stroke my leg.
"That was amazing." To that, I could only grunt. I was deep inside her and, now, even deeper into trouble. Yet, I was too tired to be afraid. Only resigned to whatever would happen next.
We lay there for another few minutes until Diane slid her phone off the bedside table and looked at the time.
"C'mon Samson. I need to pick up from daycare. We have just enough time to shower."
She used the loofah slowly and sensuously, soaping me up. Her touch was light, teasing me with her nearness. The couple of times I reached for her in the shower, she pushed me away with a laugh.
"Play time is over." I dried my hair and went back to the office for one more hour, picking up files to take home as a cover.
That night, over dinner, Jack and Carla argued at dinner, something about a book they both read, while Nell sipped her merlot and occasionally chimed in her own opinions. It wasn't an angry quarrel, I realized. It was an affectionate bickering, the kind that men and women have over the course of a long relationship. In every friendship between couples, there's always one diagonal relationship. But Diana was right. This was likely something more.
I sat quietly and sawed away at my steak, for the incompetent cook in the kitchen had overdone the meat. I hated this restaurant, but it was Jack's favorite. Nell seemed most attuned to my funk as I watched my wife coo with another man, and I wondered what course my screw-up with Diana would take. Nell laid a hand on my knee.
"Penny for your thoughts." Jack and Carla paused from their argument for a moment, awaiting my reply.
"Nothing. Just a very long day today."
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