The Man I Can't Have

by Williams, Shanora

  Marcel doesn’t say anything. He pulls me closer to his body, and I feel his erection digging into my ass.

  “I love that you know me,” I tell him in my dream. “I love that you get me.”

  Still, he doesn’t say anything. I feel his hand come up to the strap of my dress. He’s pulling the straps down, his erection growing harder. My breasts fall out of the dress and then his hands are at the hem of it, shoving it up to my waist. I don’t know how I end up standing in front of the bar, but I’m there the next second, almost like we teleported. I still feel his erection on my back. I turn around with a smile, but when I look up, Marcel isn’t smiling anymore.

  He spreads my legs apart, still quiet, and then picks me up. I don’t have panties on in this dream, and his cock is already out, so he slides me down on top of him. He’s stiff and thick. I can feel everything.

  I’m moaning just as loud as the music, but he’s not thrusting. He’s just watching me with his cock inside me. Gauging my reactions. Realizing how much I’m enjoying having him inside me.

  “I knew it,” he rumbles, and a slow smile spreads across his lips. “I knew you wanted me to fuck your married pussy.” I should hate his words, but they turn me on even more, making me moan even louder.

  He’s still not thrusting, and I’m writhing and need movement, so I bounce on his cock. I keep bouncing, up and down, riding him like a maniac, crying out his name as he holds my waist. He’s groaning, on the brink of orgasm, and just as I’m about to come, I hear a door slam into a wall.

  I gasp and look over Marcel’s shoulder to the back door of the club.

  Kyle stalks across the dance floor.

  “You fucking bitch!” he roars. That vein is visible on his forehead—the one he gets when he’s upset. His eyes are like balls of fire.

  He’s standing there, yelling, and Marcel doesn’t care. He doesn’t look back once. He takes the lead and turns me, placing me on a stool and thrusting hard into my pussy. I don’t know why I haven’t told him to stop. Why haven’t I pushed Marcel away? I just got caught!

  “Your pussy is mine,” Marcel growls, as if Kyle isn’t even there. I’m looking Kyle right in the eyes, and I’m mortified. But I’m still wet for Marcel. “Gonna come inside you.” Marcel’s voice is gruff. “Gonna make your pussy all mine.”

  And he does.

  He comes with a groan and kisses the back of my neck. Kyle is still yelling.

  After Marcel fills me with his cum, Kyle rushes toward him and tackles him over the bar, shattering liquor bottles and glasses.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Gabby

  “What the hell!” I gasp and sit up straight in bed, pressing a hand to my chest and using the other hand to wipe the cold sweat from my forehead.

  I sit against the headboard, staring out the window to my left. It’s still dark outside. I lower my hand, and my nipples are rock hard. I’m throbbing between my legs. “Oh my God. What is wrong with me?” I push out of bed and rush to the bathroom, staring into the mirror. My makeup is a mess. My mascara has run and is smeared around my eyes, making me look like a raccoon. My once-sleek hair is matted and all over the place. My lip gloss is completely gone.

  I go to the shower and turn it on, trying to forget about the dream, but it’s impossible with the fire between my legs. Should I even call it that? How did it feel so real? It truly felt like Marcel was inside me. And judging by how wet I am…I liked it. A lucid dream is what that was, and an intense one at that.

  “Oh, God.” I groan and get into the shower, letting the water pour over me. It runs through my hair, down my back. I remain this way for a while, hoping to rid myself of this intense fire, but it won’t budge. It needs to be settled somehow. I could play with myself, I think, but as I come to settling with that idea, I feel a draft of cool air run over my legs and then fingers are on my shoulders.

  I scream bloody murder as I spin around.

  “Hey—hey, it’s me!” Kyle says, holding my shoulders.

  “What the hell, Kyle! You scared the shit out of me!”

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. I look down and he’s naked. I wonder if I’m still dreaming. I pinch my own cheek to make sure and it hurts a little, so no, I’m not.

  “Why are you pinching yourself?” he asks, laughter in his voice. “And why are you in the shower at four in the morning?”

  “I woke up sweaty,” I murmur. I swallow but it’s hard to do. My mouth is dryer than a desert. I look him over, and I feel a flash of anger strike me. “I don’t want to shower with you, Kyle. Nothing has changed. I’m still upset.”

  “I came home early for you,” he tells me, like that’s going to solve everything.

  “You still went behind my back and didn’t apologize.”

  “That’s why I’m here now. To apologize.” He grabs my hands and I watch droplets from the showerhead fall on his lips. “I’m sorry about what I did. I really am. I swear I didn’t do it to degrade you or to make you feel insignificant. I did it because he seemed like the kind of man who would take to that kind of bait. Degrading women, making them feel lesser than. I’m so sorry, babe.”

  Oh, how wrong he is. If he’d had one conversation with Marcel beforehand, he would have known that was far from the truth. Marcel is respectful. I could never see him saying something like that about a woman he cared about, even if it were a joke.

  I lightly pull away and turn my back to him. “How long did you practice that apology on your flight home?”

  “Not long enough, obviously.” I can hear the irritation in his voice, so I ease up and let it go for now. I grab my body wash and sponge to wash myself up. Kyle is standing there, but I don’t know what he’s thinking. Most likely trying to find better words to use. It’s what he usually does.

  I feel a hand wrap around my waist. He pulls me toward him and I can feel his erection on my ass.

  “Are you kidding me?” I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let up. “Kyle, seriously. I’m not in the mood.” But that would be a lie. I’m desperate for sex, but not with him. Not right now.

  “Do you realize how sexy you look right now with all that soap on your body? It’s been days, babe. Let’s forgive and forget.”

  “Screw that,” I mutter, but his lips are already on the back of my neck, the same place Marcel kissed me in my dream. He kisses me there repeatedly, tall enough to move his lips to the crook of my neck next. Damn it. Why? Why did I have to have that stupid dream? I wanted to stay mad at Kyle for a little longer. I wanted him to work for my forgiveness, but my body is on fire right now. I can’t even think straight because that dream is crowding my headspace.

  Kyle spins me around, forcing my hands on the marble wall. He wastes no time entering me from behind, and I’m so slick with need that I take him right in.

  “Shit, Gabs,” he pants, pressing his forehead to the base of my head. “You’re so fucking wet for me.” But he’s wrong. I’m not wet for him. This wetness was created by someone else—well, a fantasy version of him anyway.

  Kyle thrusts slowly, and I’m glad because I don’t want it to end quickly. His hands roam my body, palming my breasts. He’s kissing the top of my shoulder and my neck again, and I’m moaning way too loudly.

  “You’re so tight,” he breathes over my shoulder. “Is that what you want? For me to talk to you while we fuck?”

  I nod. “Oh, God, yes.”

  “I can do that. I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”

  I moan again.

  “Tell me you missed me.”

  “I missed you.”

  “Tell me you love me.”

  “I love you,” I breathe.

  “Say you forgive me.”

  I don’t even hesitate. The words just slip right out. “I forgive you.” I do a small cry, my forehead on the shower wall, and he thrusts harder. “I forgive you, I forgive you.” I repeat the words, feeling my climax brewing. I’m desperate. So desperate.

  “That’s my Gabby.” Kyle drops his he
ad and sucks on my neck from behind. His thrusts become rigid, a hand sliding down to my pussy. He spreads the lips apart and uses a finger to rub circles on my clit. I swear I almost die. I’m pent up from that dream, needing release, and with his cock swelling up inside me and his finger right there—I can’t take it.

  “Oh, yes!” I squeeze my eyes shut and come around his cock. “Yes, please! Fuck me, Kyle! I need it!”

  He loses all sense of control. He thrusts rapidly and water splashes. Smacking sounds fill the air, and a deep groan rips right through him.

  “Oh, fuck, babe.” His voice is thick, drizzled with desire as he comes. “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” he repeats. I press a hand to the wall weakly, my cheek now flush against it.

  He pulls out of me, breathing rapidly, then he grabs me and turns me in his arms to hug me.

  “I’m sorry, Gabby. I’ll never do it again. You were right before. You are my wife, and I should respect your decisions.”

  I close my eyes, even though the water is a little cooler now.

  After we get out of the shower, we climb into bed and fuck one more time. I tell him to take me from behind again, because I don’t want to see him, and I hate myself for thinking that way.

  I know he won’t let me take over—not after that shower fuck—so I make do. I come again, but this time with my own hand. And as Kyle comes this second time, I’m imagining Marcel coming inside me, just like I did in the shower. Just like he did in my dream.

  I’ve never had to fantasize this much to get off before moving to this house, but Marcel does it to me every time, and since I can’t act on it, all I have is this. A made-up fantasy. A lie. My husband’s cock to take care of what will never happen.

  But I don’t care, because when I fantasize about Marcel, I have the best orgasms of my life.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Gabby

  It’s no shocker Marcel doesn’t show up in my backyard with his crew on Saturday. To be honest, I’m glad.

  Kyle will be home for the next four days. I need to settle my mind and body. Marcel’s presence only confuses me. I don’t know what I want when he’s around, and I don’t like that feeling. I don’t like to be unsure, or to feel like I’ve lost control of myself.

  When it was just me and Kyle, I was positive that I loved him, positive that he was the man I needed. But lately, he’s been feeling like anything but.

  On Sunday morning, I’m preparing Kyle’s favorite breakfast, an omelet with cheese, red peppers, and red onions, as well as toast with peanut butter and banana slices. As I finish up cracking the eggs for the omelet, I hear him coming downstairs.

  “I’m making your favorite,” I call out before he can get to me. “Coffee’s brewing.”

  “What is this?” His tone is sharp, and I spin around. He’s standing in the kitchen with the dress I wore to the club, holding it by the strap like it’s a disgusting piece of leftover spaghetti.

  “Just a dress,” I breathe. “I wore it Friday night when I went to a club with our neighbor, Meredith.”

  Kyle scoffs, his face less tense, as he places the dress on top of the barstool. “I had no idea you were going to a club.”

  “I didn’t tell you,” I say. “I was still upset about what you did with the emails. Meredith saw me at the mailbox and invited me to come out with her and a group of friends. It was a fun night.”

  “Was it?” His tone is condescending.

  “Yes, it was. You think I can’t have fun without you?” I smile over my shoulder to lighten the mood.

  “I didn’t say that. I just wish you’d have told me. What if something had happened, and I had no idea where you were?”

  “Oh my goodness. Please, Kyle. Nothing happened. I’m here; you’re here. Everything’s fine.”

  I carry the bowl of scrambled eggs to the stove and dump them in the pan. I glance over my shoulder as Kyle sighs, making his way toward the coffee that has just brewed in the Keurig. He pours a cup and sips it black. “Meredith, huh?”

  “Yep. The woman across the street. She’s nice.” I grab the spatula and start fiddling with the eggs, ready to flip it to make the omelet.

  “I met her the first day we moved in,” he continues, and I wish he would stop. “She’s not the kind of person you’d normally hang out with. Did you drive there, to meet her at the club?”

  “No, she drove us there.”

  “And she brought you back home in one piece?”

  I avoid his eyes then, but I don’t hesitate. “Yep, I’m fine. You saw me that night. I had a little too much to drink and felt a little queasy. That’s why I was in the shower when you got home.” Another lie for the books.

  “Mm-hmm.” It’s the only noise he makes. A curious sound. Nothing more, nothing less. One of the chairs at the table scrapes across the floor as Kyle pulls it back. He sits, and I sprinkle some shredded cheese in his omelet, finish it up, and then bring it to him on a plate. I kiss his cheek before going back and making one for myself, minus the peppers and onions.

  When I’ve poured my coffee and am sitting across from him, I notice he’s looking at me. His eyes are narrowed, and he works his jaw, like he’s trying to assess me.

  “What? Is the omelet not good?” I ask quickly.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I don’t know. You just seem…different.”

  I purse my lips.

  “I think I’m spending too much time away from home.”

  “We’ve talked about this, Kyle. You have to do what you have to do, and it’s only been a few weeks. I just have to get used to it.”

  “You should come with me to Rhode Island.”

  I take a bite of my omelet, scrunching my nose. “Rhode Island? What’s there?”

  “I have a meeting there. New client, but it’s only one meeting. We can sightsee, do something nice for ourselves afterward.”

  I clear my throat, picking up my coffee. Would it be wrong to say I don’t want to go on that kind of trip with him right now? He’s my husband; I should be jumping at the chance to be around him. I decide to change the subject instead.

  “Maybe. Speaking of traveling, my dad called the other day. He said he’s been trying to get a hold of you. Wants us to come up for Easter dinner.”

  Kyle slows down on his chewing for a moment but then he finishes the bite of egg, breathing in deep before exhaling. “Why Easter?” He waves his fork, like the thought of going to my parents’ house annoys him.

  “He just wants us to come up. My mom is cooking a big meal and my brother and aunt will be there. I told him you usually don’t work holiday weekends.”

  “I don’t, but I’m not so sure I want to spend it there.”

  “In Fredericksburg?”

  “Where it always seems to rain,” he says, deadpan. “There’s literally nothing there but gray clouds and water, Gabs.”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug and smile. “I kind of miss the weather. I miss getting cozy and wearing rain boots. Never had to look stylish in shoes because they’d only get messed up with all the mud and puddles.”

  “You can go,” he responds curtly, and then finishes his omelet. He stands with his plate, carrying it to the sink. When he comes back, he picks up his coffee and then leans against the edge of the counter. The same edge Marcel planted his hands on when he closed me in several days ago. I let that thought slip my mind.

  “You don’t want to?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to—I just don’t see an Easter dinner being a solid reason to book a flight and fly up there. But if you miss them, you should go. It’ll be good for you to get away.”

  I frown. “Kyle, we are married now, you realize that, right? If neither of us are working or occupied, they’ll expect us to show up together.”

  “Every marriage isn’t the same,” he mumbles.

  “Seriously?”

  “What—come on, Gabby! You can’t be serious right now!” He sounds like he wants to laugh. He�
��s mocking the entire situation.

  I place my fork down and push out of my chair. “You know what? I can’t. I really can’t with you right now.” I leave my omelet and coffee on the table and rush around the corner to get upstairs.

  “Oh—Gabby, come on!” Kyle yells.

  I ignore him and go to our room, heading into the closet to take down some jogging pants and a T-shirt.

  “What are you doing, Gabs?” Kyle asks at the door of the closet, arms folding across his chest. He’s still carrying that condescending tone.

  I hike my pants over my legs then tug my shirt over my head. As I pull my hair up into a bun, I meet his eyes, one of my brows tilted, and say, “Going to walk some steam off before I end up stabbing you with my fork.”

  “Oh, really. Your fork?”

  I ignore his remark, grabbing my shoes. I start to walk around him, but he catches me by the arm, and I come to a halt.

  “Let’s walk together then.”

  I look down at his hand before pulling away. I sit on the bench at the end of the bed and shove my feet into my running shoes. “I’m not doing anything with you right now.”

  “You have been so feral lately; I hope you realize that.”

  “When am I not?”

  “You aren’t usually this feral.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just tired of some of the things you say and do, Kyle.” I pause, looking sideways at him. “You’re a little selfish sometimes.”

  “Selfish? Gabby, I work my ass off almost every day. Forgive me for not wanting to travel for once in my life just to attend a dinner.”

  I push to a stand. “I get that, Kyle, but that’s my family, and I miss them! I haven’t seen them in weeks. I used to see them every day. Think about how that makes me feel. You should understand why I’d like to go up there—or even why my dad invited us. They miss us.”