I deserved it.
As she walked down the street, Misch slid on a pair of sunglasses and slipped her purse strap over her shoulder. That was a chapter in her life that was closed. Thankfully. She wasn't cut out to be a cheating vixen. The persona hadn't suited her at all. Best to leave it back in that hotel room, with a man who was far sexier than Mischa would ever be.
Her back pocket began to vibrate. Misch grimaced; she'd been avoiding Mike's phone calls. She couldn't talk to him, not with her secret weighing down her soul. But when she pulled her phone out, it wasn't his number. It wasn't any number, technically. Just 0-0-0-0, scrolling across the screen. She frowned and brought the phone to her ear.
“This is Mischa Rapaport,” she answered in a brisk tone, sounding professional. Maybe it was her boss, calling from a local line.
“What's your maiden name?”
She stopped walking, completely shocked.
“How did you get my number!?” she asked, automatically glancing around her. Tal's deep voice chuckled in her ear.
“I'm a man of many talents,” he replied.
Not creepy at all …
“Did you go through my purse?” she demanded.
“Wouldn't dream of it. Besides, your number wasn't on anything that was in there,” he answered.
“What!?”
“When can I see you again?” he ignored her. Misch sighed and moved into a small alley.
“Look, Tal. I like you, and you did a really nice thing for me. But it can't happen again,” she told him, keeping her voice down.
“Why not?”
“Because I'm married. Because it was a mistake. Because I thought it would make me feel better, but I just feel worse,” she tried to explain.
“I call bullshit. You were feeling pretty amazing the other night. I could make you feel like that every night,” he offered. She cleared her throat, fanning her hand in front of her face. Was it hotter than normal?
“Looks like you have other women you can make feel 'amazing',” Misch called him out.
“Ooohhh, jealousy, I like it,” he teased. She snorted.
“I'm not jealous,” she lied. “I'm just not that kind of girl.”
“Oh really. And what kind of girl are you referring to?”
“I'm not like her, I'm not some … some … some slut,” she tried to explain. He chuckled again. It came from deep in his throat, and was like an electric jolt that shot from her ear straight to between her legs.
“You're a married woman who, three nights ago, begged me to fuck her. Several different times. Mrs. Rapaport, I'm pretty sure you're the definition of a 'slut'.”
Misch hung up on him. She gasped in air, glancing around again. Why, she wasn't sure. It wasn't like anyone could have heard him, or would have cared. She waited for her phone to vibrate, for him to call her back. She would throw her phone away if he did. But he didn't. And after a couple minutes, she caught her breath. Crept back out of the alley, like some sort of creature of the night.
Almost.
Slut. Misch could honestly say she'd never been called that before, had certainly never done anything that would earn her that name. She'd lost her virginity at fifteen, to her boyfriend. Second guy she slept with was a guy she'd dated during her freshman year of college. And of course after that, Mike. Only Mike. Slut was a word that belonged on other women, she'd always thought.
Now it belonged on her.
She should've been angry at Tal. It should've offended her. But truthfully, it kind of turned her on. He hadn't sneered it at her, he hadn't said it in a mean way. His voice had been low, and she could practically hear his sly little smile, wrapping itself around his words. Picture his dark eyes, narrowing on her. His long fingers, teasing her. He made her want to be slutty. Made her want to do slutty things, with him.
But it wasn't meant to be. She'd had two full days to go over her reaction to her indiscretion. The moment had been great. Beyond great. Amazing. But the afterwards had been like the hangover from hell, and she still wasn't free of it. She had an acute sense of what an alcoholic felt like; sobriety was hell. She wouldn't put herself through that again.
Oh, yeah, and there's the little fact that cheating on your husband is bad. Fuck, I'm such a bitch.
Work was torturous, and to make matters worse, at the last minute before leaving work, she agreed to dinner with her boss and some of the Italian people who would be running the office after they left. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and think about what an awful person she was; she didn't want to press palms and talk about how awesome insurance was. Barf.
They were going to an upscale restaurant, so she took care getting ready. Slid on a tight black dress, did her makeup, blew out her hair. Italians all seemed to have amazing fashion sense, everyone looked like they'd stepped out of the pages of a magazine, and she didn't want to look schlumpy in comparison.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, and she had to admit, she looked good. Really good. Sexy. Tal had done that for her, reminded her that she could still be sexy. Reminded her that other people thought she was sexy. It was nice. Nice to feel attractive. Nice to feel wanted. She tried to cling to that and pushed away the bad feelings. She would have enough of those when she had her talk with Michael.
Mischa got to the restaurant early, no one else was there yet. She was shown to a large, semi-circle booth. She slid towards the center of the seating and ordered a glass of pinot grigio. It was brought to her, and she sipped at it while she waited.
And waited. And waited.
Twenty minutes late was her cut off, and she started to turn in place, wondering if she'd been seated at the wrong table. But as she twisted to the left, looking over her shoulder, someone slid into the booth at her right.
“You clean up good,” Tal's voice was in her ear.
Misch yelped and jumped about a mile high. She turned to face him.
“What the fuck are you doing!?” she squeaked, pressing her hand to her chest.
“I told you, I wanted to see you again,” he answered, squeezing in close to her side. She gaped as he reached across her and grabbed her wine glass, taking a sip from it.
“You can't be here! You have to go!” she hissed, shoving against his ribs, trying to get him to move.
Oh my god. Oh my god. My one-night-stand that wouldn't die. Why can't he just disappear!?
“Why? Goddamn, Misch, you really look amazing,” he complimented her, leaning back so he could look her over. She blushed, but refused to be taken in by his flattery.
“I'm dressed up because I'm having dinner with my boss,” she explained, sweeping her gaze across the restaurant, paranoid that they were about to be caught.
“Wow, lucky guy. You screwing him, too?”
She gasped.
“Fuck you,” Misch swore, standing as best she could and starting to wiggle away from him. He grabbed her hip and yanked her down.
“I'm teasing you. You need to loosen up,” he chuckled at her. She shook her head, trying to shake him out of her brain.
“What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?” she asked, pushing at the hand he still had on her hip.
“I told you, man of many talents,” was all he replied, then he took another drink of her wine.
Misch stared up at him, simply amazed. She couldn't believe he was there, sitting next to her. Bubble, officially burst. Mr. Canaan was a real life man, flesh and blood, not some fantasy to be locked away in some hotel room, shoved to the back of her brain. And the fantasy-come-to-life sitting next to her happened to be dressed up, as well, in a pair of slacks, a blazer, and an off white dress shirt. He had looked sexy the other night, in just a t-shirt and jeans, but now, holy hot damn, her panties had just combusted. Sexy didn't cover how he looked that evening.
Though to be completely honest, he looked best in the towel.
“Tal, we can't do this,” Misch lowered her voice. “You did me a huge favor the other night, really. I appreciate i
t, more than I can say. But it ended in that room.”
His hand moved off of her hip and across her lap. Came to rest on her bare thigh. Her voice caught in her throat.
“Oh, no. No, I don't think so. I don't think it ended at all. I think it's still very much going on,” he breathed, sliding his hand up, moving the skirt of her dress out of the way.
“Tal, please,” she whimpered.
Whimpering. The man makes me whimper.
“Ah, there's that word I love.”
“My boss could walk up any minute,” she hissed, pressing herself back into the cushioned booth, trying to gain some distance.
“Don't worry about your boss,” Tal whispered, dipping his head and kissing her temple.
“We can't. He knows I'm married,” she whispered back, squirming as Tal's hand pushed the last bit of material out of the way. If a waiter popped up, he'd have a great view of Misch's hot pink underwear.
“I told you, don't worry.”
“Don't worry!? How can I not -,”
She gasped as his thumb slid under the crotch of her panties. While her lips were parted, he dove in, kissing her hard. She moaned, welcoming him. Fuck, she'd cook him dinner and rub his feet, if he'd just keep touching her. Just keep wanting her.
“I love that you're always so ready for me,” he pulled away to laugh at her. She gripped onto his arm.
“Oh my god, I'm gonna get fired,” she panted, but made no move to stop him. His thumb was ridiculously dexterous; she wondered if he was double jointed. It swam in circles, making her dizzy.
“You won't get fired, I promise,” he had his sly smile on, and he actually rested an elbow on the back of the booth, propping his cheek against his fist. His relaxation actually made her more aware of their surroundings. She was sitting in the middle of a nice restaurant, waiting for her boss, and she had a man's thumb in her crotch.
Slut.
“Someone's going to see us. Please.”
“You know what's funny,” he ignored her. “This really wasn't my plan when I decided to come here. I thought we could have a drink, talk. I could watch you laugh. You have a great laugh. But then I sat down, and you're wearing this amazing dress, showing those amazing legs, and well, here we are.”
“I don't want to be doing this,” she begged.
“Why not?”
“Because,” she couldn't finish the sentence. Didn't want to say it out loud. Wanted to pretend that she was begging him to stop for the right reasons.
“Because why?”
I'm such an awful person.
“Because, you were fucking that maid. I don't want to be just another lay in your daily rotations.”
He chuckled again.
“I wanted to be fucking you,” he whispered. “Since our night together, that's all I've thought about. All I've wanted to do. From this point on, you're going to be the only person I fuck while I'm here.”
“Tal, please, I'm going to … I'm about to …,” she couldn't catch her breath. She was too busy trying to stave off a huge orgasm.
“Shhhh,” he shushed her. Then his thumb was gone. He pulled his fingers free of her underwear, ran it up her body. Rested his hand against the side of her jaw. She was breathing heavily through her nose, staring up at him. He stared right back and pressed his dewy thumb against her bottom lip. Traced it back and forth.
Resistance is so fucking futile.
“What are you doing to me?” she whispered. He smiled, then stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucking her wetness away.
“Anything you want, babe. Come find me,” he whispered back.
Then he was sliding out of his seat. Walking away.
Misch dropped her head back on the booth, tried to catch her breath. She pressed a hand to her chest and gulped in air. She had thought the night was going to be boring. Shmoozing their international partners, talking about insurance, trying to tell bad jokes in broken Italian. Getting off in the middle of a crowded dining room hadn't been part of the plan.
Mr. Canaan had never been part of the plan.
“Rapaport!”
Mischa sat upright. Her boss was waving at her, making his way towards the table. There were people trailing behind him, smiling and laughing. Misch quelled a panic attack and hurriedly shoved her dress back into place. She managed to stand and shake hands. Even smiled. Didn't say much of anything.
One minute. If he had walked in one minute earlier ...
Her boss spoke Italian, and most of the conversation took place in that language. Mischa drank what was left of her wine and tried to think about home. Thought about Tal instead. Thought of that naughty smile and those talented fingers.
Come find me.
Bold man. Brash man. He was supposed to be a one night stand. He should just fade away. Isn't that what men wanted? A night of no strings attached, anything goes sex? Apparently not that man. Well, that's what she wanted. Nothing more. Right? Right!?
Come find me.
She didn't want to be that woman. The woman carrying on an illicit affair. Acting scandalous while her husband was oblivious in another country. How wretched. How horrible. How cliché. She didn't want to hurt Mike more than she already had; it would be bad enough telling him everything that had happened. Did she really want to add more sins to the pot?
Come find me.
“Excuse me,” Misch murmured, shoving her way out of the booth. Appetizers had just been delivered. She had a while before dinner. She smiled her thanks as she walked away from the table.
Come find me.
The decision had been made, she'd had no say in it. Resistance was futile. Tal had flipped a switch, and she was revved up and pointed in one direction. His direction. There was no other course of action, no option. She couldn't see anything but him, couldn't think past him.
Mischa slowly strolled past the bar, trying to look like she wasn't looking. But he wasn't there. Despite having features that made it look like he'd been born and bred on the Mediterranean, Tal actually stood out a lot. Maybe his height, maybe his smile. Most likely the sex-god vibes that rolled off of him.
As she headed into a dark hallway, she glanced back across the restaurant. He didn't seem to be sitting at any of the tables. She ran her fingers through her hair and made a beeline for the bathroom. She could go in there and dunk her head in a sink full of cold water. Get her priorities straight. Remember who she was, and what that night had been all about; fulfilling a very bad fantasy. Not continuing it. She just needed to remember that.
But she never made it to the bathroom. An arm reached out of the darkness, grabbing her. Pulling her into the shadows. She was pushed against a wall and a tongue was pushed into her mouth. She raked her fingers up his chest, working her hands under his jacket.
What was I supposed to remember?
“I thought you said this was over,” Tal breathed against her.
“I thought it was,” she replied, nibbling on his earlobe.
“It's not.”
“No.”
He yanked her up against him and shuffled them down the hall. They burst into a room and she was put back up against a different wall. She gasped and moaned, yanking his shirt out of his pants. His own hands weren't idle, they moved over her body, massaged her breasts, then went back to her panties.
“Scusi!”
Misch's eyes flew open, and over Tal's shoulder, she saw a man standing with his back to them. He was looking over his own shoulder, his face very red. Probably because he was peeing – he was standing in front of a urinal. They were in the men's bathroom.
Slut.
She wanted to push Tal away, to tell him to stop, to ask to go somewhere else. But he had two fingers thrusting in and out of her, so thought was pretty much not an option. She pressed her lips together, pulled them between her teeth and bit down to keep herself quiet, and tapped him on the shoulder.
It was the least she could do.
“I'm very sorry, sir,” Tal chuckled, glancing at the man once before st
aring back down at Misch. “You see, my lady friend here is very wet, and really wants to be fucked. You understand how it is.”
The man prattled something in Italian, and Tal actually laughed. Misch couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe what was going on.
Tal wrapped an arm around her waist and actually picked her up that way, hugging her body to his, his hand trapped between them. He moved them into a stall, shoved her into a corner, then slammed the door shut behind them.
Misch had never felt so charged up in her life. She didn't even question what was going on, didn't even ask what to do. As he ripped his belt apart, she wiggled her panties over her hips. Dropped them to the floor. Kicked them into a corner. By then, Tal had shoved his pants down his hips, and they met in the middle of the stall, pushing each other around in their want and desire.
He braced her against the door. She kept an arm wrapped around his shoulders and stretched out her other arm, pressing her palm against the wall. As her legs went around his waist, his hand worked between them, guiding her onto his dick. It was that same sensation, of too uncomfortable. Too full. Too much. Too perfect.
“Oh, god, you feel so perfect,” she moaned, struggling to keep her ankles locked behind his back as he moved up and down. Back and forth. Rocked her world.
“I had to feel this again. I had to,” he told her, picking up the pace.
“I'm glad.”
He began pumping so hard, the door started to bang in its hinges. She cried out and let go of his shoulder, moving her hand to grip the top of the stall, holding herself up a little for him. This allowed him to remove one of his arms from around her waist, and his hand immediately went to her chest. He yanked at her dress, pawed her breast out of her bra, then cupped it in his hand. Lowed his mouth to it, sucked on her nipple.
I've never had sex in public before …
In the back of her mind, Misch knew she should be quiet. Anyone could walk into the bathroom – including her boss. Or a waiter. And there was a restaurant full of people right outside, potentially listening to every screech, every cry, every groan coming out of her mouth.
Keeping quiet was definitely a failed mission.
My Time in the Affair Page 6