“Mischa,” Tal grunted her name, licking a trail up the side of her neck.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes …,”
“We're leaving after this.”
“Okay.”
“I'm coming back to your hotel.”
“Okay.”
“You're going to blow me during the cab ride.”
“Okay.”
“If I want to finger fuck you in the lobby, you'll let me.”
“Okay.”
“Such a good girl.”
Misch shrieked, an orgasm pouncing on her, taking her by surprise. She let go of the stall door, all of her weight dropping onto his shaft, and that just intensified the feeling. Her arms were around his neck as she sobbed into his shoulder, every muscle she had clenching and unclenching. He groaned, managed to lower himself a little, then he drove his hips home one more time, as hard as he could, before he came, as well.
“Oh my god. Holy fucking shit. Oh my god,” Misch's lungs were begging for air.
“Lovely mouth you've got there,” Tal panted.
“Where did that come from!?” she asked, letting her head rest against the door.
“This damn dress, your damn legs. I couldn't help myself. I almost crawled under the table so I could eat you like you were the main course,” he told her.
“God, I wish you would've.”
“We've got time.”
Tal finally backed away from the door, helping her to stand as he went. Her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti. He cleaned himself up while she straightened out her dress. As he was doing his belt up, they heard something. A man, clearing his throat. Then the bathroom door opening and closing. The guy who had been there when they'd first stumbled in, he'd stayed for the whole show. Misch turned flaming red and Tal burst out laughing before he pulled her close, giving her a big kiss.
“I have to go back out there,” she said, her voice husky as she smoothed her tongue over his bottom lip.
“I know you do. To make your excuses, so you can leave,” he reminded her as he speared his hands into her hair, holding her in place.
“And what am I supposed to say? 'Sorry, have to go have sex, ciao'?” she laughed.
“Whatever. I don't give a fuck. Meet me out front in five minutes, or I'll come find you,” he warned her. Then he was moving out of the stall, adjusting his jacket as he went.
Misch stood there for a second, breathing heavy. What was wrong with her!? Over the last few days, she'd told herself that her little adventure-in-cheating was over, but then one look from him, one whisper, and she was pinned against a bathroom stall. He had a magnetic pull on her, something she couldn't deny. He wasn't a one-night-stand. She wasn't sure what he was, but he wasn't going away. And she was beginning to think that she didn't want him to go away.
You're already in trouble, you can't get in more trouble ...
Misch crept into the hallway, paranoid that she'd bump into her boss. Luckily, she didn't. Still. She felt like she'd been gone forever. She'd just been fucked stupid up against a stall in a bathroom. She wasn't wearing any underwear. Surely they would be able to tell, as if “cheater” was branded onto her chest.
Turned out, Tal had pounded her to an orgasm a lot quicker than she'd thought – when she got to her table, dinner was just being served. Everyone stood up, but she begged off, claiming a stomach ache. And a headache. And nausea. And a chill.
Might be overdoing it.
When she walked out of the restaurant, she didn't see Tal at first, and thought he'd played a cruel joke on her. She ran away from him after great sex, now he was running away from her after amazing sex. But she finally spotted him, standing on the corner at a four-way. Well away from the front of the restaurant. From where anyone would see him.
How thoughtful.
As Mischa made her way to him, she looked him over. He looked completely unruffled, it was impossible to tell that he'd just had sex in a public bathroom. Or maybe not – he kind of already had that look, just all the time. Tousled, wavy hair, sly smile, and a naughty glint in his eyes. He was pretty much every woman's fantasy. Or wet dream ...
What is he doing with me?
Maybe that was it. He was just so dashing, so sexy, that she was swept away with it. A beautiful man, paying attention to her. Wanting her, desiring her. It was a novel feeling. Something she hadn't experienced in a long, long time.
He was talking on a cell phone, but he stared at her as she approached. His dark eyes roamed over her body, and it was such an interesting sensation. Knowing that when he looked at her, he was picturing her naked. Not just picturing her, but knowing what she looked like naked.
When she reached him, he didn't get off the phone, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and began walking down the sidewalk, pulling her along with him. Her first instinct was to panic. He couldn't touch her like that, not in public! Someone might see them!
But then she relaxed. She was in another country. No one knew her. No one knew them. They probably looked like exactly what they were, a couple of people who had met in a bar and were going home to have some fun. She was already going to hell. Cuddling on a street wouldn't get her there any quicker.
I'd forgotten how good it feels just to be touched.
“No, no, I know ... I'll be there ... when do we …,” he was almost barking out his responses to whoever he was talking to. His voice was deep, and gravelly, and very serious. Sexy. She decided fuck it, if she was gonna be with a sexy man, she was going to show her appreciation. She walked on her toes, stretching up so she could lick at his neck, suck at the spot where it met his shoulder. He kept on talking, but his hand moved to her ass, squeezing it hard.
I can do this. I can totally do this. This is who I am now. Bold. Confident. Sexy. Slut-bag.
They waited in a queue for a cab. Pawing and kissing each other. An old woman tutted at them and Tal blew her a kiss. Misch laughed and worked on giving him a hickey. Then it was finally their turn and they tumbled into the backseat of a taxi. Tal gave the name of her hotel, and they took off.
“How do you know where I -,” she began to ask, but then his fingers were pinching her lips closed.
“No talking. Remember what I said? There's a good girl.”
Sex in a bathroom, check. Blowjob in a taxi, check. I'm crossing all kinds of personal boundaries tonight.
~Why Am I Here~
Tal was in Italy for work. Work was slow, though, and Rome was beautiful in the summer, so it was kind of like a vacation.
But he still had to work.
Mischa Rapaport was a distraction. A beautiful distraction, who had an uncanny gift for making it impossible for him to think of anything but sex. Hence the little snafu at the restaurant the night before; he'd been there for work, Mrs. Rapaport had simply gotten in the way. When he'd realized she was there, he'd figured talking to her wouldn't hurt anything. In fact, it might lead to something else, he'd just have to finesse it a little.
Thumbing her almost to an orgasm at the table, not exactly finesse. Fucking her in a bathroom stall, while awesome beyond all words, definitely not finesse.
Of course, no one had ever accused Tal of having finesse, anyway.
It's probably overrated.
Tal stood next to the bed, looking down at Mischa. She was sleeping on her back, one arm raised above her head, her other hand resting on her stomach. She had put on a long t-shirt before falling asleep – he found her modesty adorable. He'd licked just about every inch of her skin, and yet she still tried to hide pieces of herself.
He found a lot of things about her adorable. She was supposed to be a one-night-stand, a fling, a moment in time. He wasn't sure when he'd decided it should become more, but all of a sudden, bam. It was. The moment he saw her in that restaurant. The moment she went into that bathroom stall with him. The moment she got in that taxi with him.
Something about this woman. She makes me want more. All of her. All the time.
He wanted to wake her up, pick back up wh
ere they'd left off, but he decided against it. He slowly moved away from the bed, made his way over to her luggage. She'd hung up a bunch of clothes in the closet, shoved some things into the dresser, but he could see that there was still stuff in her bags. He sat at the foot of the bed and pulled the luggage tray close, pushing the top of her suitcase open.
It didn't take much digging to realize it was her makeshift hamper. He dug in the side pockets, found some jewelry. Some hidden money. He left it all alone, flipped the lid closed. Then he rummaged through the large pockets on the front. Found a tour guide for Rome, some brochures for her insurance company. He finally found what he was looking for in the smaller pocket, shoved way down to the very bottom.
It was a small frame, maybe five-by-seven inches. Mischa was younger in the picture, though not by too much, and very tan. She smiled widely at the camera, one hand holding the fedora she was wearing down on her head. She looked good – Tal was willing to bet she'd always looked good – but she wasn't what he was interested in.
No, it was the man standing next to her, the man she had her arm around. Michael looked to be around five-foot-nine, or ten. Not a whole lot taller than Misch. He had sandy colored hair, almost with a hint of red in it. Or maybe it was just in contrast to his face, the man had a ruddy complexion. Along with his dark blue eyes, his appearance was overwhelmingly … normal. If Misch was an exotic locale like Bali or Indonesia, then Michael was Akron, Ohio. Bor-ing.
And more so than that, it was apparent to Tal that whenever the picture had been taken, they were already struggling as a couple. Maybe they hadn't known it, but he could tell. He was a very observant person, his job required it. The way their arms were around each others shoulders, not their waists. The way there was a space between them, big enough for a balloon to fit. The way they were smiling, so broad, more like a grin, no hint of mischief. They both were wearing tank tops, both non-sexy. It all spoke leagues to Tal.
Why on earth did you marry this man, Misch?
Not that he cared, it was none of his business. He just wanted to know what made her tick. What made an exotic, sexy dancer settle down with some boring, country tax accountant. Or whatever white-bread did for a living.
What made a woman settle down with a man who couldn't please her in bed?
And why do I care? Why am I even here? What is this woman doing to me?
Being there was wrong. He knew it was wrong. It wasn't allowed. Sleeping with her the first time had been a challenge. Breaking the rules and seducing a married woman? Yes, please – Tal loved trouble. And when he'd seen her in that restaurant, just a chance to push the boundary even further. See how close to the edge he could take both of them.
The only problem with edges, though, was either a person had to step back or step off.
He was no longer sure which step he was going to take.
And that meant trouble for everybody. Trouble Mrs. Rapaport didn't need, nor deserve, simply because Tal had been stupid enough to forget his place in the world. Stupid enough to grow a crush on a married woman who was off limits.
“What are you doing?” Misch's voice was sleepy behind him. He faked a yawn and dropped the frame to the floor, scooting it under the bed with his foot.
“Just woke up,” he replied, then he stood up and stretched. Reached over to the windows and pulled back the curtains. Sunlight spilled into the room.
“No, too early,” she moaned, and when he glanced at her, he saw that she was burrowing under her pillows. He laughed and crawled onto the bed, moving so he was hovering over her.
“Not too early. What time do you have to be at work?” he asked, pulling the pillows away. She blinked up at him.
“Oh yeah. Work.”
That earned her another laugh.
“You could play hookie, spend the day with me,” he suggested, lowering himself so he could kiss her chest.
“No, I can't do that, that wouldn't be right,” she replied. But her voice lacked conviction.
“Sure you can. You begged off sick last night – this will just make it more believable,” he pointed out.
“Hmmm. And what did you have in mind?” she asked, stretching underneath him.
“Several things.”
“Not winning me over,” she snorted.
“How about,” he began, rolling to lay on his side next to her, “I take you to lunch, then we go do some tourist shit, then we see if we can sneak in a quickie at the Colosseum.”
“You're trying to break my vagina, aren't you?”
“Wasn't my intention, but I could try. We'll get you a t-shirt made – 'I went to Rome, and all I got was my lousy vagina broken', sounds great.”
“Tal,” she wasn't laughing as she turned her head to look at him.
“Yes?” he responded, reaching out and brushing hair away from her forehead.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are you doing here? With me?” she asked.
I have the same question, Mrs. Rapaport.
“I thought I was trying to talk you into committing more acts of public indecency,” he joked.
“You could do that with anybody. I walked away, I was gone. You were off the hook. Why did you want more?” she pressed.
It was a great question. How was he supposed to answer? “You've got one of the most amazing pussies I've ever fucked” just didn't sound right. “I could learn to live to see you smile” also sounded wrong.
Both were correct.
“Because you're pretty,” he answered, keeping his voice soft. “And you smile at me. You're smart and funny. Because I kinda like you, Mischa.”
There. Sweet and simple. But she frowned at him.
“I like you, too, Tal, but I guess I'm just … confused. Are we going on a date today?” she kept questioning. He rolled his eyes.
“I don't think you can call it a date when one of us is married,” he pointed out. She pressed her hands over her face.
“God, don't say it out loud,” she groaned.
“I won't mention the M-word again. How about we don't give it a title, and just say it's two friends hitting the town,” he offered. She didn't move her hands, and a shaft of sunlight bounced off her diamond. He looked down at her wedding set. Frowned.
“Friends don't break each others vaginas,” she pointed out, her voice muffled by her palms. Tal began pulling at her fingers.
“Well, I'm a really good friend. You should thank me. With your vagina,” he encouraged her. She moved her hands away and started pushing back the covers.
“I don't thank my friends with my vagina. At least not usually.”
“What a waste of a vagina.”
“Can we stop saying 'vagina'?”
“What a waste of a pussy.”
Misch finally laughed as she padded into the bathroom. She stood in front of the sink and stretched, raising her arms above her head. The hem of her t-shirt lifted, revealing her bare ass. Tal cocked up an eyebrow, then followed her into the small room.
“No, no, no, you go wait out there,” she instructed, turning and pushing at his chest. He grabbed her hand and something bit into his palm. When he let her go, he saw that it was the rings.
“One rule for today,” he started, raising her hand towards his face.
“What's that?” she asked, following his movements with her eyes.
“Today, you don't wear these,” he informed her, then he wrapped his lips around her ring finger, all the way at the base. He laved the cool gold with his tongue, then used his teeth to drag the set over her knuckle. When he pulled them free from her finger, he stuck out his tongue, showing her the rings before he dropped them into his own hand.
“Okay,” she whispered. He smirked and leaned down to her.
“Today, you're mine.”
~Mischa~
When something feels so good, you find a way to convince yourself that it's okay. Over-eaters and drug addicts know what I'm talking about. You make excuses
, you claim it's because you're weak, a million things.
For me, it was the feels. Sure, I felt bad afterwards. But I felt so good during, that I couldn't stop. I couldn't back down. I couldn't back away.
And even if I wanted to, I wasn't allowed to. He couldn't back away, either.
I had planned on cheating on my husband.
I had never planned on having an affair.
Tal paid no attention to plans. Plans didn't exist in his world. He colored outside the lines, and he dragged me with him. Handed me a brush and said, “here, paint me as you like.”
I wanted to paint him with my aura, stain him with my shades.
Who the fuck needed plans, anyway.
~Opening a Door~
Mischa called in sick. Tal took her to lunch. They looked at tourist shit. He tried to screw her in a bathroom at the Colosseum. She resisted.
At first.
“How long are you in Italy for?” Misch asked as they strolled down a street.
“How long are you in Italy for?” he turned her question around on her.
“Just over three weeks, then we head to Turkey,” she answered.
“Nice. I love Turkey.”
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her into his side. She flushed. She wasn't used to so much physical contact. Her own husband didn't touch her as much as Tal did – he always seemed to be finding a way to touch her. On top of that, there was the naughty aspect. It was so bad, so wrong, so illicit. It made her blood pressure skyrocket.
My left hand feels so much lighter. Like my spirit.
“You've been to Turkey?” she asked as they turned a corner.
“Yeah, I have a home in Istanbul,” he told her. She was shocked, and judging by the look on his face, Tal had surprised himself by letting go of that snippet of personal information.
“You're from Turkey?” she went ahead and questioned. He shook his head.
“No, I just live there sometimes. Want an ice cream?” he asked, but before she could respond, he let her go and he jogged to an ice cream cart on the curb. When they both had ice cream cones, they started walking again.
My Time in the Affair Page 7