by Roya Carmen
I want him to touch me.
I grab his hand and pull it up to my rear. He sweeps it over the cotton of my panties and rubs my ass softly. He doesn’t ask if it’s okay. He knows I’m done for. I’m his. I’m sure he knows he could do whatever he wants to me at this point, right here in the gardening section of this quaint little bookstore. I long for him to take me against the rows of books, press my back against the shelving, make the books rattle.
I finally turn to face him. I want to kiss him. He fixes me with the slightest hint of a smile…an impish expression. He takes me in — my eyes, my mouth. He can’t hear my heart, or feel the pulsing between my legs, but he can probably see it in my eyes; see every cell of my being is itching for him. He leans in and I stretch to the tip of my toes to meet him halfway, eager.
When his lips press against mine, I feel the tension drain along with my resolve. Any iota of self-control I had is gone.
I pull him closer and my hands cling desperately to his face, my nails dig into his flesh. I kiss him like I’ve never kissed him before. I bite his bottom lip, the edge of his jaw. I want to eat him raw. I don’t know what has come over me. All I want is him.
He tears himself away. “Mirella…” he breathes as his gaze darts down the narrow aisle. “We’re getting…a little carried away,” he whispers, his words ragged.
I pull him to me and kiss him again. This time, he gets lost in it too. His kiss is wild. He presses me hard against the bookcase, the shelves dig into my back. I almost completely drown in him. The hunger of his kiss consumes me wholly as his tongue travels to the hollow of my neck, and his feverish hands pull at my panties.
I realize this can’t happen like this…here. We’ve both gone off the deep end, consumed by this inexplicable desire. Some kid could walk in for ice cream at any time. I push him away, ragged, and tear myself from his grip. “You’re right…we are getting…” I say, completely breathless, “getting carried away.”
The look on his face is unmistakable. He wants this just as much as I do. But at this point, I know he would never dare pursue it. I know he will fully respect me and not manipulate me, despite the fact that I can tell he wants me as badly as a starved man wants food.
I stand still. My eyes can’t seem to pull away from him. He’s so beautiful, and seductive, and gentle.
In a flash, I pull him to me, my fist full of his navy tee. “I’m closing-up-shop for five minutes.”
My fingers are shaking as I flip the store sign around, the word ‘closed’ visible to the people outside. I think about Gabe as I walk to the door and lock it.
I can’t do this to him.
What the fuck am I doing?
As soon as I reach Weston, he pulls me to him and his kiss consumes me. I try to pry myself away.
“Weston…” But his mouth on mine weakens me and renders me speechless. I want him so badly. How do I get out of this? He pushes me towards the back of the store, behind the shelving, where no one can see us.
I try to pull away again. But he grabs my rear and hoists me up against the back door, his mouth plastered on mine. My light summer skirt is hiked up around my waist. He presses his body hard against mine, rubs his hard-on against the cotton of my panties. Dry humping against a door — damn, I feel like I’m seventeen again.
Just a minute to enjoy him. That’s all I’m taking.
I’ve missed everything about him; the minty taste of his mouth and his clean earthy smell, the feel of his stubble on my hands, the softness of his hair, the feel of him, hard against me. His mouth lingers on mine as he rubs against me over and over, my legs wrapped tightly around him. He groans loudly as he presses harder. He’s hurting me, but he’s also making me feel so damn good. As he hits just the right spot, I close my eyes and feel the delicious pressure build.
I shouldn’t be doing this.
I wonder how he keeps doing this to me. As the shuddering sensation overtakes me, consuming me wholly, anguished whimpers escape against his mouth. The soft sounds travelling from the back of my throat do not do justice to the intensity of what I’m experiencing. I don’t know if it’s the hormones or the fact that he hasn’t made me come in so long, but my climax is so intense, it hurts.
His mouth lingers on mine as I’m brought back down from my orgasm, clinging to him. He pulls his mouth from mine and I open my eyes. My heart still pounds like a jack-hammer.
I feel so guilty. I need to ask him to leave. I know I shouldn’t have let things go this far.
I hate myself.
He eyes me with a playful look and I look away, mortified.
It all happened so fast, and I was just so damn horny.
He presses his mouth against my ear and kisses it softly. “You eager little butterfly.” He releases me gently and drops me to the floor with a cheeky smile. “I suspect my work here is done…” he teases. “I must be getting better. I didn’t even need to remove a single stitch of clothing this time.”
I’m crying when I lift my gaze to his. His smile fades swiftly.
“We shouldn’t have done this, Weston.”
“I know,” he concedes. He buries his face in my hair and growls, the sound vibrating against my skull. “God, all I want to do is take you in the back room and lick every inch of you and make love to you. But I know…I know we can’t. I know you can’t do that to Gabe, and I can’t do that to Bridget either.”
That’s what I love about Weston. He understands. He’s probably standing there with the biggest hard-on he’s ever had. But he’s knows what’s best for both of us. He respects me. He respects my wishes.
“If we ever make love again, we need to do it right,” he tells me. “We need to talk things through. We need to officially put an end to our marriages.”
My stomach drops. He can’t be saying this. “What are you taking about, Weston?”
“You and I…we’re inseparable, Mirella,” he tells me with so much conviction, I almost get lost in his words. “We’re soul mates.”
I don’t want to utter these next words, but I need to. “No, we’re not, Weston. It’s infatuation. We are strongly attracted to each other, Weston. That’s all.”
The light in his eyes seems to dim as he takes my hand in his. “There are a million women out there, Mirella… some even more beautiful than you,” he says. “But you are the only one who has fully captured me, who has intoxicated me, whom I can’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard I try.”
“But what about all the work you’ve done, Weston?” I ask, trying to knock some sense into him. “All the advice your therapist has given you? You were doing so well.”
He takes a hold of my other hand, bringing both hands together and holding them tightly between his, not letting go. “This has never happened to me before, Mirella. Don’t you understand? This is a first for me. You are my soul mate.”
I close my eyes. Do I believe in soul mates? I’m not sure anymore. I did. Ever since the day we were first in love, I’ve always thought Gabe and I were true soul mates. But what did I really know? I was a naïve seventeen year old girl in love, on the verge of sexual discovery.
But I do know what I believe in now. I believe in the promise you make to someone, the promise you make to the children you bring to life, and the responsibly you have to them.
I pull myself away from him. I need to be harder on Weston. I really don’t want to be. I don’t want to break his heart, but it’s what needs to be done.
I shake the bag vigorously. The drumsticks bounce around against each other, and are rapidly covered in bread crumbs and Italian spices. I shake the bag harder than I need to, letting out my frustrations and nervous energy. I haven’t been able to breathe properly since what happened…
Hanna came back later in the afternoon, and I was happy to hear her grandson was fine. But I couldn’t even look her in the eye — I was so full of guilt. She probably wondered what I’d been up to. She’s probably checking the cash register right this minute.
It occu
rred to me on my way home that I might have officially cheated on Gabe. Is making out and dry humping against a door cheating? Most would say it is. In the past, it was always a consensual adultery — an open-marriage of sorts. But now, Gabe has no clue Weston is back in my life. He has no idea what I’ve done. The remorse is just eating me up.
I’m a cheater.
I tell myself it was just the one time — we got lost in the passion of the moment. I tell myself that we’ll never do it again. And I desperately want to believe what I tell myself.
Chloe walks past the kitchen counter, clutching three stuffed animals. “Ugh, chicken again.”
I glare at her. “Yes, chicken again.” It is a wonder I can even manage to make dinner every night in the state I find myself in.
I am so tired of all these secrets.
My mind wanders back to a few hours before…
Weston’s hands under my skirt, his hot mouth pressed against my neck…we had wanted each other so desperately. I can’t seem to forget the wrecked expression on his face when I told him he needed to leave and I did not want to discuss our relationship further. I pressed my finger to his mouth and shushed him with a heavy load of remorse in my heart. I would have liked to make him feel as amazing as he had just made me feel. But I also knew we couldn’t take things further.
Chloe and Claire are playing nicely together — some kind of pretend zoo game Chloe has dreamed up. For once, they aren’t bickering. This would be a perfect moment, if it weren’t for all I’ve done, all I bear. I’ve sinned so many times, I’ve completely given up on myself. I am a hopeless case.
I hear the door as Gabe gets home. He’s his usual happy-go-lucky self. He kisses me on the cheek and squeezes an inch on my hips. He always tells me he never wants me to lose weight because he loves squeezing that little inch. “How was your day?”
My heart sinks. How could I have done this to him?
I mix the rice noodle dish, twirling it around in the saucepan. “Eventful,” I simply say, not quite looking at him.
He cocks a brow as he grabs today’s paper. “How so?”
I tell him all about Hanna’s grandson and her unexpected visit to the emergency and my taking over the book store.
He looks up from his paper. “Was it just like the old days?” he asks with a cheeky smile.
I turn away from him, pretending to be busy stirring the noodles. On the plus side, these noodles are definitely not going to stick. I clear my throat. “Not exactly.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
His mark is all over me.
Eleven weeks. The day I’ve been waiting for, both dreading and anticipating, is almost here and I still have no idea what to do. According to my book, the baby is about two to three inches now and weighs about half an ounce. How can something so small potentially mess up so many lives?
It’s not too late to make all this go away. But I’ve already decided I wouldn’t do that. This is not just a mistake, a messy scribble to erase — this is a life, this is my child.
It’s time to tell Gabe. He needs to know.
Soon.
Claire bounces up and down on the bed. “I’m so excited,” she thrills. “I just can’t wait.” And my heart sinks, deep. We’ve planned this trip so long ago. It’s all the girls have been talking about. There’s no way we’re not going through with it.
One more week.
I’ll tell him when we get back, I decide as I tuck the girls’ bathing suits into the suitcase. My throat grows thick as I realize this is probably the last week we’ll ever have together, as a happy family. I bite back a tear as I watch Chloe diligently packing her little princess suitcase. She hums a song as she packs her favorite stuffed dog and her little glittery yellow purse, not a care in the world. She has no clue what’s about to hit her.
And for what?
For primal desires of the flesh. For a moment of weakness…okay, several moments of weakness.
Lust. One of the seven deadly sins.
That’s what this all comes down to.
I dash to the washroom, and close the door gently behind me, hoping the girls do not notice that I am gone. I turn on the fan and I squat to the floor and cry. I cry until I am completely drained.
“What kind of food do they like on Pelo Island?” Chloe asks, her hand in a bag of chips.
“Pelee Island,” I clarify. I look back at her, glad to see her seat belt is on. I always have these sudden moments of temporary panic when I think I’ve forgotten to fasten the girls’ seatbelts. “I’m not sure what kind of food they like,” I tell her. “Probably the same stuff we eat. But they’re Canadian, so probably bacon too.”
“I want to try lobster,” Claire pipes in. “Can we have lobster?”
I smile at her. “I’m not sure. Someone’s got expensive taste. I’m not sure they have lobster on Pelee Island.”
“Why not? There’s a big great beach there, isn’t there? I bet they have lobsters.”
“Um…I’m not sure they have lobsters in fresh water lakes. I think that’s more of an ocean thing.”
Gabe shoots me a smile. “Yeah, sweetie, we’ll see about the lobster.”
An hour or two more in the car to Sandusky, a two hour ferry ride, and we’ll be in heaven.
This moment could almost be perfect; the sun is shining, the music on the radio is great and we’re all together.
If only…
I look out at the road ahead of us. I don’t really see it because there’s so much going on inside me. I rest my hand on my stomach, and I think about Weston. I wonder what he’s doing.
I’m suddenly brought back to the last time we saw each other — those last few precious minutes…
My back was still pressed against the back door of the café, the bottoms of my ballet flats resting on the old oak floor. My arms had reluctantly let go of him.
“You seem quite fond of quirky little coffee shops,” he teased.
I smiled up at him. “And you seem to have a thing for posh restaurants up high in the sky.”
Weston toyed with the pendant of my necklace absent mindedly — a diamond studded cross — a gift from Gabe. How ironic, I realized, the cheater wears a cross over her heart. I’ve turned my back on all the teachings of the Church I’ve learned growing up. If only the God I prayed to as a little girl could see me now. My younger self could have never imagined doing something like this. I’d always thought Gabe would be the only man I would ever be with. I couldn’t have even imagined ever wanting to be with someone else.
He stroked a strand of my hair, his gentle eyes fixing me. “Well, as they say, opposites attract.”
“Please don’t call me,” I blurted out, just like that. “This…what just happened… it doesn’t change anything.”
I spotted the color drain from his face, the happiness stripped away in one fell swoop. I had achieved that with just a few words. “I’m sorry,” I added, rubbing salt into the wound. “I’m still not interested in resuming our arrangement. And I don’t want to discuss it any further. You need to leave, immediately.”
He just stared at me, confusion written all over his face. For him, this had not just been about sex. For me either, but I certainly did not want him to know that.
I pushed him off me and smoothed down the creases of my skirt. “This was just me getting off. Plain and simple,” I added, throwing his own words back at him. “And you know what else it was?”
His eyes were full of sorrow when he looked at me and asked, “What else was it, Mirella?”
“Adultery.”
I knew I was being a complete bitch. And I didn’t want to be. But he was talking nonsense, and I couldn’t let him do this. I couldn’t let him leave his wife and family for me. I needed him to hate me.
He took me by surprise when he turned his back to me. I knew he didn’t want to hear the truth. He stared at his shoes, and kicked a box full of books across the floor as he walked away.
He didn’t say another word as he left the shop.
He slammed the front door behind him, the clang of the bell loud and seething.
We’re staying at the same B&B we’ve stayed at the last time we were here, two years ago. It’s a quaint little place nestled right on the sandy beach on the beautiful waters of Lake Erie. As soon as we arrive in the lobby, I feel my body relax. I’m ready to try to forget about all my problems and relax — after all, that’s what life on Pelee Island is all about.
This is most likely our last week together as a family and I’m going to try to have fun and make the most of it — as impossible as that might be. I owe it to the kids. I owe it to Gabe.
The girls are antsy, bouncing around the lobby like grasshoppers on a few cups of espresso. While Gabe settles our room details with Margaret, the friendly cheerful proprietor, I take in the space and the rustic earthy bohemian beach house décor. “Settle down, girls,” I whisper to Claire, whose high-pitched shrills are surely not appreciated. I run my hand along the edge of the coffee table, a gorgeous tree trunk, varnished and polished. I’m not sure what kind of tree it’s made from, but if I had the time, I could probably tell how old it is by counting the rings. There are so many natural textures in the space, I almost feel like I’m outdoors. Chloe grabs a seashell from the turquoise glass bowl. “Chloe, that’s a decoration,” I remind her. “We’re not supposed to touch.”
“It’s pretty” she says. “I bet I can find one on the beach.”
I smile. I’m sure those seashells were probably bought at some tacky gift store or Target or the like, but I’m not about to burst her bubble. “I’m sure you can.”
I stand up and walk about the space. My eye is drawn to the pretty prints on the wall, vintage inspired ink and washes of flowers and plants, the blues and yellows mixing beautifully.