by Lily Ryan
I’m losing conscious thought of my inhibitions. Losing myself to the pleasure of my dirty thoughts combined with the vibrator. In and out. Faster and faster. My entire body is taut with the need, Desire builds with every stroke. In and out, I’m lost to the pleasure I’m giving myself.
Sweat forms on my skin while my mind is completely focused on Chance. I bite my lip, imagining the feel of his strong muscular chest. His tight round ass. I pretend he’s moving over me. In and out. Harder. Faster. Stroking his cock deep inside, hitting me in that spot. The one that makes me scream. Every muscle in my body clenches tight until I feel wave after wave of release wash over me.
I catch my breath in the aftermath of my orgasm. Embarrassed. Ashamed.
Once my heart slows and I’m breathing normal again, my heart swells with guilt.
Mike.
I haven’t been with another man since we met, and there were only two before him. I’ve only ever used a vibrator with my husband. It feels wrong to think of another man in this way. To have a primal desire for anyone but him.
I miss Mike. God do I miss him.
He was my other half. I don’t feel whole anymore. Thinking that I’ll never see him again still guts me. I’ll never hear the sound of his voice, or my name slipping off his lips. He’ll never sneak up from behind and wrap me up in his arms while kissing the back of my neck. He’ll never touch me. Or make my body respond to him like a musician uses an instrument to make music.
I’m hurt and angry. So fucking angry. It’s not fair. We were supposed to grow old together. We were best friends and partners in every way, and he was just taken from me. Our future, snatched from our hands because some thug wanted money to get high. What I wouldn’t give for five minutes alone with that monster. I’d rip his eyes out and feed them to him.
I can’t believe what I just did. I used the gift Mike bought for our last Valentine’s Day together. It was a toy for “us.” That’s how he got me to agree to use it. We had to use it together. And here I am now, using it to fantasize about another man. I must be the worst wife ever. Climaxing while imagining Chance inside me feels like I’m cheating not only on Mike’s memory, but on him.
Tears pool and spill out of my eyes. I can’t stop them. I don’t want to. The pain of losing my husband is always with me, but right now, I’m drowning in it. It’s suffocating me. I reach for the framed picture of Mike I keep on my night table.
Oh God. I feel like he watched me the whole time. Watched me touch myself. Watch me cum while lusting over Chance Carter.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper through broken sobs. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
He doesn’t answer. He never does. I should be used to it. Only now I’m taking that silence to mean he’s disappointed in me. Disgusted with how I behaved.
I can’t undo what I did, but I could make sure it doesn’t happen again. I feel dirty. Disgusting. It’s all I can do to get myself up and dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. Once I’m clothed, I clean the toy and rebury it in the back of the closet. If I’m lucky I’ll forget it’s there.
Back in bed, I continue my conversation with Mike. Beg for his forgiveness. I ugly cry, muting my sobs as much as I can so that Timmy doesn’t hear.
I cry feeling alone. Empty. I have no one in my life to hold me. No one to soothe the heartache. I cry until my swollen eyes close and sleep carries me to another realm.
Chapter 6
I look down at my phone for a time check. Shit. I’m running late to pick Timmy up from practice. I needed a few things for dinner. I thought I could run in and out of the grocery store in a few minutes. I had no idea I’d get stuck behind a woman that would challenge the price of every item she self-scanned.
By the time I realize it’s going to take a while, the other lanes are three people deep, and everyone has a full load of groceries. I don’t want to be late and hold Mr. Carter up. We haven’t spoken in two weeks since sharing dinner together at the diner.
I don’t want him to think I’m taking advantage of his kindness and using him as a babysitter for Timmy. Especially since I’ve been able to successfully avoid him.
At the meets I make a point to leave the building as soon as the last match is over. I’m careful to keep my wandering eyes focused on the mats and off of Mr. Carter. The few times since then that we’ve made eye contact, I force myself to break it.
I understand the vibes I’m putting out there. He probably thinks I’m a bitch, which is fine. Let him think I’m a flake. His opinion of me shouldn’t matter. Still, he makes a point to always smile and wave when he sees me. There have been three meets since we spoke last, and while I see Timmy getting stronger and matching well against his opponents, he still hasn’t won a match, or scored any points. I toss my bag of groceries on the passenger seat and look behind me as I back out of the spot.
I switch gears, putting the car into drive when a loud noise, like something breaking sounds as something slams into me from behind, and lurches me forward into the car parked in the space next to me. I’m so surprised, it takes a minute for me to realize what happened.
Fuck! This was the last thing I needed.
Before I get out, onlookers approach both me and the elderly woman in the car behind me. Every other shopping trip I run into someone I know, a neighbor, or a mother from Timmy’s school. This is the one time I really need to see a familiar face, and none are to be found.
“I called the police for you,” a kind gentleman informs me once I step out to assess the damage. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”
Only I don’t have a few minutes because I’m already late. My car looks like an accordion. How can there be so much damage from such a small hit? The air bags didn’t even deploy.
“Are you okay?” A shopping cart attendant asks. Voices and noise fill the air around me.
Sirens whine coming closer by the second. I can’t leave without a police report. This is such a bad time of the day for this to happen. My friends are still working and my parents are forty-five minutes away. With the rush hour traffic they’ll hit half way here, it will take them at least an hour. I don’t have that long. I need to get Timmy now.
Two squad cars, and an ambulance come speeding into the parking lot. Before the first cop car stops I reach for my phone and send my son a message.
Me: I’m going to be a while. See if you can get a ride with one of your friend’s moms.
Timmy: They’re all gone. How much longer?
Me: Not sure. Was in a car accident at the grocery store. I’m fine. But not sure how long I’ll be.
Turns out the woman wanted my spot. She put her blinker on and then instead of hitting the brake to stop the car, she stepped on the accelerator. While I’m relieved that she owned up to her mistake, I’m annoyed at the situation.
The elderly woman holding her head, is taken by ambulance to the hospital to be checked out. I’m stuck here waiting for the officer taking the report to give me back my license, registration and insurance card. I can’t go anywhere without them.
“Are you able to drive?” The officer asks me.
“I guess.” Looking at the car, I’m not sure it’s safe to drive.
“Mom!”
I turn at the sound of my son’s voice. He rushes toward me and almost knocks me down wrapping his arms around me. I kiss his head and stroke his hair.
“Hey, buddy. I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?”
He looks up at me, his eyes wide and frightened. For a moment, I lose time. He’s not the brooding thirteen year old that shuts me out at every turn. He’s my baby boy. I want to hold on to this moment.
“Yes.” I squeeze him for emphasis. “I’m fine. How’d you get here? Who brought you?”
As I ask the question, I look up and see Chance Carter walking towards us. My heart thrums in time with his steps. I can’t believe he’s here. This must have put a wrench in his plans for the evening. I feel awful.
“Mr. Carter,” I say as the man approach
es. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”
“How are you?” He looks annoyed, maybe even angry, as his dark, turbulent eyes look me over.
“The car got the brunt of it,” I say, looking over at the car.
He follows my glance, and breathes heavy before looking back at me. “Now tell me how you really are?” He takes my trembling hand in his. His voice is rich with emotion.
I must have gotten hit harder than I think because this man’s reaction doesn’t make sense. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s worried about me. I should reassure him that I didn’t get hurt, but I don’t think he’s asking about my physical state.
“Shaken up.”
“That’s what I thought,” he says, still holding my shaking hand. My nerves have the best of me. Only now, I’m not sure what’s affecting me more, his touch, or the accident.
“Here you go miss.” The officer with my information approaches us. I pull my hand out of the warmth of Mr. Carter’s strong, soothing, grasp, and reach for my documents. “The report should be ready in three to five business days. You can come to the precinct and pick it up.”
“Thank you, sir” I watch him walk away, then turn to my son. “Get in the car so I can get this heap home.”
“Like hell.”
I’m taken back. Stunned into silence. He did not just say that. Did I hit my head? Is hearing things a sign of a concussion?
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask, annoyed at the privilege he took in speaking to me like that.
I look up at him, noticing for the first time how close he’s standing to me. Close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. Close enough that I feel his body heat gathering around me and enveloping me like a warm blanket.
“You’re shaken up and you don’t know what condition the car is in. No way are you getting behind the wheel.”
“I have to. I need to move it, and I need to get home.”
He shoves his hands deep in his pockets and stands to his full height, chest out. “I’m taking you home.”
The way he says it, so strong and matter of fact, he leaves no room for discussion. Normally it would piss me off, but right now, I actually like it. I don’t bother to protest. For a change, I don’t want to play the part of the strong independent woman. I’m not up to it right now. I’ve played that part for the last two years. I’d like a reprieve. Even better, I like who’s giving it to me even more.
“I already caused enough trouble for you.”
“How so?”
“Won’t you get in trouble for bringing Timmy here?”
“Only if someone saw. Doesn’t matter though. It was my choice to throw him in the car. I’ll deal with the consequences.”
“No. Mr. Carter . . .” His eyebrow shoots up as he stabs me with a pointed look. He must want me to call him by his name. “You shouldn’t have, Chance.”
“How else was he going to get here? He turned white when he got your message. It was the right thing to do.” His thumb presses on his bottom lip, reminding me of how much I’d like to get acquainted with those lips. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Heartbeat. I wonder if he has any idea how off kilter mine is right now. It’s racing and doing hurdles. The cool breeze carries a whiff of his cologne straight to my nose, causing a shiver to run up my spine. It’s subtle, but it’s undeniably him. A little outdoors, and a little spice. I recognize it from the previous times we spoke. I want to throw myself against his chest, lay my head on his shoulder and breathe him in.
Without asking, Chance takes his jacket off and wraps it around my shoulders. I pull it tighter around me, getting high on his scent. My chest tightens. I shouldn’t like being this close to him. I shouldn’t enjoy how comfortable I feel around this man. How much I enjoy the little touches. Or the intoxicating feeling I get in my belly, like a drunk group of birds and butterflies congregate together and tumble around when he looks at me and smiles.
I shouldn’t like any of this because he’s my son’s coach. That’s not even the worst part. I shouldn’t like any of this because Chance Carter is at least a decade younger than me, if not two, and the more time I spend around him, the more I allow myself to fantasize about something actually happening between us.
I’ve heard that younger men are into older women. There’s the Milf and cougar movements, which I don’t really get. I always thought guys were into younger women. Regardless, I never even noticed younger men. Until a few weeks ago when Mr. Cater stopped to speak to me on the school steps.
He inches closer to me and holds the jacket lapel. My brain short circuits. I’m so fried between the accident and his proximity, I can only stare in silence pretending I understand what he’s saying as his full pouty lips move.
“My friend owns a body shop. He’ll pick up your car and drop something off for you to use in the meantime.”
“Body shops don’t do that.”
His teeth graze his bottom lip a moment before he continues. “Don’t worry you’re pretty little head. I’ve got this.”
I think I should be insulted at being dismissed, but I’m not. I’m relieved. It feels good to have someone help pick up the broken pieces around me for a change.
I nod, and take my son’s hand in mine as I move to the side and allow Chance Carter to re-park my car. Timmy doesn’t say anything about his coach’s comment or the fact that I’m wearing his jacket. Maybe I’m making too much of it, because this man stirs up a yearning in me I thought was dead?
“Come on, Tim,” Mr. Carter says, placing his big, strong hand on my lower back. “Lead the way.” He gestures with his other hand, encouraging my son to walk in front of us.
As we walk the few feet to his car, I peek at him through the corner of my eye. He’s calm, cool and in control. Not to mention sexy as fuck. His confidence has me mesmerized. Under a spell. For a few brief seconds, his hand slips from my back and moves around my waist. He pulls me closer, so that I’m right up against him.
It’s hard to swallow when he keeps taking my breath away like this.
Timmy gets into the back seat, as if he knows what’s expected and we do this all the time. Mr. Carter walks me around to the passenger seat, and stops dead in his tracks. He stares at me for a long moment before leaning in. My heart pounds like a drum agains my chest, waiting to see what he does. His mouth is alongside my ear as he reaches for the handle to open the door for me.
“Don’t push me away,” he whispers. His breath tickles my ear and sends shivers down my spine.
Chapter 7
The second I open the front door, Timmy disappears into his bedroom, leaving me alone with Chance. So much for having my son around to keep my thoughts pure. I look at him, and It hits me. Chance Carter is in my house. In my living room!
He seems to fill every ounce of empty space. I’m nervous and excited and completely unsure of myself. It’s like having a boy in my bedroom for the first time all over again. I don’t know what to do or how to act. Shit, I can’t think of Chance and bedroom in the same thought.
I don’t want him to think I’m interested, even though right now interested doesn’t even scratch the surface of what I am. After the stress of the accident and surprise of Chance showing up to help out, I’d love for him to pin me against a wall and fuck me senseless.
Of course that won’t happen. It can’t happen with Timmy in the next room. Which makes me want it even more. Chance is forbidden fruit on so many levels.
Embarrassed by my thoughts, I shake it off. Where are these longings and desires coming from? I’ve never been this type of girl. Never lusted after anyone. Never fantasized about having sex with anyone while I pleasured myself. At least not anyone that isn’t my husband.
Wasn’t my husband.
Guilt surrounds my heat like bumpers around a baby in a crib. How can I want, yearn for these things to happen here? In the house I shared with Mike?
Mike.
We’d sit and cuddle in h
ere, in this very room, as a family while watching television. If Mike and I were lucky enough to find ourselves alone in it, we’d end up naked, with me bent over the arm of the couch. But being with Mike in that way isn’t an option anymore. It won’t be an option ever again.
I shouldn’t feel so conflicted about moving on. It’s what I’m supposed to do, isn’t it? That’s what everyone has been telling me for the last year. It’s time to get back on that horse. As if.
Maybe if Chance was just an average guy and not the hottest man in a fifty mile radius I’d feel better about the situation, and the sexual longings I have for him. I’d be confident. Secure.
But he’s not just an average guy. That’s part of the attraction. He’s young and hot. And insanely sexy. Sex drips off him, like water off your hair in a rain storm. His actions don’t help matters any. The smile he flashes at me, the one that invites me to explore his mouth. The way he rubs his thumb on his bottom lip when he’s thinking. The way his muscles ripple and tease through his clothes when he moves.
Standing here with him, I feel a tingling crawl up my legs and settle into my lower half. An awakening of sorts. I feel guilty for thinking of using this man to fulfill my sexual desires when he just did a kind deed for me. But I can’t help wanting him in that way.
I know I’m objectifying him like a construction worker judging a beauty pageant. But part of me really doesn’t care because after not having these thoughts and feelings for so long, it feels good, I feel alive and I want to keep having them. God, I’m pathetic. I’m worse than a horny old man.
Yikes. I am worse. I’m a horny old spinster!
I want to show him my appreciation for his kindness, do something nice just for him. I don’t think a lap dance would qualify. Besides, I’d probably bore him. No, it has to be something that says thank you, but isn’t too over the top. I’m not sure what though. Dinner? Bake him some cookies? Sure, just like a homely old woman.
My mind is buzzing and I can’t think straight. Maybe I could if these darn butterflies would go hibernate and stop fluttering like mad in my stomach. Although if they stop, the birds might fly south for the winter, and with anymore feeling down there I won’t be responsible for my actions.