by RM Johnson
Monica was caught off guard when he scooped her up by her behind, her legs inadvertently spreading, wrapping around his hips, and laid her on her back across the bed.
He stood just to the side of her, wearing nothing but his underwear now, the bulge in front looking as though it would tear through the fabric if it was not released.
Lewis stared down at her, savoring every inch of her body, and as he did that, he grabbed Monica’s hand.
“I want you to feel something,” he said, pressing her hand softly against his penis.
As he continuing gazing over her body, rubbing a hand gently over her soft skin, she felt his penis react, jump, pulsate, and grow even harder.
“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice raspy now.
“Yes,” Monica said, her voice equally low.
“I want you to feel more.” He pulled down the front of his briefs, and let himself jump out at her. He placed her palm on it, wrapping her fingers around it, motioning for her to stroke it. He moaned, and Monica felt her nipples start to harden.
No, she told herself. That’s not supposed to be happening.
He must’ve seen it too, for he reached down, grabbed one of them between his fingers, and gave it a slight pinch. It sent a jolt through her entire body.
“I want you,” Lewis said, climbing on top of her.
“I want you too,” Monica said, but did not know anymore if that was part of the act, or if her body truly desired him.
He clamped his lips around her left breast, sucked it so passionately that she felt those emotions that she knew he couldn’t have felt for her. He sucked the other one, quicker, then slowing down as he pushed her legs apart with his knees, positioning himself to enter her.
Monica still had on her panties, but Lewis didn’t seem to mind. He pressed himself into them as though they weren’t there, and to her surprise, this excited Monica beyond her expectation. Her nipples were almost painfully erect, and she was now so wet that she felt there was a puddle growing between her spread thighs.
Lewis must’ve sensed this as his cue, and he pressed the tip of his dick into the thin fabric.
Monica’s eyes widened, and she knew he couldn’t have, but it felt as though the very tip, the soft, round flesh of him, entered her, and just at that moment, he lowered himself, pressing his lips onto her mouth.
Without thought, she eagerly accepted his tongue, pulled on it, as though it was him. She felt her arms, wrapped around his ass, trying to pull him down, tear through the damn panties she was too stupid to take off, and then, all of a sudden, she regained her senses.
“No,” she said, turning her face away from his kiss.
“What!” Lewis said.
“I said, no!” And now Monica was pushing her palms into his chest, forcing him off her.
He moved, allowing her to quickly climb down from the bed and search the dark room’s floor for her clothes.
“Monica, what’s wrong?” Lewis said, standing out of her way.
“Nothing,” she said as she continued filling her arms with her things. But there was something wrong. She was feeling that shit. Really feeling it. She was loving the taste of his sweet tongue in her mouth, wanting to feel the man’s dick inside her, and it didn’t matter if he had feelings for her at that moment, because something told Monica, if she had let him slide that thing up in her, she would’ve been on her way to falling in love her damn self, and she couldn’t have that.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, again. “I just have to go.”
“But—”
“Please, Lewis,” Monica said, looking up at him. “Don’t ask me. Just tell me where your bathroom is, so I can get changed and get out of here.”
36
Twenty minutes later Monica was back home. She swung open the front door, called for her husband, peeling off her jacket, kicking off her heels, leaving them in her wake as she made her way farther into the penthouse.
“Nate, are you home?” she called again, not seeing him on the first floor.
Still flustered, her body warm all over, she took the stairs two at a time.
“In here,” Monica heard Nate call. He was in their bedroom, was walking toward the door. Monica quickly closed the distance, threw herself into him, pushed him backward toward the bed. She landed on top of him, and immediately started at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling with them, unable to push them through the tiny slits. She resorted to tearing it open, the resistant buttons popping and flying from the garment, hitting the bedroom floor.
“What are you doing?” Nate said, sitting up, looking at her with wide eyes, shock in his voice.
“I want you,” Monica said, her words barely understandable, for she was kissing, licking, suckling her husband’s chest.
He made a weak attempt at pushing her away.
She wasn’t having it. She locked her hands around his wrists, pressing them down on either side of his head, forcing her weight down on him more.
“I want you, and I need it, now!” she said, squeezing his wrists a little tighter, trying to convince him of that fact. When she felt him no longer struggling, she kissed lower, lower, to his belly button. She quickly undid his belt buckle, unzipped his trousers, dropped to her knees, and forced the pants to his ankles.
To her disappointment, he was not there, was not where he needed to be to satisfy her, where Lewis…
No! She wouldn’t think about him, Monica scolded herself. This was not about him, about that. It was her wanting to have sex with her husband. She lifted his wilted member and told herself it was no problem. This time she would get him there if it was the last thing she did. But after endless pulling, rubbing, stroking, licking, and sucking, there was nothing.
She looked at him, frustration in her eyes, wondering why in the hell this was happening.
Nate looked back at her, only a blank expression on his face.
“It can’t be forced. It won’t happen like this,” he said, again offering no apology. “We can try again tomorrow.”
Monica stood, her hair, her clothes a mess. She looked down at him, wanted to tell him that she had been waiting for two weeks of tomorrows, and that considering the horny fit she was in right now—had been in for the last hour—even another minute was far too long to wait.
Monica turned, stormed out the door and down the stairs.
“Monica,” Nate called, but that’s all he did. He didn’t follow, as she thought he would, as she was hoping he wouldn’t.
She ended up on the main level in the bathroom—her bathroom. She slammed the toilet lid, flopped down on it, and dropped her elbows onto her knees, her face in the palms of her hands.
All this time she’d been going without, and now, when she needed him, really needed him, he still couldn’t get it up. Betcha there wouldn’t have been that problem with Lewis.
Stop it! Stop it! she told herself. But she could not. She didn’t want to go back there, but something was calling her, demanding that her attention return, and it did. She was there again, in that man’s bedroom, seeing what would’ve happened if she had stayed. The moonlight cast over them, his body on top of hers, her legs spread wide, and this time she would have her panties off. She would reach down just before insertion, wanting to feel again what she was getting, and then the thought became too much.
In the bathroom, Monica was down on her knees, swinging the doors of the vanity cabinet open, digging around there for the vibrator that she hadn’t used in forever, and had been forcing herself not to use since Nate had been unable to make love to her.
She pulled out the V2000. “The ultimate vibrator for the new millennium,” she remembered the box saying when it was new.
It wouldn’t take long for her to satisfy herself, she thought, her panties around her ankles, her legs spread after turning it on, the thing going crazy, undulating and pulsating in her hand like something living, crazed, desperately trying to escape her grasp. But its cry was only a low hum, and she was thankful for that
.
She spread her legs wider, kicking one bare foot up on the face bowl, and then lowered the machine, touching it to her clitoris. She immediately threw her head back, wanting to scream, it felt so good. Instead, she brought the device up, found the intensity control, and rolled its dial from six to level ten. The machine whined at a higher pitch, vibrated, and jumped about in her grip even more. She lowered it back between her legs, rested it on her spot, and let her mind be pulled back to the man’s apartment, just after he would’ve entered her. The movements that she saw him making in her mind were mimicked by her with the vibrator, and each time his body swayed to the left, so did her hand—to the right, and the vibrator did the same—and when he hit her spot, concentrated on it, like she knew he was so capable of doing, she did the same with her toy. And now, in her mind, he was telling her that he wanted her to come.
“You gonna come for me? You gonna come?” he demanded in his sweet, raspy voice, his chiseled arms on either side of her head, his chest, ripped with muscles, just above her, as he continued sliding in and out.
Her answer was yes. “Yes, yes. Goddammit, yes!”
But just when she felt she would release, felt Lewis was ready to receive all she had to give him…a knock came at the door.
“Monica, what are you doing in there?”
Immediately she cut off the V2000, whipped her eyes toward the door, suppressing her heavy breathing, and questioning whether or not it was just her imagination, praying that it was.
“Monica, what’s going on?” It was Nate.
“Dammit!” she said quietly to herself, then quickly dropped the machine out of sight, behind the toilet, as if he had the power to see through doors.
“Nothing. I was…uh…just shaving my legs,” she said, hoping that would account for the humming noise he may have heard through the door.
“Why are you…,” he started, then seemed not to even want to pursue the question. “Can you come out here when you’re done with that?”
She did after some time, and when she went upstairs, Nate said some things that she didn’t pay any attention to, didn’t care to hear, because all Monica could do was think about how she was going to get back in Lewis’s bed.
37
Nate threw his Mercedes into park, pulled the key from the ignition, and slumped into the seat, hanging his head low. Outside his window, the faded sign reading “Taylor’s Bar” hung high above him. He had a lot on his mind.
The other night, while at Tori’s, the woman handed him an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
When Nate pulled the sheet of paper out, and unfolded it, he saw names and numbers printed on it. “And this is what?” he asked.
“The numbers of private investigators. You said you needed to hire one, but I haven’t heard anything about it, so I thought I’d help you out.”
“Did I say I needed your help?”
“You haven’t been saying much about anything anymore, Nate,” Tori said. “Do you still want this? Want me?”
“Yes,” Nate said, becoming frustrated. “I keep telling you that, but this takes time. You can’t speed this along, regardless how much you want to.”
“You made me a promise, Nate,” Tori said, looking depressed. “You’re going to do what it takes to keep it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Tori. I told you I would, and I will,” Nate said, feeling then that things were starting to get out of hand. With each day that passed, Tori was becoming more restless and demanding, and Nate would have to determine a way to settle her before she did something more than just compile a list of names and numbers.
But Nate had something else that was bothering him.
Of late, he didn’t know what was happening to his plan. It seemed to be going perfectly, but if that was the case, he asked himself, why was he feeling the way he was?
He knew part of it was because his plan required that he treat Monica like he could no longer stand her.
Over the last week and a half, he’d noticed every attempt that she’d made to get them close again, but he had had to ignore her, or treat her even worse with each effort she did put forth.
All the times that she’d wanted to have sex with him, and when he was unable to perform, he knew she believed it was her fault, that he was no longer attracted to her, but that was not really the case. How much he wanted to tell her that, let her know that it was just the pills; but that would ruin all the work that he had put in. So Nate would just roll on his side, or right out of bed, as though it made no difference to him that he couldn’t make love to her, or as though it truly was her fault.
He remembered the night he came home and she was all dressed up in her new nightgown. All she wanted to do was be next to him, and get a little affection in return, acknowledgment that he still cared for her, and he knew that. But no, he couldn’t give it to her. Even though her eyes begged him for it, pleaded for him to show her a single sign that he still cared for her, Nate could not show it. And instead, he turned, left her standing there naked in the center of their living room, and climbed the stairs as though she wasn’t important to him at all.
And then, of course, there was their anniversary. Nate agonized over that one for quite some time. Every year in the past, he always made sure that they had a wonderful time on their night, but he was conflicted about what to do regarding this year.
If he were to take her out, or even recognize the night by staying home and having dinner with his wife, treating her any better than he had been, he was afraid that she might take that as a sign that they were getting back on track, and when Nate finally had Lewis make his move, Monica might hold out, because of the hope that Nate instilled in her on the night of their anniversary.
For that reason, he could not acknowledge it, had to act as though he just didn’t care about such things anymore.
Since he had enacted his plan, Nate had been spending many of his evenings with Tori. That night he didn’t. It just seemed too damn disrespectful in Nate’s eyes, so he ended up at his brother’s door. It was around eight that evening.
“What are you doing here?” Tim said. “Isn’t it your anniversary?”
“Can you hang out for a while?” Nate said.
Tim looked at him oddly. “Nate, what’s going on?”
“Tim, can you hang out, yes or no?”
“All right.”
They ended up at a bar in Hyde Park, a neighborhood between where Nate lived and his brother’s house. Nate had told Tim everything that had been happening over the past couple of weeks, while he downed his second scotch and tonic, and was waiting on his third.
Tim shook his head. A mask of disgust hung on his face, as he was barely able to look at his brother.
“You need to leave here right now,” Tim said. “You need to take me home, head back home yourself, and try to salvage this night.”
“I can’t,” Nate said, accepting the new glass of liquor that was placed before him, slowly bringing it up to his lips and taking a sip. “It’s all part of the plan.”
“The plan!” Tim said, turning his entire body around to face his brother. “You’re treating your wife like shit. Do you enjoy that?”
“No!” Nate said, slamming his glass down, spilling some of its contents. “I hate it. I still love her.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m still angry as hell at her for lying to me, for not telling me that there was a chance that she wouldn’t be able to have my children. And no, I don’t think she should be rewarded with millions of dollars for doing that. But I do still love her.”
“And what about the other girl, Tori?”
“What about her? I see her more than I see my wife. She bugs me every day about when I’m going to divorce Monica.”
“Do you love her?”
Nate looked at his brother as though he thought the question was an unfair one.
“I’m going to marry her, she’s going to have my fa
mily, and I’ll love her then.”
“But do you love her now?”
“That’s not important,” Nate said.
“You don’t. And if that’s the case, then forget all this nonsense,” Tim said, pulling his wallet from his jacket pocket. “I’ll pay the tab, and let’s get out of here.”
“Put your wallet away. We’re not going anywhere,” Nate said, sipping from his glass again. “I hate what’s going on. It’s killing me. But I’d rather go through this pain right now than the pain of never having a family, of never having the children I want. That would last me the rest of my life.” Nate was looking dead into his brother’s eyes when he spoke those last words, and something told Nate that moment that maybe his brother, for the first time, understood how he felt.
Now, Nate stepped out of his car, walked toward Taylor’s Bar, pulled the door open, and stepped inside.
As he walked toward a table in the back, he called out to the bartender, “Scotch and tonic, please.”
After last night, when at 10 P.M. Monica still had not made it home, Nate began to suspect that she was out with Lewis.
Nate had been speaking to Lewis once a day via cell phone, getting updates, but the boy never told Nate that he had planned on seeing his wife in the evening. But then again, it was only a suspicion of Nate’s.
When Monica did finally come in, when he saw her wearing that dress, those shoes, her hair all done up in this new style that she was sporting, his suspicions were all but confirmed.
Monica practically tackled him upon coming into the bedroom. She tore off his clothes, and although she’d tried in the past to get him ready for sex, she had never seemed so determined about it. She seemed feverish, as though there was something else driving her to want sex from her husband than what normally did.
Nate spoke to her after that, but got nothing out of her that explained why she had behaved the way she did.
And when he asked her where she had been, she simply answered, “I’ve been out.”
She slept with her back to him, as far away as the king size bed allowed.