One Size Fits All

by Courtney Cole

  “Come find me and we can do it again.” She says with a giggle then takes off.

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. I ran downstairs after her to find her in the living room.

  “Okay. Now that I’ve found you, what’s my reward?”

  “Let me tell you about my favorite body part." She reached down between us to rub my penis. "That is my favorite part. I have a secret. I watched you once in the shower. I watched you masturbate and I thought it was so hot."

  "I never knew that."

  "Well you do now."

  Wanda’s fingers wipe away some of the fluid that glistened on the tip. It was her turn to do something for me. She got on her knees and licked across the head. She followed all the way down to the underside of my shaft. She then licked across the ridges of my balls and gently sucked them into her mouth one at a time.

  It was wonderful, but I wanted more. I didn’t want to come this way. When I did I wanted to be buried deep inside of her.

  I took her hands and pulled her up to her feet. Then kissed her slowly stepping us backwards until we reached the sofa.

  She laid down on the sofa letting her head rest on the arm. I kissed her once more as I positioned myself between her thighs.

  Her back arched as I slipped into her. I loved the feeling of her inviting warmth drawing me in, every flex of her inner walls around me welcoming me home.

  Seconds we lay there in silence. Then, with a whimper, my body went limp. Of course, it wasn't only my body.

  “I can’t believe it’s been years since we’ve done this.” She said.

  “I know this has felt so good.” I admitted.

  “Well, it is possible for us to do this now whenever and wherever we want to.” She said with a smile before drifting off to sleep.

  ***

  “Wanda, what do you say we go for a drive? I’ve got the day off and thought you’d like to get out of the house for a while.” I suggested.

  GOING FOR A DRIVE was always my way of getting her to do something she had an apprehension to. Like when the boys wanted to go away to camp, or when Sarah wanted to go hang out with her friends unsupervised at the mall.

  I would take my wife on a drive to convince her to see things my way. I knew still felt hurt from my reaction to her surprise and probably suspected the ride was some elaborate scheme to soften her mood.

  I slipped on my shoes and headed out of the door. It felt good to pull the cover off of the orange ’69 RT Charger. It seemed we hardly ever took this car out of the garage.

  I put the cover away and looked up as she stared at me through the doorway. Suddenly I felt like we were both 19 again.

  “Remember this beauty?” I said.

  “Vaguely,” She lifted her shoulder then lowered it giving me a smug look.

  All right, two can place this game. I decided to pull out the heavy ammunition and take her for a ride down memory lane.

  “I picked you up for our first date in this.” I watched her face as I ran my hand down the hood of the car.

  “I’ve been in so many cars, it’s hard to tell.” She grinned then slid into the seat and buckled in.

  “We had our very first kiss in this car.” I reminded her as I fastened my seatbelt.

  “Oh yes, I remember that.” She said still trying to fight my charm. Now it was time to pull out the coup de grace.

  “And I asked you to be my wife in this car.” I waited a minute before I looked over to read her.

  “Yes I recall that too.” She reached over to hold my hand as I drove.

  “We made Samuel right there in that back seat.” I nodded my head to gesture to the worn leather in the back.

  “Yeah” She said and squeezed my hand harder. “That seems like a lifetime ago.”

  I decided to let her in on my secret. “I love this car so much, she holds all our memories, our story. That’s why I like to take you for a drive in her when we need to work something out.” I admitted.

  I heard her sniffle and turned to her. “Honey.”

  “I’m alright Bill, that was just so beautiful. “So tell me what you’re hoping to get by taking me out for a ride now?”

  “Nothing honey. Just wanted to spend time with you.” I said. I leaned over to kiss her wet cheek.

  I wanted to make it all up to her. Despite our years together, I never learned how to get it right. Yes, I was out making the money to support the family, but she held us together. The sacrifices and time she invested in that is worth more than I could ever repay. Wanda wanted to know she was loved, cherished, appreciated, and wanted. Our honeymoon, wasn’t much of one. We were fresh out of college with limited resources. Now that we’ve started a new chapter, I wanted it to begin on something amazing. Jamaica here we come. I’ve planned my share of projects at the company, booking an international trip should be a piece of cake after all what could possibly go wrong?

  To be continued...

  About the Author

  Misha Elliott is a romance author who uses writing as a way to entertain, and educate. Her books have given her the opportunity to discuss and release emotions that run deep.

  She lives in south east Texas with her two fur babies and the love of her life. When she’s not writing you can find her with her nose stuck in a book, sipping wine, or deep sea fishing.

  Misha loves to connect with readers, and you can contact her at any of the links below.

  Email: me@mishaelliott.commailto:ME@MishaElliott.com

  Personal Assistant: Mishaelliottpa@gmail.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ElliottMIsha?fref=ts

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/elliottmisha

  Website: http://www.mishaelliott.com

  Instagram: http://instagram.com/elliottmisha

  I Hoped There’d Be Handcuffs

  Isabelle Richards

  Copyright © 2016 Isabelle Richards Books

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Eavesdropping is rude. It is ill-mannered and just completely wrong to listen in on someone’s private conversation. Especially when it’s obviously a very personal matter. The right thing to do would be to turn away, move a few tables down, or quietly hum to tune them out. Listening is just downright inappropriate.

  Thank goodness I’ve never claimed to be appropriate. I can’t even imagine how boring that’d be. Plus, I’d be missing out on this free entertainment.

  Seriously, if he doesn’t want people to hear, he should try harder to keep his voice down and make his conversations far less interesting. This is a hotel bar after all. He could always get a room if he wants privacy. He didn’t, so I say it’s fair play.

  I was patiently waiting at Paralleled 37 in the Ritz when I got a text telling me she was going to be over an hour late. Frustrated Sookie was holding me up, I considered leaving to get a mani-pedi rather than waiting, but there wasn’t enough time. Bored and painfully aware of my chipped polish, I absentmindedly picked at my overgrown cuticles until a sexy guy in a suit with mussed hair strolled in. The eye candy alone would have been sufficient enough to keep me occupied while I waited, but then he whipped out his iPad and FaceTimed with his wife and kids. It was damn cute. There was nothing sexier than a guy who was good to his family. I watched unabashedly as he sang the itsy-bitsy spider with hand jesters with his daughter, read If You Give a Mouse a Cookie from memory to his son, and then gave his wife the best, �
�I’m so lucky to have you. You’re Mom of the year and wife of the century, and you look super-model sexy wearing the same clothes for three days in a row, even with jelly on your forehead and what I can only guess is pancake batter in your hair,” speech. Sexy suit guy was now the world’s greatest man. I was totally swooning. That was, until he blew air kisses and quickly hung up when his mistress came to the table.

  My image of him mowing the lawn shirtless and then grilling burgers for the kids’ soccer team and their families shattered. As the woman slid into the seat across from him, he transformed into smooth, suave, I-can’t-wait-to-give-your-cat-my-cupcake man. The metamorphosis was so seamless, it was frightening. Those same fingers that were just itsy-bitsy spidering were now climbing up his mistress’s water spout. It took all I had not to run over there and smack that smug look right off his face. Or better yet, hit redial on his iPad so his wife could see what an asshole he really was.

  I am so caught up in all the nasty ways I’d love to publically humiliate this guy and his wondering, one-eyed monster, I almost miss it when his mistress slaps him across the face, and the screaming begins. Why is there never a man selling popcorn when I need it? I do, however, have a chick peddling over-priced martinis, so I take one—extra dirty of course—and lean forward so I can hear better.

  From what I can tell, she’s supposed to be his “slice on the side”, and she has the “audacity” to ask for dinner to accompany his booty call. She wants to go to the museum and to plays and the opera. He says he does that with his wife, but when he’s with her, he wants to do all the things he can’t do with his wife—like anal sex. He’s never understood how any man can fuck his wife in the ass and then just hop back into conversation about the school fundraiser and the cost of braces. Since he can’t do that and still look at his wife the same way, he found her. That is what she signed up for, if she didn’t read the fine print, is that his fault?

  She slaps him again.

  She slaps, and yet she doesn’t leave. I don’t care how hard she hit him, the fact that her butt is still in that seat takes all the sting out of it. She really needs to grow a pair. On behalf of women everywhere, I cluck my tongue and shake my head in disappointment.

  And that’s when he notices me and gives me the hairy eyeball.

  Crap! Spotted! I better turn this around or I’ll never know what happens!

  I pull my laptop out of my bag and flip it open. With a furrowed brow, I pray I’m conveying a look that says, “I’m so consumed with my own shit that I’m oblivious to anything going on around me” as I frantically type whatever words come to mind. Even after a few solid minutes of my intensively typing absolute nonsense, he looks over his shoulder at me, scoots his chair closer to the woman, and lowers his voice.

  The nerve of him! He dares to lower his voice and deprive me of my viewing pleasure!

  “You make me sound like a prostitute!” she screams.

  Thank God the voice lowering business doesn’t last long.

  “So I call you when I’m in the mood for sex. What’s wrong with that? It’s spontaneous. If I wanted to schedule sex, I’d have sex with my wife.”

  “You told me you never have sex with your wife!” she cries, looking thoroughly shocked that the lying, cheating bastard is a lying, cheating bastard.

  Pushing out a sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair. “She’s my wife. Of course we still have sex. It’s just not good sex. We’ve been having sex since we were fifteen for Christ’s sake. The days of good sex are long gone.” He gestures to her with both hands. “That’s why I need you.”

  I gasp loudly. Spencer and I started having sex when we were fifteen. Is this what I have to look forward to in a few years? My jaw’s hanging open and I’m staring at them when they both turn to glower at me. Petrified they’re going to continue this discussion without me, I focus my attention on my laptop. If they leave, they’ll leave me on a cliffhanger I won’t recover from.

  She pushes back from the table. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  He snorts. “So having sex with a married man isn’t a problem for you. It’s only when said man is still having sex with his wife that you draw the line? That’s classy.”

  “Good-bye, Derek. Call me when you really stop sleeping with your wife.” She snatches her purse from the table and then storms out.

  Derek tries to flag down the bartender, but by the way she’s scowling at him, I doubt he’s going to get service. I smile at her. “Six shots of tequila please.”

  Her eyebrows shoot up. “For yourself?”

  I nod in the direction of Suits table. “For me and Casanova over there.”

  She glares at me with disgust. “Looking to snatch up sloppy seconds.”

  “Wouldn’t it be trashy thirds? First the wife, then the mistress, then the hypothetical trash grabber?” I shake my head. “No. I’m not interested in STD-in-waiting over there. I’m just noisy. It’s like when you watch an episode of something on Netflix. You can’t stop with just one, you need to binge-watch the whole series. Well, the pilot has sucked me in, and I think I’m going to need a bribe to get the rest of the series.” I tap my finger on my chin. “I wonder if I should just buy the whole bottle.”

  Chuckling, the bartender grabs shot glasses. “I can always get you more if six aren’t enough.” She points the tequila bottle at me. “But talk loud enough so I can hear, okay? None of that whispering stuff.”

  I grab the tray and carry it over to Don Juan de Asshole. “Hey, how’s it going?” I ask as I sit down.

  He looks at me as though I just smeared dog crap all over the table. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I’m Charlie.” I set the tray between us. “The way I see things, crazy shit just went down. I’m not going to bother pretending I don’t know what happened. I was listening. You know I was listening. I can’t imagine you have too many people in your life you can really talk to about what just happened.” I laugh. “It’s not like you can go crying to your wife that your girlfriend just broke up with you. So, I come bearing tequila. You might as well let it all out to a perfect stranger.” I hold out a shot to him. “So what’s this about your sex life going to shit?”

  He just stares at the shot. “How is this any of your business?”

  Shrugging, I throw the shot back and then hold out another to him. “It’s not. But considering I’m married to the person I’ve been sleeping with since I was fifteen, I’m curious where things went wrong with you.”

  “I think you’ve had enough entertainment haven’t you?” He reaches into his brief case and pulls out his laptop. “Now, if you don’t mind. I’m meeting a colleague here in an hour and have a number of things to do before he gets here.”

  “Oh come on, like you’re actually going to be able to work right now. You’re clearly flustered, and your brain is all flurried. A little tequila will help snap you out of this spunk funk. You’ll feel so much better if you talk about it, and who better to bear your soul to than someone you’ll never have to see again.” I slightly tilt the shot glass back and forth. “Come on, you’d better catch up.”

  He looks at me like I’m a walking poison ivy plant ready to give him a lap dance and then sighs. “You’re not going to go away are you?”

  I shake my head. “Not likely. My appointment won’t be here for another hour either, so we’re both stuck, we’d might as well make the most of it. And, based off the death rays the bartender is sending you, I think you’re only chance of ordering any alcohol is through me. If you get chatty, I’ll even pick up the tab.”

  “Why the hell not. This day can’t get much worse.” He grabs the shot from me and then swallows it down. “Keep ’em coming.”

  I push another glass toward him. “So, when exactly did your sex life get the terminal diagnosis?”

  He laughs before drinking the shot. “You should really do something about your shyness. I bet it really holds you back in life.”

  “I am bl
essed with the gift of being able to say or do anything without giving a flying fuck what anyone thinks. So, you were saying, when did the doctor say it was time to call hospice on your sex life? Did you have a funeral? Who gave the eulogy?”

  “We’re going to need more shots.” He tosses back another one. “Rory and I have been together since the fourth grade. We won the three-legged race at field day and have been together ever since.”

  “And things went wrong ... when exactly?”

  “Never. Nothing’s wrong. Our marriage is perfect. We have four kids and a house in Greenwich. Everything’s perfect.”

  I point my thumb at the door. “Then what’s with Sally Suckballs?”

  Grabbing another shot, he sighs. “Beverly has nothing to do with my marriage.”

  “Beverly? Her name is Beverly? Who under seventy is named Beverly? And she has everything to do with your wife. You stick your penis in both of them. It makes them Peni-Sisters. It’s like a sorority. Pi Beta Peen. They should swap paddles at a candlelight ceremony and make each other picture frames.”

  He glowers at me. “You’re crass.”

  I take the last shot and then motion for the bartender to send over more. “I’m honest, and you’re in denial. You said you picked up with Heidi Cockhoover because after fifteen years of sex with your wife, you’ve used up you’re entire ‘good sex’ punch card and your marriage sex club membership has been downgraded to fade to black. How does that happen?”

  “It just happens. Life is just so hectic. During college and grad school, we were both so focused and driven. I always assumed there’d be more time. Then there was the wedding and the start of our careers. Before I knew it, we had four kids, a minivan, weekends full of soccer practices and kid birthday parties, all the while we are staring down the barrel of two decades’ worth of private school tuition. And that’s before college! I can’t even think about how much college is going to be in ten years.”