by Amy Brent
I broke the kiss and pushed up. I took her hand and pulled her up, too, turning her so that her back was against the wall. She arched her back, pushing her breasts out to me, an invitation. I stepped into her so that her body was against mine and I felt the swells of her breasts against my chest. The erection in my pants throbbed and I tugged at my waistband to readjust myself.
I slid a hand onto her neck, over her collarbone and then onto her breast. I was being forward. I was overstepping the line. She was twenty-two and I was forty. Everything about this was wrong.
It didn’t feel wrong. It felt right.
I massaged her breast and she gasped into my mouth. Her hips undulated against mine. My other hand was in her hair. Her hands slid around to my back and she pulled me against her, moving her hips, driving me crazy and we were just standing in the passage with our clothes on.
I broke the kiss and my breathing was erratic. Her mouth was slightly parted, her pupils dilated. Her face told me everything I needed to know.
I held onto her hand and led her to the bedroom. The same bedroom where Marina and that asshole Kamal had decided to tell me how much respect they had for me. I’d disinfected the whole damn room, but bringing Camille in here felt like a fuck you to Marina.
It wasn’t revenge sex at all, though. Never. This was real. I wondered how real Marina’s escapades had been.
I pushed the thought from my mind. I wasn’t going to think about her anymore. This was about Camille and only Camille. As soon as we were in the room I pulled her shirt over her head and she stood in front of me in her bra. It was red and it suited her skin and her personality. Feisty, exotic.
She had a slight belly and it was beautiful. A baby. My baby.
She reached back and unclasped it, letting it fall to the floor. She was perfect. Natural breasts that fit into the palm of my hand like they’d always been meant for me. Real, not fake. I took a nipple between my thumb and forefinger and rolled it. Camille closed her eyes and tipped her head back, and I relished the sensation of being able to bring that expression to her face.
She only let me make her feel good for a moment before she moved my hands away and pulled my t-shirt over my head. I was no spring chicken compared to her, but she ran her hands over my chest, fingers in the curly gray chest hair, and she kissed the skin, leaving a trail of fire in her wake. She stopped at the V that led into my pants and hooked her fingers into the waistband of my pants and pulled it down. She took my jocks along with it, not wasting any time.
There was no guessing what I was feeling. My sex sprung free and she wrapped her fingers around it, mimicking the rhythm of sex with her hand. I only let her do that for a short while. I only let her drive me crazy to a point well before the point of no return. I needed to be inside her. It was an ache inside of me that I had ignored since I’d met her, and now I was going to let go and let my own needs come first for the first time since I’d gotten married.
I got rid of her pants. There was, again, no ceremony about it. I laid her out on the bed like a feast and crawled over her. Her thighs fell open for me, an indication that she wanted this as much as I did. If she hadn’t I would have backed away immediately. The only thing I had for Camille that trumped my lust was respect.
I positioned myself at her entrance and she was wet and ready. She gasped, air escaping through her open lips. Her eyes were on mine and when I pushed into her I lowered my mouth onto her and kissed her. This was not just about her sex, but about her.
She squirmed a little underneath me when I pushed all the way in. I waited for a moment when I was into the hilt, letting her adjust. She breathed fast and shallow. I ran my fingers through her curly hair, over her cheeks, tracing her eyebrows, her ears, her nose, her lips.
“You’re beautiful.” This was so important to me that she knew that. That she understood what this was about. It wasn’t revenge sex or a rebound or some ass because I was lonely. This was all about her.
I started moving. In and out, in and out. Slowly, stroking. Her eyes rolled back and then closed and she gasped, whimpering moans slipping out of her throat. Her hands were on my back, her fingers massaging the skin. I kept moving. The sensation was fantastic. I ran my hand over her body, over her breast. She arched her back, moving her hips along with mine.
I felt her orgasm building. Her body tightened around mine, her legs hooked around my ass, her hands kneaded the skin on my back, her moans became louder. It coaxed my orgasm out, stroke by stroke, too.
She released before I did, toppling over into the abyss and I watched her face. She gave herself over to it entire. Her eyebrows knit together, her mouth opened in a silent cry, and then her body clamped down on mine and she curled around me, nails biting into my skin. I grunted, relishing the sharp pain that came with the exhilaration, the ecstasy. I only waited until the worst was over until she was breathing again, before I kept moving.
Her orgasm had nearly kick started mine and I wanted my release. I wanted to claim her. It sounded awful and primal and animalistic but it was what I wanted. Some carnal part of me wanted to mark her so that no one else would look at her. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice shouted that I’d never wanted to do that with Marina, but I drowned it out with sex. I went faster and faster.
Her cries and moans were louder and came freely now, as if breaking through the orgasm had let her break through self-consciousness, too. I felt it building inside of me now, my balls contracted and my core was on fire. Just a little… more…
My body jerked and I froze, letting nature take over, letting my body do what it needed to. I was aware of her whimpering when I released inside of her, of her hands on my back and her breath in my ear. When it finally subsided she opened her eyes and she looked at me.
Big brown eyes. Beautiful. A face I wanted to look at over and over and over again.
“Holy shit, Mark.”
I smiled. Such an adolescent expression after such a mature act. I nodded.
Holy shit, indeed.
Camille
I spent the night. When he finished inside of me I hadn’t wanted to spoil it by getting up and leaving. I didn’t want to leave, anyway. Mark had slipped out of, collapsed next to me and pulled me against him, curling his body around mine like a question mark. If I had been unsure before about his intentions with me I was sure now. Men who wanted one-night stands and booty calls didn’t spoon. These were facts you learned at a very young age.
Mark wasn’t using me. I wasn’t sure what else was behind it – I was hesitant to assume there was any emotional input – but it definitely wasn’t just physical. Was it?
I carefully slid out from underneath the covers. It was very early, the light coming from outside still laced with a silver quality. I tiptoed around the room to find my clothes. I didn’t want to hit and run but I had to get out of here to think straight. I didn’t want him to think it was any less to me than it was to him, but a girl has to think.
I got dressed as quietly as I could. I glanced back at him one more time before leaving the room. He was fast asleep, tangled in sheets we’d both messed up.
I let myself out, scared an alarm would go off. There was nothing. I walked all the way back to the bus stop and got on one that would take me back to my dorm. To real life.
What was I doing? I ran my hands through my hair, hoping it didn’t look too wild, like sex hair. I hadn’t even checked myself in the mirror before I’d left. I ran a finger under each eye, hoping my make-up hadn’t smudged.
Everything inside the college dorm was quiet, most of the students taking the morning to sleep in while they could. Late nights and impossibly early mornings define student life – you take a break whenever you can. I’d left with the same clothes on last night. I was relieved no one would see me coming in.
Sharon came down the corridor. Early riser. She stopped dead when she saw me.
“Is it still a walk of shame when you’re in your own corridor?” A smile played around her lips. Da
mmit, she knew.
I sighed and shook my head.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I started saying no, but then changed my answer. “Actually, I do.” I had a lot on my mind. I needed to tell someone, and considering that Sharon was the one that always ended up peeling me off the floor when something went wrong in my life she was the lady for the job. I opened my room door and she came in with me. She sat down on the chair Mark had used when he’d been here.
“So, who’s the lucky guy?”
“Mark.”
No reason to try and sugarcoat it. No matter when the truth came out, there would be a reaction.
Sharon frowned. “I don’t remember any Mark. Does he study with us?”
I shook my head. “Not a student Mark. A grownup Mark.”
I watched her mind tick, running through all the Mark’s we knew. Her eyes widened slightly and I knew she’d landed on the right one. I nodded a confirmation.
“Are you out of your mind? What the hell is wrong with you?”
This was the first time she’d asked me that. I heard that sentence often.
“It wasn’t on purpose.”
She snorted. “A classic case of you slipped and he fell?”
I rolled my eyes at her sarcasm. It wasn’t necessary.
“Don’t be a bitch right now, okay? I’m stuck.”
She snorted again and I could almost taste the next snarky comment but she didn’t say it and I breathed out in relief. The truth was I was starting to fall for Mark and it scared the shit out of me. I needed another perspective and Sharon – on the days she chose – could really be a voice of reason.
“I know you think this is all wrong, but the story isn’t exactly what you think.”
She raised her eyebrows and folded her arms. So tell me, her face said. I explained to her about Marina and her lover, about Mark and how lonely he’s been not just after the affair but while he was married, too.
“So, you thought it would be noble to keep him company?”
I sighed. “Can you please just push aside the fact that he’s twice my age—”
“And married.”
“Yeah… and married. And just treated this like every other screwed up relationship I’ve had?”
Sharon shrugged with one shoulder. I wasn’t sure if it was consent or indifference.
“The truth is that I really like him. I’m falling for him. He’s different. But he’s a billionaire with a life he built himself and I’m just a student. Why would he like me? Why would he go for me?”
“I don’t know.” Sharon’s voice was neutral. “You might want to be careful, but it has happened before that men were genuine. It can happen again.”
I picked at my thumbnail. “I am pregnant with his child, after all.”
“But that happened before the sex, not after.”
I nodded. “I know. And it’s also not my baby. It’s hers.” I covered my face with my hands. “God, this is so complicated.” My voice was muffled through my fingers.
“Why don’t you go and talk to him about it? You deserve an answer if you ask him the question. He can’t just leave you hanging, if he does you’ll know, anyway, but you still need to see him. And his wife.”
“She’s not his ex, yet.”
“She might never be.”
I hadn’t thought about that. When he’d told me she’d moved out I’d assumed it was over. Us having sex had made me feel like it was final. I hadn’t thought about the fact that he might take her back for the baby’s sake, that it might be nothing more than a one-nighter to get it out of his system. Shit.
“Stop worrying about it,” Sharon ordered. “You can’t overthink this until you speak to him.”
“And I can’t speak to him until after the test series or I’ll fail them all. Especially if it goes south.”
She nodded. I was being reasonable.
“Can I ask you something?”
I looked up at her and nodded. Her eyes sparkled and a smile spread over her face. “What was he like? In bed?”
I smiled, too. “Oh, my God, Sharon. He’s older, so he knows what he’s doing. I mean… hell. He really knows what he’s doing. It was fantastic.”
I swallowed, trying to get rid of the insecurities that were creeping in. Had I been good in bed? Had I left him just as satisfied as he’d left me? Was this something he would do again? Was it something I would let happen again? Did I have to stop it?
I shook off the questions and focused on Sharon, giving her details, telling her enough to satisfy her curiosity without sacrificing my or Mark’s dignity. It distracted me from all the questions, the doubts, the insecurity. It distracted me from a future that was unsure.
Mark
I couldn’t get her off my mind. Legs that went on forever, caramel skin that tasted just as sweet. Her eyes, boring into mine, encouraging me to bare it all. Her mouth, mesmerizing into wanting to kiss her whenever she spoke about something interesting, which was all the time.
I should have thought about what I was doing. I was nervous I’d taken it too far. I knew what I felt for her but I had no idea if she felt the same for me.
And she was pregnant with my child. With my and Marina’s child. Had I done something terrible?
It was difficult to see something that had been so spectacular as something terrible. I hadn’t felt like that with a woman since… I wasn’t actually sure if I’d ever felt that way around a woman. I knew for a fact Marina had never made me feel that way, which was just another reason on the pile of why I shouldn’t be with her. I’d been trying my damn best to make her happy, to be the model husband, to give her everything her heart desired.
It was just a pity her heart didn’t desire me. That hurt. It had stung like a bitch when I’d come back after catching the two of them in bed and she’d sat on the couch, her makeup in place, her hair perfect, her voice, her eyes, pleading.
I’d kicked her out. I couldn’t stand the look of her. She was nothing like the woman I’d married. I felt tricked and betrayed, not just by the affair but by our entire marriage.
I drew my thoughts back to Camille. She deserved them, not Marina. Not now. She was a point of light in a life that had become increasingly dark. She’d made me realize what it was like to be happy again, and that it wasn’t wrong to want that. I needed her to know how I felt about her. I needed her to understand that this wasn’t just about sex.
I called her. I was scared she wouldn’t answer. She’d left without saying goodbye.
“Do you want to come over tonight?” I asked. “Just to talk, to spend time together.” No sex, I wanted her to understand. She hesitated.
“I can’t see you until after my tests,” she said. My heart plummeted.
“Are you upset?”
“Not at all.” She was quiet to respond there and it made me feel better. “I’m not upset at all. But I need to pass these tests to get into the exam and I can’t afford a distraction.” She paused before adding on with a smile in her voice, “and you’re a very big distraction.”
When we ended the conversation I felt better. She didn’t hate me. She didn’t think I was the scum of the earth. At least, she was very good at pretending, if that was the case. I didn’t see her as the kind of person to lie about it, though. She seemed straight forward, open, uncomplicated. A big distraction, she’d called me. A compliment.
Dusk started falling when the intercom buzzed. I walked to the television that was linked to all the cameras that monitored the place. Marina stood outside, the door of her Gold Mercedes open, the lights on.
“Can we talk?”
I wanted to tell her to go away. I didn’t want to let her in. But the sooner I got it over with, the better. I opened the gate and walked to the front door. My stomach turned to stone, nerves settling inside of me like they were going to stay. I didn’t want to talk to her. I never wanted to see her again.
I opened the door and she stopped in front of me. Was she expecting a k
iss? When I didn’t move she carried on, moving deeper into the house. She sat down in her usual spot on the couch as if I was the one that was going to be interviewed, not her.
I sat down in my usual spot, too. I realized that our usual seats hadn’t been on the same couch for a long time.
“Why did you come?”
She looked hurt. “Is it wrong for a woman to come home to her husband?”
I shrugged. “Is it wrong to sleep with her fertility doctor in her marriage bed?”
She cringed away as if I’d physically struck her. Her eyes welled with tears.
“I made a mistake. Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”
I thought about our marriage, how devoted I’d been to Marina. I thought about Camille, the way she’d looked so perfect on my bed, naked, wanting. I shook my head.
“I’ve never made a mistake like that. This wasn’t a white lie or a forgotten anniversary, for God’s sake.”
She nodded, looking at her hands. Her nails were freshly done. My money. I was going to stop her cards.
“I wanted to fix this between us, Mark. I want us to be how we used to be.”
Before she’d become a bitch or before she’d had the affair? Those didn’t happen at the same time. I shook my head.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to do that. I don’t trust you anymore.” I wanted to add that I should never have, but I didn’t. That would have been cruel. I didn’t want to be cruel, only realistic.
“Please, Mark. You can’t just give up on us now. We have a baby on the way. What about the baby? Do this for the baby if not for me.”
We didn’t even know if it was a boy or a girl. Neither Camille or I went to the doctor’s meeting.