Third Life

by Noelle Adams

  “Do you have people in your life who celebrate your successes and help you through your failures?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.” I can’t stop myself from reaching over and stroking his jaw with my fingertips. My eyes are burning. “Richard, are you saying you don’t have any of that?”

  He shakes his head.

  “And you never have?”

  His lips part as he lets out a breath. “I don’t think so.”

  “What about your wife? Didn’t you trust her? Didn’t she try to take care of you?”

  “Maybe. I know she tried, but I don’t think what we had was real. We were always expecting each other to be something other than we really are.” He suddenly breaks out of whatever was trapping him emotionally. He reaches up to hold on to my wrist, pulling my hand down from his face. “I’m not trying to get you to feel sorry for me. My life is what I’ve made it. It’s not a bad one. I’m just trying to show you that your assumptions about our mutual experiences are hopelessly flawed.” He quirks up his mouth. He’s trying to move us past the intensity of the moment before. I know he is.

  So I help him. With a prim little sniff, I say, “Well, you don’t have to make it sound like that. Hopelessly flawed?”

  He laughs and reaches an arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him in what’s close to a half hug.

  I snuggle against him, giving in to the undeniable urge to hold him. I wrap one arm around his middle as I rest my cheek against his chest.

  We stay like that for several minutes. I don’t try to talk. I don’t push the intimacy. I don’t want him to pull away.

  But I feel better—different—about the two of us than I did even this morning.

  I’M PACKING UP MY STUFF and getting ready to leave the next morning, once again disappointed that our weekend is over so soon.

  It’s been great. We had really good sex and enjoyed really good food, and I felt connected to him the whole time without indulging in any futile, romantic daydreams. It was everything I could hope for from this weekend, but now it’s time to go back home.

  Maybe we’ll get together again.

  There won’t be any promises, but maybe...

  Richard comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist—he just took a shower—as I’m putting my makeup and toothbrush back into my little case. He stands behind me, meeting my eyes in the mirror for a minute before tilting his head down to suck on the side of my throat in a way that makes me squeal.

  He likes to make me squeal. He does it on purpose. I’m absolutely sure of it.

  Laughing, I turn around and push him away, but he pulls me into a hug and then kisses me. “You sure you don’t want me to go with you to the airport?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Your flight is four hours after mine. You’d have to sit and wait forever. Gallantry is all well and good, but there are limits.”

  “Okay. I’m not actually known for my gallantry, to tell you the truth.”

  “Really? I’m not sure I believe that.”

  “Why wouldn’t you believe it? You think I’m hiding depths of chivalry beneath my cynical surface?”

  “Maybe.” I rub his chest, playing with the hair there for a minute as I process what I’m feeling. Tender.

  That’s the way of heartbreak for me, so I stifle the feeling immediately. To distract myself, I yank the towel off his waist and give his naked body an exaggerated leer. “Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” His eyebrows go sky high.

  “I mean for a forty-eight-year-old.”

  He makes an outraged sound that makes me giggle. “Forty-six.”

  “Are you sure? I’m sure I recall you told me you were forty-eight.” I give him a little swat with the towel.

  He laughs and reaches for it, but I don’t let go. We end up having a small scuffle over it. A scuffle he wins.

  He doesn’t put the towel back on, however. He drops it and grabs for me, swinging me up into his arms and carrying me over to the bed. He dumps me on the foot and climbs over me, wrapping my legs around his back as he kisses me hard.

  We have sex like that—him completely naked, me wearing most of my clothes. It’s quick and hot and deeply pleasurable. I claw lines down his back as I come.

  We’re both panting and still tangled together as we come down. His head is buried in the crook of my neck.

  “Wow,” I gasp, caressing his back before moving my hands up to his hair.

  “Yeah. Not too shabby for a forty-something-year-old.”

  I giggle and hug him hard before I remember I need to get to the airport, and I really need to control any and all sappy impulses when it comes to Richard.

  So I let go of him and push him away until he lets me up. I clean myself up and straighten my clothes and finish packing my bag.

  Richard is still naked on the bed when I lean over to kiss him. “Thanks for everything,” I murmur. “I had an amazing time.”

  “Me too.”

  I wait for just a moment, but he says nothing about next time.

  I don’t either.

  With one more wave, I leave the hotel room, and I don’t look back even once.

  FOR THE NEXT COUPLE of weeks, I try to go through each day of my normal life.

  I work hard. I hang out with friends. I schedule an evening to have dinner with Ashley and Sean and the guy they want to fix me up with. I get the random desire to redo my bedroom, so I paint the walls, buy new bedding, and rearrange the furniture over the course of one weekend. Every time Richard passes into my mind—which is honestly quite often—I push away the image of his handsome face and dry half smile.

  I’m not going to let him infect my real life. I promised Ashley that as soon as he did, I’d give up my weekends with him. And I really don’t want to do that yet.

  On a conscious level, I’m quite successful, but I go through the days with constant low-level jitters of excitement. Expectation.

  After the first time, Richard waited a month before he sent me the package with the invitation for more. After the second time, he waited three weeks. So a tiny, silly part of me that I simply can’t control wonders if he’ll send the package after two weeks this time.

  He doesn’t send it after two weeks. He sends it after one week and six days.

  It arrives on a Thursday. I pick it up from my post office box as I’m coming home from work, and the rush of pure giddiness I feel when I see it should have caused alarm bells to clang deafeningly in my head.

  They clang only faintly, and I don’t pay attention to them. Instead, I hurry home and tear open the box to find another champagne flute—from the San Diego hotel—and a brochure for a resort hotel in Saint Thomas.

  Saint Thomas. He wants me to meet him in the Virgin Islands in three weeks.

  I’ve been keeping most of my weekends free without ever making a willful decision about it, so I don’t have anything scheduled for that weekend. And I have enough money to afford the plane ticket, despite the three other trips I’ve made this year.

  I never even ask myself the question. I knew before I opened the box that I was going to meet Richard wherever he’s planning to be.

  Saint Thomas. I’m going to have to buy some new bathing suits and some pretty clothes suitable for a tropical climate.

  Three weeks isn’t very far away.

  THREE WEEKS MIGHT NOT be a long time to wait, but it ends up feeling like it. I’m restless. More jittery than ever. And the days drag on with interminable slowness.

  Each night, I close my eyes and imagine what I’ll do with Richard. I visualize possibilities so vividly that I have to use my vibrator an embarrassing number of times. Usually more than once a day, which I’ve never had to do in my whole life. It’s not even quick, discreet sessions over my pajamas and under the covers like I used to do—panting into a pillow and biting my lip to keep from making any sounds at the fast rush of hot feelings. Instead, I run my hands over my naked body—something I would have been too ashamed to do several months ago. I build myself
up slowly. I make it last. I try different positions to see which one gives me the hardest orgasm. Sometimes I get so into it I shake the bed, loving the naughty sounds I make from the jiggling bedsprings and the banging headboard. And despite my attempt to stay quiet like I always used to, I moan and whimper as the pleasure builds up and cry out loudly as I come. I don’t even want to smother the sound with my hand or pillow as discretion would normally insist. I want to hear it.

  Occasionally I’m so loud as I come I’m afraid the neighbor who shares my wall might hear me, but that fear is not enough to keep me from doing it again.

  I never knew my body could feel this way. I never knew I could give this to myself.

  I never knew my own pleasure wasn’t reliant on a man who might or might not want to do this to me.

  I always collapse in bed afterward, exhausted, deeply relaxed, and physically satisfied, and I sleep for hours, as if my body knows it’s finally gotten what it has needed all this time. I wake up rested. Occasionally a little sore. And looking forward to what I’ll do in bed alone the next evening.

  So I’m not hurting for orgasms—I’ve had more in the past month than I’ve ever had in my life—but I’m still incredibly excited when I get on the plane for Saint Thomas on a Friday afternoon.

  The flight is long and bumpy, and the crowded airport is a pain. My driver is friendly and wants to chat the whole time when all I want to do is sit and think about Richard.

  The resort is stunning. Luxurious. Exclusive. I can’t help but gape as the car drops me off and I go to check in. The friendly staff is expecting me. After I’m welcomed and given a key, a bellman takes my suitcase and leads me to the room.

  It’s not actually a room. It’s a freestanding bungalow right on the water with an expansive patio and a private pool. I see this as we walk around to the entrance of the suite.

  My whole body throbs in anticipation. It’s literally throbbing. I’m already ridiculously aroused just at the expectation of seeing Richard again.

  He swings the door open before I can even knock. He’s in tan trousers and a T-shirt. He looks as handsome as ever, but he also looks tense. He’s not smiling.

  He tips the bellman and takes my suitcase, putting a hand on my back to guide me in before he closes and locks the door.

  “Is everything all—” I don’t even finish the question.

  I can’t finish the question because Richard has pushed me up against the wall and is kissing me hard.

  He must have been anticipating too. He must not have wanted to wait any more than I did. His mouth is urgent. Greedy. Almost rough. His hands move over my body with a hungry entitlement that’s absolutely thrilling.

  I kiss him back with shameless enthusiasm, pushing his shirt up so I can claw at his bare back and wrapping one leg around him so I can rub my arousal against his thigh. I gasp and arch my neck as he kisses my throat with soft, hungry sounds that turn me on even more.

  His hands are pushing up my skirt and pulling down my underwear even as he claims my mouth again. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but hold on to him and try to get him as close as humanly possible.

  He breaks the kiss as he quickly undoes his trousers and pulls out his erection. I stare at it ravenously until he suddenly lifts one of my legs and bends his knees to get himself in position. He thrusts in as he heaves me up against the wall. I cry out in surprise and automatically wrap my legs and arms around him to hold on.

  He’s inside me. Holding me up against the wall. My shoulder blades poke into it painfully, but I couldn’t care less about that. I can’t remember ever feeling so completely under someone’s control. I can’t move for fear of slipping to the ground. I squeeze as hard as I can and make a loud sobbing sound as he makes his first hard thrust.

  “Okay, baby?” His voice is rough and breathless and right in my ear.

  “Yeah. Yeah. Keep doing it. Fuck me just like this.” I can’t help but toss my head, even though I occasionally bump it painfully against the wall. “Fuck me hard, Richard. Please, please, fuck me.”

  I can’t believe I said that. My mind and heart and body feel like they’re on the cusp of exploding.

  He takes me against the wall, rutting fast and hard. He’s strong, but I’m not exactly tiny, so he needs the wall for support to keep us upright. This means he can’t pull out very far, but he doesn’t have to. The whole thing is raw and carnal. Primitive.

  I come almost immediately—far earlier than I could reasonable expect—and I’m sobbing with the pleasure of it as he keeps fucking me until I come again. He comes then too, making a loud, wordless bellow of what sounds like victory.

  The whole thing took less than two minutes.

  I’m panting and flushed hot with a proud, sated glow as he carefully pulls out and lowers me to the floor.

  We grin at each other like naughty children before he pulls me into a quick hug.

  “I can’t believe you came from that,” he says as he releases me and tucks himself back into his pants. “We didn’t have any foreplay at all.”

  “That was one of those rare instances when I didn’t need it. I was doing a lot of anticipating in the car over.”

  He chuckles and leans over to pick my panties up from the floor. They’re little and red and silk. Bought special for this trip. “I was doing some anticipating too.”

  “I could tell. I’m not sure how you knew when I got there though.”

  “They called from the front desk to tell me, so I was waiting.” He scans me from my messy hair to my cute little sandals. “That wasn’t too rough, was it?”

  “No. Just the right amount of rough.”

  Then his expression flickers. “Shit. We didn’t use a condom.”

  I hadn’t even thought of that. “Oh. Damn. We got too excited.” I give him a quick look and see he looks more worried for me than for him. “I’m on birth control, so we should be okay in that department. Unless we have incredibly bad luck. And I’m healthy.”

  “So am I. But you have no reason to believe that. We should have used a condom.”

  “We’ll be more careful next time.” I can see him relax, as if my composure reassured him.

  The truth is I really don’t want to get pregnant. Not right now. This would be a terrible time in my life for it to happen. I went on birth control as soon as I got Richard’s first package about getting together again in Paris. Even though we use condoms, it makes me feel better to have extra protection.

  “All right.” He takes the handle of my suitcase and rolls it toward the main room of the suite. “Now that we got that taken care of, maybe you can come in and get settled.”

  I smile as I follow him, but the smile turns to a gape as I see the large, airy room with high ceilings and a whole wall of windows looking out onto the patio and ocean. “This place is unreal.”

  “You like it?”

  “Like it? It’s a fantasy. I’ve never been anywhere like this before.” I slant him a quick look. “Do you stay at places like this a lot?”

  “I’ve actually never been to a place like this either. I’ve stayed at world-class hotels before, of course. We were at one in Paris. But I’ve never been to a tropical resort like this.”

  “Really? Then why did you decide to meet me here?”

  He gives his characteristic half shrug. He’s staring out the window and not at me. “I thought you might like it.”

  “I do like it. I love it.” I try to stifle the swell of warm feeling but can’t actually do it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He shows me the bedroom—just as luxurious and eye-popping as the rest of the bungalow—and I go to the bathroom, unpack, take a shower, and change clothes. When I’m done, I wander out and find Richard on the patio.

  There’s an outdoor bed there. It can’t be called anything but a bed. It’s got a mattress and light covers and a gauzy canopy. He’s lounging on it, reading something on his phone. On the table beside him are two deli
cious-looking fruity drinks.

  I give a squeak of pleasure when I see them. I take one and climb up to lounge beside him.

  “Pretty nice, isn’t it?” he says, looking from me to the scenic vista of sky and sea and sun and tropical plants.

  “It’s amazing. But this place must have been a pretty big splurge.”

  Another half shrug. “It was worth it.”

  I lean over to kiss him.

  It’s supposed to just be a quick, casual gesture of appreciation, but it turns into more than that when Richard turns his head toward me and takes control of the kiss. Soon he’s taking my glass from my hand and returning it to the table so he can climb on top of me.

  Slowly he kisses and caresses my whole body, taking off the clothes I just put on. It takes a long time. He isn’t in a hurry. He just came less than an hour ago, so he has plenty of control and patience. I come once before he even touches between my legs—a sudden little flood of pleasure as he’s tweaking my breasts and sucking on that sensitive spot on my side.

  He keeps moving his mouth down my body until I’ve spread my legs wide and am rocking my hips in shameless need.

  “Shit, baby. You’re so hot. So eager. You’ve really been missing this, haven’t you? I’ve never seen you like this before.”

  I mumble out something that’s supposed to be an answer and grab my breasts so I can twirl the nipples as he finally nuzzles between my legs.

  “Oh damn. You smell so good.” He’s breathing in my arousal. Staring at the way I’ve spread myself open for him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Me too,” I manage to say.

  He gives my clit a quick swipe with his tongue that makes me let out a sharp, loud cry. He chuckles and kisses my inner thigh as he murmurs, “I can tell. You have no idea what it does to me to see how much you want me. How much you’re letting yourself go right now.”

  I moan when he licks me again and then nudges at me with his nose. I can’t speak until he’s raised his head to readjust his position and then move my legs a bit. In the respite from the sensations, I manage to say, “I have missed you. But I’ve been doing pretty good on my own.”