by Shayne Ford
It’s sunny and warm outside when I begin to stroll down the sidewalk, but by the time I reach my home, the weather starts to shift, dark clouds swallowing the light.
I walk up the stairs, shivering as my cheeks get swept by gusts of wind.
Ten minutes later, I exit the kitchen, a cup filled with hot tea in my hand, a tuna sandwich in the other. It’s dark when I walk into my office.
I turn on the reading lamp, pull up the shades and take a seat at my desk.
The crying of a crow draws my eyes to the foggy window.
The park looks dead, buried under the snow. I swing my eyes back to my desk, take a bite of food and sip hot tea before I open my laptop.
Smoothly, my fingers run over the keyboard. The window opens, prompting me to input my password. For a moment, I stare at the link inviting me to open the new clip that could be anything.
I take a long breath before I click.
The camera aims to the floor before it slowly shifts the angle, introducing the decor. A beige rug, espresso wooden coffee table, a brown couch and matching chairs.
Another hotel room?
Soft murmurs roll in my ears. I turn the volume up to the max. Even so, I can’t make out the words, mainly because it sounds like cooing. Soft dialogue seeps from the speakers.
Quiet words, a woman’s laugh and then a man’s voice intermingled with hers. I do not hear him clearly.
They go quiet, and soon I find out why.
The camera sweeps the space confirming my suspicion. It is indeed a hotel room.
Wall appliances cast a faint glow over the furniture.
The place is barely lit.
I lose the sound and image for a moment as if a part of the recording has been edited out before the gasps, and heavy breaths return, and then I see the couple.
Standing, they face each other, the man’s hands on the woman’s hips. The frame displays them from the chest down.
A pair of charcoal gray pants and a designer leather belt outline his thighs and backside, the woman fashioning a fuzzy knit blue dress. His fingers sink into the swell of her butt and slowly migrate to her waist.
Waves of dark hair fall down her back.
I stop chewing.
No. Fucking no.
I put the sandwich down and zoom in on them, enlarging the image. The more I watch, the more my hands shake.
And yet I can’t tear my eyes away.
The image gets a little blurry before the camera focuses on his hands as he traces the woman’s body. She releases a quiet giggle while he murmurs something in her ear. I can’t distinguish what he says to her. His voice seems a bit distorted.
As her throaty laughter fades away, his palms slide down on the woman’s thighs and roll back up, lifting her dress.
A low grunt accompanies his gesture the moment he reveals her naked crotch. I stiffen. She shakes her hips for him doing a little roll against his groin, her sex rubbing against his fly.
He’s so hard I can spot the outline of his erection.
My scalp begins to itch, my jaw clenching.
I feel like screaming. And throwing something at the wall.
The man’s hands move smoothly, speaking of familiarity with the woman’s body, and also tenderness and possessiveness.
That’s the exact way I imagine him.
I feel sick in my stomach, wracked with jealousy.
He cups the woman’s butt and pulls her into his groin, letting her feel his bulge even more.
Her breath turns into a gasp.
“Oh, my...” she murmurs, and the sound gets cut off again.
Seconds later, he nudges her around. She bends at her waist, her hands clasping the edge of the sofa.
I get a full side view of her curved bottom, and toned legs, the curtain of dark hair hiding her face. He rolls her dress up, crumples it at her waist and erases the small space between them.
At this point, the image darkens slightly as if the light was turned low.
I cannot break my stare.
His fingers grab the woman’s hip as he uses his free hand to work his fly open and pull out his erection. His fist wraps around it, going up and down a couple of times. He slowly enters her.
She shudders with pleasure.
I’m shaking with anger.
I wish I could pull the laptop shut and put an end to my misery, but no. I keep watching, unwillingly turned on one hand, and angry, on the other, muttering curses under my breath.
It takes a few moments before the man establishes a rhythm and starts pounding into the woman.
This time, the camera finds the right angle, giving me a full view of his shaft sliding in and out of her.
My eyes get heavy. The deeper he thrusts, the harder she trembles and the less air rolls into my lungs.
Her crying moan and his throaty grunt come on the crest of my loud cursing.
They come at once, his hands imprinting on the woman’s body, her pleasure making her crumble into his arms.
The clip stops, the screen turning dark, and silent. I try to go back.
The link is gone.
“Ugh!!!”
Seething with fury, I snatch the phone from my desk and type a message.
Me: Stop sending me these clips. I hate seeing you with her. I don’t want that image in my head. Why can’t you understand?
Mad as hell, I watch the phone like a hawk, waiting for his reply.
Five minutes later, I lose hope.
Me: I know that you read my message. The same way I know that you follow me, and fuck with me whichever way you want. I have nothing for you, and you have nothing for me. Leave me alone.”
I’m roaring inside.
The phone falls from my hand, rolling on my desk with a cold, metallic sound.
Running a hand over my face, I inhale deeply.
The vibration of my cell makes me flick my gaze up. I pick it up and read the message.
Private number: What you have for me… You have already given it to me.
What?
I read his message again.
What is he talking about?
Me: There’s nothing I could’ve possibly given to you.
I press send, and wait for a few moments, not truly expecting that he’d answer to me.
But he does.
Private Number: You gave me everything.
Me: What are you talking about?
My head begins to spin, the room becoming smaller, empty of air.
I suffocate. I start to cough, my iron-hard grip clasping the edge of my desk.
I call him. He doesn’t pick up.
I text him.
Me: I need to talk to you. Face to face.
No answer.
Me: Please.
The phone vibrates in my hand.
My eyes go down.
Private Number: I’m waiting outside.
I drop the phone and rise abruptly, my chair scratching the floor.
Something catches the corner of my eye. I shift my gaze.
A silhouette crosses the street and stops in front of my house. My heart bumps against my chest wall.
My phone hums again.
Private Number: Walk two blocks up. There’s an alley between the buildings. I’ll meet you there.
I shoot a glance at the window, hoping to see him again.
He’s already gone.
7
TESS
Gusts of winds blow snow in my face, the freezing air making my eyes tear.
Shielding my eyes, I rush up the street, often looking over my shoulder. I has become a habit of mine these past few weeks.
A curtain of snow flutters behind me.
Minutes later, I near the meeting place. I take a sharp turn, and enter the narrow alley tucked between the two walls draped in darkness.
My pulse speeds up as I expect to find him here, but the place is deserted.
I fish out my phone from my pocket when the headlights of a car flash briefly at the end of the alley.
The ride stops short, and a door slams a moment later.
Wearing no coat, the man heads my way, large strides erasing the space between us as the car that dropped him glides away.
My heart beats harder with every step he takes. Soft light, glows from behind, rolling over his shoulders.
A few specks of snow cling to his hair, the collar of his suit jacket lifted.
My back hits the wall as he pulls to a smooth stop in front of me.
Part of his face is faintly illuminated while the other is entirely veiled by darkness.
“Sebastien...?” I murmur, my lips moving of their own accord.
My mind goes blank the moment he erases the space between us and brings his gloved hand to my face. The scent of cologne, leather and winter flows through me.
I can’t form a thought. He doesn’t help me either.
“I missed you, Tess,” he says with the softest, most tender voice I’ve ever heard as if we’ve always been together.
“How can you possibly miss me?” I say with a quiet, shaky voice. “You don’t even know me.”
His lips curve into a soft smile, his thumb brushing my face.
“I know way more than you imagine.”
His words are frightening but also bring me pleasure.
“You have a busy life. A wife...” I say, still protesting to his words.
He lowers his mouth, his lips meeting mine in a gentle, tender kiss as if he wants to wipe away everything I just said.
“I don’t want to see you with her,” I murmur, not making much no sense.
I have no right, and yet I let him know my grievance.
“It makes me sick to see you touching her,” I say, my words barely flying from my lips.
His gloved hand slides to my neck, the warmth of his touch transferring to me through the soft leather.
A smile flickers faintly on his lips.
He slightly tips his head down and murmurs against my lips.
“And I don’t want him to touch you either,” he says, his grip tightening around the column of my neck.
I wrap my hand around his wrist and gently try to break his grip but fail.
His thumb sweeps the column of my neck, his body pressing into me, making me lose my breath.
“What is it, Tess?” he murmurs again as he registers the reaction of my body. “Hmm?”
His gravelly voice courses through me, making my insides melt. Traveling down, his hands open my coat without the slightest hesitation. Possessively, he cups my breasts. My nipples harden and push against my silk blouse as they get teased by his thumbs.
The tension grows between my thighs.
Flurries fall from the sky, melting on my face. I’m burning.
“He no longer touches me,” I say, swimming in a pool of heat.
Beads of melted snow drip on my chest, warmed up from my skin.
“He doesn’t?”
“You probably know that already...” I say, unable to stop his hand from sliding to my fly.
Smoothly, he frees his right hand from his glove and slips it inside my blouse. He yanks my bra down exposing my breasts.
The skin cools instantly but not for long as his hand starts kneading my mounds.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, lifting his gaze from my bare chest.
His grin sends electric shockwaves through my bones.
He places another soft kiss on my lips, and I feel like falling.
“You can’t be doing this to me,” I say, trying to sound calm, and in control, yet my restraint is running thin.
“You shouldn’t be afraid,” he says with a smooth voice right before with one swift motion, he rips my top open.
My bra gets torn as well, now lying limp around my waist.
For a moment, we lock eyes, drinking each other, famished. Not caring that it’s cold. Not caring that it’s winter. Forgetting that a sea of snow floats in slow motion around us.
He cups my chest, his touch hot and cold, his lips crushing mine, brimming with fire.
A primal need sweeps through me as I sense how turn on he is. How eager to have me he is. And how unwilling to stop he is.
Winding my arms around his neck, I let him crash me against the wall, welcoming his weight against mine, his teeth sinking into my lips, his breath rolling into me.
More melted snow trickles from my hair as the cold air glides over my burning skin. Billowing steam lifts from our lips, our eyes ravenous just like our bodies.
His eyes never leave mine as he slides his hand below my waist and smoothly pulls the zipper down. Two fingers slip inside my panties.
I jolt against his touch, my hands clawing at his arms.
Tracing my sex, he runs them into my warm wetness.
A shudder goes through me.
I clutch his arms even harder.
“Sebastien...”
He doesn’t stop. I moan and arch against his body, parting my legs, and propping my shoulders against the wall.
He slides his fingers into me all the way.
I feel as if my heart bursts open.
I gasp and look at him, his eyes melting into mine.
His breath tickles my lips again.
“I know that he no longer touches you... “ he finally admits, “But I want him gone,” he says with a demanding voice as he thrusts his fingers into me.
A growl gets crushed in my mouth.
He pulls his fingers back and slides them into me again.
My center tightens around him.
“You can’t be asking me that...” I mutter, having a hard time to focus on words right now.
My head falls back, my lips parting as my eyes stay locked with his.
“I can ask you everything I want,” he says, pushing my pants and panties slightly down.
I should be freezing, and yet steamy heat drifts from between my legs.
My nipples stay hard and achy as he lowers himself in front of me. My gaze follows him all the way down, every fiber of my body vibrating with pleasure when he puts his mouth on me.
Fire licks my pulsing flesh.
“Oh... my...”
I can’t finish my thought as he captures my clit into his mouth and strokes it, making the little nub of pleasure firing like crazy. My fingers thread through his hair, my legs opening even more.
His fingers go back into me, slowly sliding, in and out, heightening my pleasure.
“You can’t be doing that...” I mutter, repeating myself over and over again as my mind goes blank.
I close my eyes, my hands locked in his hair, his mouth rooted to my sex. The tension builds up, making my muscles harden.
I move my hips against his lips, soaking in that feeling, indulging in it and getting drunk on it. Feeling empowered as I hop on that fantastic ride. Going up and up. Breathing faster, moving harder, demanding his touch. Craving it. Needing it. Growling for it. Until it all explodes and breaks into a million bits of pleasure.
The first shockwave rams through me with a force unfamiliar to me. I hold onto him as he captures my flesh, and strokes it with his tongue.
I start throbbing around his fingers, my core hungry to be filled. He keeps doing it.
The second wave falls through me unexpectedly, prompting me to move my body and roll my hips desperately.
He pulls up and crashes his mouth against mine while he’s stroking me with his fingers. I groan inside his mouth, stirred up like crazy, my skin hot against the cold, damp wool of his suit jacket, my body unwilling to stop.
He gives me a taste of my arousal as he swirls his tongue, and seizes my mouth.
I slide his jacket wide open and rip his crisp white shirt, a flurry of buttons falling in the snow. My hands pull hastily at his belt and open his fly.
He presses his muscular frame into me again, his hot skin against mine, his tongue dancing with mine. I wrap a hungry hand around his throbbing flesh, feeling the plump veins snaking beneath my fingers.
He crushes me with his body and ravag
es me with his kiss. Crazed, I run my fist up and down on him, my palm getting wet from his arousal.
I squirm against him, rocking my hips against his fingers, squeezing and rubbing his hard cock.
The time stretches, and the moments turn into pure bliss as we ride that crest together.
He comes in my hand, hot fluid dripping in my palm while I make a mess around his fingers.
His teeth sink deep into my lip making me feel the pain and taste my blood.
He breaks the kiss and slightly pulls away, his chest heaving as he looks at me. It takes him a few moments, and he’s back, composed and in control, his eyes locked with mine, a smile sitting on his lips.
I’m still holding his cock when he tears my fingers washed with cum away from his shaft and brings my hand to his lips.
Slowly he licks them while I mesmerized watch his mouth and realize I’m hot again.
When he’s done, he flips my hand and kisses my palm, the touch of his lips sending a shudder through me.
“I’ll see you, Tess,” he says, and just like that, he takes a few steps backward while fixing his clothes.
I feel the cold now eating at my bones.
Just before he steps into the street again, I pull my pants up and close my coat over my tattered blouse.
The car that dropped him before stops smoothly next to him. He waves at me, and right under the streetlight, I see his smile before he slides into the back of his ride and pulls away.
The car is long gone, and I’m still looking at the street and that patch of light where he has disappeared. The wind spins snow along the sidewalks, and maks the streetlights swing.
I run my hand over my mouth and feel the small bump on my lip, the only proof, along with my ripped top and flushed body, that he was here.
8
TESS
I notice the car parked in front of my house the moment I round the corner.
My heart stops for a moment, my breath catching in my throat.
I freeze for a moment, panicked.
He is back home? But why? He wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.
What is going on? He’s changed his schedule so many times these past few weeks. Is it because of me?
I don’t have much time to analyze it as I go over my options.
Shit. Shit. They are all bad. How can I explain this to him?
