The Mistress

by Lexie Ray

  She landed a job as a secretary for a company with questionable morality based on her typing skills and outgoing personality. At least, that was what she told herself. In truth, it was a company with questionable morality and her boss was an even more questionable person. Dare she think it, he was without a doubt – shitty; for lack of a better word. Impeccably shitty. Lecherously shitty.

  What was worse, though, was that even shittier people called his shitty office with their really shitty problems. She had to listen to their shitty voices all day, complaining about their shitty lives and her boss’s shitty ethics. It was just shitty. She hated it with all that she had and all that she was, but she never said so. She never let on. She wanted to appear to be the happy working wife that she knew he not only wanted, but needed.

  It wasn’t long, though, until Preston noticed her depression. She felt stuck, and he had sensed it. He was always good at knowing how she felt, no matter how intensely she tried to hide it. In fact, the more she hid it, the easier it was for him to sense it. It was as if he was born to dissolve himself into her psyche. One thing she could never deny was how in touch with her he truly was. It didn’t matter how busy he was at work. He knew her, truly so.

  She couldn’t tell you the day or the month, but she could tell you every other aspect of the evening. He had come home from work excited about a merger he had landed for his organization. He leaped into the door, humming a show tune whilst loosening his tie and tossing his briefcase on the home’s cream carpeted floor. It was like a scene from a movie. He was dancing while he made his way to the doorway of the living room of their small first home. He began to speak his excitement until his gaze finally met her.

  There she was, her beautiful body crumpled onto the couch, absorbed in whatever was on the television, with a glass of wine in tow. He noticed the bottle near her, and even though she didn’t want him to, she knew that he had. Her peripheral view showed his lips form a sideways smile. She knew what that meant. He pitied her. She hated pity. She hated feeling vulnerable and weak, and she hated even more that he viewed her as such.

  She had merely been curled comfortably, knees to chest, leaning against the arm of their blue sectional. All the while a bottle of white wine chilled in its bucket atop their silver ottoman. To any other onlooker, she would look peaceful, unwinding at the end of the day with a bottle of white, her feet up, dressed in pajamas with her DVR recorded soap playing on the television. To every other onlooker, it appeared to be just a relaxing evening in front of the television, something to be envied by many. To him, though, he knew better. She was unwinding, yes... but she was also sulking.

  It was then that he stomped through the living room’s doorway – with strong determination – and crossed the small room. His stupid little cocky grin was still plastered atop his face. She almost started laughing at the production he was giving. It was as though he was in a play, and he was being careful to exaggerate the theatrics of the situation. He reached to the arm of the chair, snatched the remote control, and flicked the television off.

  “Quit your job,” he ordered. Though his tone was demanding, it was far from harsh. He reserved the harsh and brutal negotiations for those with a work-related issue. Not for her; never for her. His demeanor was always softer with her, but she knew that despite the softness – he was serious. He wanted her to quit. She looked at him, stunned. She knew – by all the showboating – that he was going to do something dramatic and abrupt, but she didn’t expect those words to come out of his mouth.

  “I can’t just quit...” she stammered, shifting her head up off of the arm of the sofa. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Why not?” he asked, his tone – surprisingly – not so much questioning as it was seemingly coercive. It was then that he threw the remote atop the silver ottoman. It clanked to the surface with a loud thud. Proud of himself, he gently sat down on the arm of the couch beside her.

  He sighed a large and – once again – melodramatic sigh; he took her head in his hands and held her steady. His thumbs grazed her chin and cheeks lightly. Trailing circles across her flesh, he cocked her head upwards to look at him. It was then that he seemed to unleash a masterful plan; she felt, while he was explaining it, that it was something he had been concocting for quite some time.

  It was comforting to hear his voice, soft and assuring, while he held her. She felt so safe in that moment. Looking into those beautiful blue eyes, she felt a warmth rush over her. The first thing she noticed about Preston was his eyes. They held an innocence within them that fueled something greater than the lust she normally would have felt for a man of his stature.

  As he explained his plan, he was adamant about her doing one thing: seeking what she wanted in life and going after it. He didn’t care how long it took for her to find it; he just wanted her to look for it. He would provide for them for as long as she needed. She knew he could. He made plenty of money. They didn’t have children at that time, and his argument seemed logical enough...so she took it into consideration.

  What did not seem logical, however, was opening up a bakery downtown with loads of other established competition. That’s what she wanted, though. A bakery. This bakery. This cute little shop was something that she built with her own two hands. The little pink and white themed bakery, which she stood in proudly, had been featured in various magazines, articles, and websites. She was happy. Beyond all else though, she owed Preston her success. It was because of his sacrifice and hard work that she was able to accomplish this amazing feat.

  Her memory was vibrant and full of imagery of the day she made the commitment to take on a business. She recalled, very vividly, in fact, the excitement she felt when she walked past it on that snowy morning and saw a “For Lease” sign hanging in the large window. The shop was small, but located perfectly around bustling businesses.

  In fact, she had just dropped off Preston’s coffee that morning and decided to walk a while before hailing a cab. The white snow fogged her vision, and she relished in it. She loved the snow and never understood how anyone could have a disdain for it. She realized it was a pain to shovel out your driveway and it made roadways slick, but as her mother used to say, “Even the most beautiful rose has thorns.” She truly believed it, and lived by it each and every day; taking the good with the bad was a life lesson far too few learn to accept.

  She spread her arms in a graceful pose, almost like that of an eagle ready to soar through the flurries surrounding her. She wanted to take it all in. It was beautiful. She put her head back and caught the snowflakes in her mouth – something she always loved doing as a child. She let the experience consume her for a moment – but only a moment. Sadly, because of her location in the middle of the sidewalk beside a bustling street, that was all the time she was actually allotted.

  She was literally knocked out of her stupor by a force shoving at her body. People had begun shoving past her on the walkway. She loved the city, but hated how much of a rush everyone always seemed to be in. “Take the good with the bad,” she reminded herself. Marissa took a deep breath and tightened her red pea coat and scarf.

  She kept walking, ignoring the people that surrounded her. She wanted to take in the beauty of the day, and the rude demeanor of city folk wasn’t going to stop her. She smiled as the snowflakes seemed to sparkle like glitter as they fell in front of her eyes. It was as if she were walking inside a chandelier; the crystals entrapped her.

  It was then, though, that she saw it. It was only about two steps in front of her when she finally noticed it. It was as if the snow eased just so that her gaze could befall it. The “For Lease” sign stood out against the retro-style building. It was a small, somewhat run-down shop, but with a lot of unique characteristics. The red and white striped pole beside the door gave indication that it used to be a barber shop, and she smiled; she could only imagine its dapper past.

  She wondered what the inside looked like. The outside was already exuding character from every corner. There were three white br
ick steps from the sidewalk leading to a vintage wooden French door with extravagant brass door knobs. It was utterly gorgeous. It needed a bit of tender love and care, but Marissa loved fixer-uppers.

  There was a large window beside the striped barber pole. Natural light. Tons of it. She bustled with excitement and moved giddily to pull out the phone from her purse. She dialed the number excitedly, ready to take on her destiny.

  The rest was history, and Preston supported her every inch of the way. A glistening tear fell across the flesh of her cheek, feeling overwhelmed with emotion for her husband. Crumbling up her cleaning rag, she looked around the room. It was because of him that she was able to do this. Biting her lip, she imagined what he was doing today. It was his day off, and she knew he had gone on his morning run. By now, he was likely dripping with sweat, so a shower was likely in his near future.

  Her teeth pierced her lip and she groaned. It had been a long time. The hurricane of emotion swirled within her belly and sent currents down to her sex. She missed his touch and ached for it. She thought about his sculpted body standing beneath the stream of water, the wetness trailing over his pectorals through his abs and downwards... to that V cut he consistently worked on. She moaned. That sexy fucking V. She thought even farther down... an excited twinge began to throb within her.

  She hadn’t felt this excited in a while, and she knew it was possible that this sort of arousal wouldn’t come along again later tonight. She was taking advantage of it. It had been so long since she had him. She wanted more than anything to express the emotions she felt for him. She wanted to express the feelings with her tongue, not only with words, but rather drop to her knees and express them with the sensations of her tongue. Her tongue ached to taste his masculine mustiness and feel him throb inside her mouth as she slurped.

  The sound of her shoes hitting the original hardwood floors was all there was as she dashed across the shop through to the kitchen. Dodging the stainless steel countertops of her prep station, she reached the back office and slammed the door. Reaching her desk, she pushed away the scattered papers on the oak surface and lay down. Hurriedly, she dug into her pants pocket to retrieve her cell phone. She quickly reached his contact name and hit dial. Slamming the phone heatedly against her ear, she unbuttoned her jeans and leaned back so that she could touch herself. Please pick up.

  ~~~

  As they lay in bed, intertwined under the covers, Haley traced small circles on Preston’s chest. She was in heaven. Her body was kept warm by the heat radiating off of his body. She was toasty, comfortable, and in a state of complete bliss. It was only the vibrations from his phone that pulled her out of her trance. “It’s Marissa!” he shouted, hopping out of bed with intense vigor. He was panicked.

  As if the phone were the personification of his guilt, he poked it hard with his finger and slid to answer. “Hey, babe!” he proclaimed loudly, as he began to perspire again. Haley looked on, eyes wide, and dare she say it – offended. He begged for this. This was him; all him. Well, she thought, perhaps not all him, but mostly him. She wanted to leave it at what it was last night: one mistaken night. But this was the second time, and after the second time – it’s an affair.

  She sat up in bed and held the sheets close to her chest – making sure she shielded her breasts from the air as well as from him. Her charm bracelet clanked against her skin, pinching at her slightly as she gripped the sheets for dear life.

  Bearing no mind to her own slight discomfort, she continued to look on, wanting to witness the scene unfolding before her. She had to admit, there was a part of her that was happy he was panicking. This was a very real situation, and she had been burdened by it all morning. However, she had to wonder – was this remorse or was it just a fear of being caught?

  He began pacing across the room, sure to divert his eyes away from Haley. In fact, he seemed to gaze upon every other item in the room – just as long as it wasn’t in her general direction. But she looked on, half amused, half angry, and all of a sudden, his pacing ceased. He stood, statue-like, frozen in place. It was as if he had stepped on the world’s strongest glue. His back was to her, but she could see him tense up. “Wh-what?” she heard him whisper.

  He had a twinge of arousal in his tone. It was then that she knew she had to leave. She knew what she was and what they were. She had no right to be angry. He was Marissa’s. He would never be hers, and in that moment more than any other moment, she knew that. Twisting the sheets around herself, she made her way off the no-longer-comforting bed to find her clothes – which were likely still scattered throughout the house.

  She had noticed him glance over his shoulder as she grabbed her underwear from the floor. She returned his look with disappointment etched over her face, and then she did it – she left the room. Their bedroom, she had to remind herself as she crossed the threshold and shut the door. It was the room symbolizing their very marriage, a room to be respected, as it was something meant to be shared, with supposed affection. Knowing that they had just defiled that room sickened her. Irony. She hated cheaters, and now here she was – involved in an affair.

  ~~~

  Marissa moaned lustfully into the phone, “I want your fucking cock inside of me so badly.”

  She heard him gasp, and she smiled seductively. If only they were in the same room together, this would be so much more fun. She had to admit, though, she loved the thought of doing something unfamiliar. This was a small step into the unknown. Phone sex; it was funny, really. She had always made fun of this – but there she was – legs spread atop her desk, wanting to hear his moans while she touched herself.

  It was then, though, that the line went silent. “Hello?” Marissa asked, concerned. Silence. She groaned in disappointment, assuming that his phone went dead. Despite her constant annoyance at the inability of reaching him, he never learned how to keep it charged, especially in crucial times such as these.

  What she didn’t know was that his phone had fully functional battery power.

  She didn’t know, but he had hung up hurriedly in a panic and turned his phone off.

  Chapter 5

  The sickening feeling in the pit of Haley’s stomach was of an immeasurable magnitude. It wasn’t just from the guilt, but it was also because this particular circumstance was incredibly ironic. Irony. She kept thinking about that word: irony. Irony. Fucking irony. That cruel word was fate’s way of flipping you off and stabbing you in the back all at the same time. She sat down. The room was beginning to spin. Fucking irony.

  Her memory reeled again, as if a film, back to the moment she and Preston became true friends. She had begun her memory’s recollection of the night before he interrupted her in the bathroom. Perhaps if he had come to the door just a few moments later they would have never tussled into the bed. They would have never repeated the same mistake. They would have never been caught in the never-ending web of lies, deceit, guilt, and remorse. It would have just been a one-time mistake – which was bad enough – not a continuing love-affair.

  The moment they became friends was the night she first confided in him. It was three years ago. Sunday. Her day off. She had gone to the Lancers’ suburban home anyway, though, to attend a birthday party for Lucas. The party ended early, as any child’s birthday party would. It was only around 6 o’clock, and she was home-bound, with her vehicle powering fast towards her destination.

  She loved the Lancers, especially the children, and enjoyed spending time with them, but she was ready to be home. Ready to see her husband. Her perfect husband. He was such a beautiful man, much like Preston in physique. He was strong, masculine, had blue eyes – but where Preston’s hair shone a golden blonde, Daniel’s hair displayed a deep chestnut color. His personality, though, differed quite dramatically. He was much less of an intellectual than Preston, and held a much stronger child-like wonderment. In fact, sometimes she had wondered if she was actually married to a young boy trapped inside of a man’s body.

  He was an attentive companion
, despite his immaturity, and a wonderful friend, but beyond all else – he was hers. At least, that is what she thought. What hurt the most was that she didn’t see it coming. That fateful night when she was driving home from the Lancers, she got a call from her husband. She remembered being happy to receive his call. She even answered it with great enthusiasm and affection – but only to have her spirits immediately crushed.

  “Hey, honey. I have to go help Jared. He and his wife are on the outs and he has to move some of his stuff tonight,” he stated with a strong and exhausted sigh. He was a hell of an actor, she had to admit to herself now as she thought back to the night. He sounded convincing. It was as if Jared were there and they had to quickly get his stuff out for fear of the tyrannical woman he was married to.

  She remembered saying something passive and telling him she would see him soon before hanging up and blasting the radio. She went to their downtown apartment and walked in. After looking at the time, and naively thinking Daniel and Jared probably hadn’t had eaten, she began to cook. She had cooked the Lancers’ dinner almost every night, and usually she didn’t cook while she was home. That was usually Daniel’s duty of the evening, especially since her work days were usually longer.

  Clattering pots and pans, she finally found the skillet she needed. Stir fry. Daniel’s favorite. That was her quest. She sat the skillet on the stove, drizzled a small amount of oil into the bottom, and allowed it to heat up.

  Haley retrieved the vegetables and chicken from the refrigerator, humming an upbeat tune as she sauntered across the white tile floor. With cheerful movement, she cut everything into small, even pieces and left them, divided, on the cutting board before testing the heat of her skillet. Turning on the faucet to the sink, she swiftly swished her finger beneath the rushing water and flicked droplets into the skillet. Quick pops sounded, and she knew it was sizzling and ready to go. Finally, she could begin.