When he came back up to join me, he ran his hands over me again and leaned forward to get a condom off of the nightstand. I grabbed his arm and said, “No, baby, not yet.” He looked confused until I put my hand on his chest and pushed him back against the pillows. I planted kisses down his chest and was heading southbound toward his stomach, but stopped for a moment to appreciate the angle of his hips as they slid into those black boxer briefs. Goddamn, that’s hot.
“Here, let me get these for you,” I smiled, and grabbed the waistband and slid them down, exposing his gorgeous cock. I ran my hand down the length of him, stroking every vein with my fingers. He watched intently as I rolled my tongue all over the tip. Still holding onto him with my hand, I flipped my hair out of my face and took him into my mouth, wrapping my lips tightly around him while he groaned softly. Being able to please him was such a huge turn-on for me. I went down on him as deeply as I could, straight down to the base, running my fingers up and down his shaft as I slipped him in and out of my mouth, sucking the tip of him with each withdrawal. His stomach tensed up and he pressed his head back against the pillow while I continued to devour him.
After a few minutes, I stopped to look up at his reaction and he immediately reached under my arms and pulled me up to him. Suddenly my breathing hastened, almost nervously. He quickly grabbed the packet, tore it open, and rolled the condom onto himself. Then without a word, he picked me up and tossed my entire body toward the middle of the bed, right where he wanted me. He pushed both of my knees up against my stomach and kneeling in front of me, slid between my thighs and with a sharp grunt, drove his burning hot cock inside of me. I cried out in both pleasure and a little bit of pain, my body still recovering from our previous encounter.
He started moving, holding my knees bent down so I was tight around him, pumping himself in and out of me, steadily building in speed, while long moans continued to escape from both of us. I trembled at how incredibly intense it was. If this was his idea of “making love,” well, Bravo! because I loved it all right. This is what I had been missing for so long, feeling utterly crazed with lust for another person, where you felt passion for them in every single fiber of your being. I had never felt anything quite like it.
I was enjoying him immensely right where we were, but I wanted to make sure I was giving him the variety that he had craved for so long. So, I had him turn over and scootch his back up against the pillows while I repositioned myself, slowly straddling him and lowering myself back down onto him. I grabbed the headboard for stability and used my full body weight to push him deeper inside me, crying out again with a guttural “OHHHHH!” He seemed to like that very much and rewarded me by putting both hands on my tits and caressing them as I vigorously raised and lowered myself along his shaft.
My legs were beginning to cramp up in that position, however, so I turned completely around, with my backside now facing him. I slowed my pace and bent forward a bit, steadying myself by holding on to his legs so he could get a good view of me riding him. I heard him moan and felt his hands grabbing my ass, pushing and pulling me tightly with each stroke. He growled, “Ohhh baby, you are giving me a great view of your ass!” I knew instantly by his tone what he was thinking. In a flash, I turned around and said, “No way! Don’t even think about it, mister!” and started laughing. He just scrunched up his face and said, “Oh well, can’t blame me for trying!”
He grabbed me around the waist and flipped us back over. I was starting to realize that he liked to be the one in control at the close of business, and that was completely fine with me. I found it incredibly hot that he was so confident in bed. He wasn’t domineering; quite the opposite, he was super sweet. But there was something so sexy about him… he just had swagger. It just oozed out of his pores.
Both of us were now beaded with sweat and with him on top of me once again, I was losing ground fast. He clasped his hands in mine and pushed them back against the bed, bringing my face right into his pecs. I started kissing his chest, then slid my tongue over and kissed his nipples. To my surprise, he tensed up immediately and groaned, “Sweetie, if you keep doing that, I’m going to come,” which of course, made me do it again. The fastest way to get me to do anything is to tell me not to. “I’m serious!” he pleaded. “I love that… I have really sensitive nipples.”
I can honestly say I have never heard that from a man, but I was eager to test this theory. As I took them in my mouth again, he pushed inside me with greater and greater urgency. I pinched them lightly with my teeth as he pounded against me, quickly working us both into a frenzy. “Ohhh… don’t stop Matt… OHHH that’s it, baby…” I frantically grabbed him by the ass, and pulled him in deeply, my body quickly giving way to the unrelenting pressure of him inside me. As my every muscle contracted desperately around him, I felt him tremble and moan, followed by that now familiar, “YES… YES… YEEEEESSS…”
We were powerless to move for a while; both of us breathing so heavy you could see our chests retracting into each other as he lay on top of me, soaking wet. He apologized profusely for being so covered in sweat. I kissed him and told him that not only was it was fine but that I found it sexy as hell. He fell over on his side next to me and we rested with our arms and legs still wrapped around each other.
“You know I’m not a cuddler, right?” I said, grinning.
“Neither am I,” he replied.
And so we continued to cuddle for several minutes, both of us still too exhausted to leave the bed. On several occasions, I had mentioned an older R&B song that reminded me of him (“For the Love of You, Part 1 & 2” by the Isley Brothers), so he asked to hear it. I reached for my iPhone and played it while we both drifted in and out of sleep. It was so peaceful and comfortable. I wished we could stay just like that every single day.
Once we got a little energy back, he sat up on the bed and ordered me to flip over. We were still both completely naked, so I looked at him like he was insane. “AGAIN?!”
“No, flip over, dummy! I want to give you a massage.”
“Oh! Well, you won’t get any argument from me!” It seemed like he was always out getting massages on weekends when we would talk on the phone. I would tease him about how old people like him must need to get them regularly to stay limber. I hadn’t had a massage in years so I gladly flipped over.
Oh my God, his hands were ridiculous. He kneaded every inch of me like he was worshipping my body, pressing his fingers into all my trigger points and using his entire body weight to roll up my back. As he lowered his hands down and caressed each of my buttcheeks, he spoke.
“So. Let’s think outside the proverbial box for a moment, shall we?” he said innocently. I’m no fool. I knew exactly what he was going to say before he even said it. He wanted my ass. Literally. This was not a topic up for discussion, at least not this soon in our relationship. I never had any intention of doing that with anyone at any time. If I was going to, he would be the one, because I trusted him and I knew he would never hurt me. But I still felt like that was an act reserved for a more committed relationship, like after being married 50 years or so.
“Um, no, you get right back inside that box, mister!” I exclaimed.
“Never?”
“Not in a box, not with a fox.”
He laughed and said, “Okay, understood. It’s not a big deal, just something I’ve always wanted to try, that’s all.”
“I hear they make medications for that problem.”
“Hahaha very funny. But listen, I just want you to know, anything you want to try, I’m up for it. You just let me know and we’ll make it happen, okay?”
“Thank you, I will take that under advisement.”
He continued molding and manipulating my muscles, slowly turning me into a big bowl of jelly. Then he had the audacity to ask me to give him one next.
“What? That’s hardly fair!” I cried. “You never said we were taking turns!” Normally I would have jumped at the chance to put my hands on him for any reason at all, b
ut I was so incredibly tired and relaxed now after all of the day’s events. I begrudgingly sat on him. That was the closest I had actually been to his backside, so I playfully slapped his ass and giggled at how hairy he was. I started to rub him, and I swear I gave it a good honest effort, but I was completely useless by that point. After just a few pathetic passes over his shoulders, I gave up and spread out right on top of him, smooching him under his ear and begging for forgiveness.
“Oh come ON. Where’s the love, Mal?”
“But baby,” I said sweetly, “you did this to me. It’s not my fault that your gorgeous penis rendered me incapacitated.”
“Oh. My. God…” he sighed, trying not to laugh. He threw me a sideways glance, “Fine. But I’m taking a rain check.”
It was late afternoon and we had to start packing up and getting ready to go. We both rinsed off in the shower. Afterwards, I broke out the ironing board because if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s to be wrinkled. He seemed amused that I ironed both my T-shirt and skirt before I was going anywhere out in public. He packed up his suitcase and garment bags and put them by the door and I could already feel my heart starting to break. When would I see him again? Would I ever see him again? He was very quiet and acting very fidgety. Maybe he was nervous about getting home late or just not very good with goodbyes, but it only added to my anxiety. The thought crossed my mind, What if this was just a one-time fling for him? But then I reminded myself, Don’t be stupid. We’re friends. We’ve been friends for over a year now. He’s not going to do that.
It was time. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his arms. We must have kissed each other a thousand times. I was only barely able to fight back tears as he held me close to him. I didn’t want to say goodbye to him; not knowing when I would see him again was physically painful. I only felt a little better when he promised he’d call me from the road, so I gave him one last kiss, grabbed my purse and headed out the door. We couldn’t leave together; that wouldn’t look right.
I collected my children from daycare and went home and cried in the bathroom. What the hell was I thinking getting into this? He lived six hours away. With his wife. Just as he promised, he called me about halfway into his trip home. We fell right back into our phone routine, making sure I got home okay, he asked about the kids, what I had made for dinner, etc. We didn’t discuss the earlier events of the day at all. I told him to drive carefully and to let me know when he got home.
10:17 p.m.: Pulling in ATL… Awesome day sweetie, IMU! (I miss you)
Chapter Four
The next few weeks were going to be busy for both of us. I had a trip coming up at the end of the month, and he was leaving for his Ukraine trip that Friday. I was absolutely dreading it. He had warned me that cell communication was very spotty there. He would try to call me once or twice, but that the phone didn’t always work. While he could text, it was costly and there was often a delay in addition to the already seven hour time difference. I was used to talking to him every day, several times a day, and was not looking forward to not having that ability for eight straight days. We wouldn’t even be able to email each other. He needed his laptop, which he was leaving at home, to access his personal email. All emails from his phone were from his business address, and obviously that might get caught in the filters. My boss would certainly notice me getting an email from him if he was supposed to be on vacation.
In the few days before he left, he seemed preoccupied. He had several donors who send money and supplies over there with him, so he was often out of the office collecting everything for the trip. We still talked every day that week, but it was short conversations with him in and out of last minute meetings or in the car while he was running errands. I didn’t want to seem spoiled, but I missed him. The perceived lack of attention I was getting suddenly made me irritable and worried. I didn’t like that we had slept together twice, and it was never spoken of again. Not that there was anything more to mention… it was amazing. But it was as if it was wiped from his memory. Yet being with him was still all I could think about.
He also kept reminding me that the next week I probably wouldn’t hear from him very much. It was almost as though he was trying to tell me not to bother him while he was over there.
“Ugh, babe, I don’t know how I’m going to make it eight days without talking to you,” I whined on that Friday. His first flight in the 15 hour trip was at noon.
“Oh, sweetie, we’ll talk at some point,” he reassured me. “I’ll be able to text once in a while.”
“I know, but it’s not the same.”
“Well, you know I’m going to be busy, each way is a 15 hour flight, assuming no delays or missed connections. It’s like a two hour drive from the airport once I get there just to get to where I’m staying. We are visiting four different orphanages and they are all really far away from each other, but I’ll try to stay in contact as much as I can.”
I tried to lighten it up a little bit, “And besides, who am I going to get to talk dirty to me while you’re gone?”
“Well, hopefully no one, that’s my job!” he laughed and replied, “Hey, do me a favor–send me a picture of you today.”
“Okay, but I send them all the time! You send me one!”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’m getting ready to head to the airport, but I’ll call when I land in Amsterdam tonight, okay?”
“Okay, baby. I miss you! Hope you have a good flight,” I sighed.
“Me too, babe, talk to you soon…”
About 10 minutes later, I got a picture of him via text. He was dressed in his jeans and of course a sport jacket; the man never goes anywhere without a jacket. He was smiling so wide and looked like a giddy little boy. I thought he was adorable. I texted back: Aww! You look so cute in your jeans! Who took this?!
I asked Molly to take it.
Molly was his brand new assistant. I spoke with Molly quite often, trying to help her get acclimated to the new position. She would have to work pretty closely with me since I had to approve all of their trading activity, advertising, etc. She seemed incredibly sweet, a little shy and awkward perhaps, but she was brand new to the industry.
What did you tell her? You needed her to take a picture for your mistress? I teased.
I didn’t tell her anything! I just asked her to take the picture. I’m her boss so she has to listen to me! LOL
OMG, she probably thinks you’re some kind of weirdo now.
Probably so. Heading to airport. Talk tonight xoxo
Maybe 45 minutes later, I was shocked to see his cell number pop up on my caller ID. I quickly grabbed it and said, “Helloooo?”
He lowered his voice to a husky growl, “Baby… the next time I see you I’m going to lick every inch of your gorgeous body until you are screaming and begging me for mercy…”
“Great. I’m sweating now. Thanks a lot, Matt,” I replied, very dryly.
He started chuckling, “Talk to you later, babe,” and we hung up.
I felt so much better. Once he got to Amsterdam that evening, he called me. Just briefly, because he was meeting some friends there who were also going on the trip. But I was still so happy to hear from him and feeling more secure about our relationship once again.
The next few days passed by at a snail’s pace. I tried to keep myself busy with my kids over the weekend, but I missed his Saturday call and Sunday texts. Maybe Monday…
Monday came and went too, but at least I was back in the routine at work. I started talking to Brooke more and more and thought she was a hoot. I was so glad to have a new friend and even more so to have a distraction.
I had set the clock on my phone so I could keep track of what time it was over in Ukraine. If I was getting ready to go to bed, he was probably just waking up. If I was waking up, he was probably at an orphanage. If I was eating lunch, he was probably getting shit-faced on Horilka (vodka) and whooping it up at some crazy party with his Ukrainian friends. From the way he had described it to me, they dr
ink Horilka like water over there and it does a real number on him. He joked that he felt like he needed to check himself into rehab by the time he got back in the States.
On Tuesday evening I finally got a text from him.
Hey Mal, visited Kirovograd orphanage for girls yesterday, very productive trip, gave them art supplies and took care of some much needed repairs. Went to dinner party in a cabin out in middle of the woods. Hope you are okay. Phone calls can’t connect. IMU, Mattie.
That didn’t exactly fill me with the warm fuzzies I was looking for after not speaking for four days. But I was glad to hear from him nonetheless, and sent him one back. Hope you’re having a good time, babe! Be safe, go easy on the vodka! I miss you!
No response.
The next afternoon, I happened to check my secret email account. Not because I expected anything to be there, but just because I missed him and wanted to re-read some previous emails. To my surprise, there was an email from his work address asking me if I had gotten his text. I couldn’t help but smile. I guess he hadn’t gotten my response after all. I had to be careful what I said. Not that anyone would know who Zoopie was, but I didn’t want to send anything inappropriate to his work address either. I was probably the only one that would see it, but sometimes my boss would go through my emails if things got really busy. I sent back a simple reply: Yes, I responded… do I need to resend?
No answer. Boy, he wasn’t kidding about communication being spotty.
A day later I got another text, but it was more of the same: Hey Mal, went to Pantaijvka today, the whole place is in terrible shape and the kids need so much. Need to have a long talk with director to get a plan in place, so sad and disappointing. Matt
My heart sank. Cripes, man, throw me a friggin’ bone here. Are you my uncle now or something? All I wanted was for him to miss me just a little bit. I was falling apart over here missing him. I responded: Sorry to hear that, hope you can get them straight.
The Other Other Woman Page 8
