by C. C. Morian
But he was so damn cocky. Melissa was as close to slapping someone than she had ever been in her life.
Her hand shook, and he watched her inner battle, and suddenly Melissa realized that Vern was fully aware of what she was feeling, what he was doing to her.
He leaned toward her, his eyes shining. “I’ll tell you a secret.” He was close enough now for Melissa to see the line where his beard ended, the small peek of his face just below his eyes, the skin a little smoother than she would have thought, a tiny gap in his roughness, hinting at something she could grab on to, something she could use as a way of fixing whatever was wrong with him.
“A secret?” Her voice was hoarse, tentative.
“Yes. About being full of myself. Confident. You see, I don’t even have to fake it. I wouldn’t pretend if I was caught looking for someone.”
“I didn’t pretend anything. I wasn’t looking for you.”
“So you didn’t know I lived here?”
Melissa felt her eyes dart away, outside of her control. “I—I had heard something about it.”
“How would you even know who I was?”
“You’re Vern.” Then, remembering what the college boy had warned her about, she said, “Vern. Not Vernon. That supposedly makes you mad.”
She froze, waiting for his reaction, wondering what had made her risk this, right here. Dangling the red cape in front of the bull. Making her own danger. Would being in public stop him from reacting the way he normally did?
His eyes blazed for just a moment, but then his face shifted, as if he were reappraising her, as if he was suddenly slightly intrigued. Or at least willing to give her the time of day. Melissa felt her heart jump, it was as if she had won a small victory.
He surprised her with what he said next. “So you were checking up on me.”
With that one statement he put Melissa back on the defensive. “You have a reputation. And I know about guys like you.”
Vern snickered. “If you keep following guys like me around,” he said, his voice sarcastic, “you’ll have a reputation too.”
Her eyes were back on him, her anger breeding some defiance. “I told you, I wasn’t following you. And it’s a free country, I can do what I want.”
“That’s not the same as doing what you want. I do what I want.” And suddenly Vern’s hand was on the back of her head, strong, pulling her in, his mouth on hers, overwhelming her, claiming her.
Melissa tried to pull away, but he was too strong, his hand, even his lips, powerful, devouring. She gasped, her mouth opening, letting him in, his tongue inside her, and her resolve slipped, her body betraying her, and she was kissing him back, no longer fighting, caught up in it. Her hands came up to his chest, in a position to ward him off, her fingers in the rough leather. She knew she should push him away, but instead she grasped the leather like a lifeline, pulling it, and he moved even closer, the coarse leather dragging across her hard nipples, sending a wave through her.
Vern let go of her head, somehow realizing that she wasn’t going to pull away, or just so sure of her desire. His hand came around to the front of her neck, past her breastbone, and then purposefully slid down, the back of his rough hand drawing across her nipple, lingering there as he pulled his mouth away from hers, forcing Melissa to focus on his hands instead of his mouth. Her legs grew weak, he was toying with her and they both knew it.
He let her suffer and then he closed on her, his tongue once again pushing into her mouth, his hand turning, catching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the fabric no hindrance to him. Melissa was losing control, she had never been so turned on so quickly in all her life. She didn’t know this was possible, not with her, a lust so immediate and overwhelming, her body taking over, controlling not just her body, but her mind, her desire.
The blood pounded in her ears, she was oblivious to everything else, her whole world just his mouth and his hands and his body. She was both helpless and a participant at the same time, in the back of her mind wondering if her touch on him was having the same effect, whether it could possibly have the same effect, whether she could ever command this kind of reaction in another person.
Her senses were tuned and acute to every touch, every connection, every claim he made on her. Her eyes were closed, and yet she could see him in her mind, she could smell his body now, over the leather, the scent of his skin mixing with, and then separating from, the animal musk of his jacket. She heard everything, her fingernails grasping at the leather around his shoulders, his hair against her ear, his mouth on her.
Then another noise, strange at first, not fitting into what was happening, and all at once she awoke from the bubble she was in, the sound recognizable, a car, a car was coming down the street, someone would see them.
Melissa panicked, trying to squirm away, ashamed that she was stopping Vern not because he had seized her, or because she was married, but because they were in public, in the middle of a suburban street, where anyone could see her.
She pushed harder, and after a moment of tension, Vern making it clear that she couldn’t get away if he didn’t want it, he let her go, and she staggered back, her breathing shallow, barely able to stand, at a loss for words, wanting to lash out at him, but knowing that anything she said would be harmless in light of her obvious desire, her nipples swollen with need, her face flushed.
The sound of the car faded; Melissa was so overwhelmed she didn’t know if it had passed them or gone the other way up the street.
Vern laughed and turned away from her, slipping onto his bike as if nothing had happened. He gave her a last glance, back in his appraisal mode, then reached back into his saddle bag and took out a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap, tossing it on the ground, and took a deep drink.
He held out the bottle to her. “You look like you need a drink. To cool down.”
Melissa was so mad she was shaking. Mad at him, but mad at herself. What had she let him do? What had she let herself do?
“What’s the matter?” Vern said, still holding out the bottle. “Afraid of catching something? After sticking your tongue in my mouth? For a minute there I thought there was more to you than a skirt looking for a little thrill.”
The bottle held between them, a promise, a challenge. For the first time his eyes were different, as if he actually cared what she decided.
Slowly Melissa took the bottle from his hand. Defiantly, she raised it to her lips and drank the rest of it down, her eyes never leaving his.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, dragging her sleeve across her lips. “Fuck you,” she said, the words spaced and hard, like two gunshots.
There was the slightest of pauses, everything frozen, the two of them an incongruous tableau in the middle of a suburban street.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
He kicked the engine over and, without taking his eye off her, circled her on the bike again, marking his territory, claiming her before the neighborhood, before the world, in her mind.
He sped off, leaving her breathless in the middle of the street. Not feeling ashamed, as she knew she should, but feeling like she had just escaped something. Something dangerous.
Something electrifying.
Chapter 14
That night, Melissa was glad Richard came to bed late. For the first time in their marriage she prayed he didn’t want to have sex; she didn’t know how she would react after what had happened with Vern.
She’d had no control over her thoughts all day. Her mind was filled only with Vern. How he had virtually claimed her. How she had at first been appalled at his insolence, at his presumption. What he had done to her.
And how she had responded. How she had succumbed.
Melissa couldn’t deny it. She wasn’t sure if she had given in to Vern because he stood for all that was missing in her life right now, and he was just there in the right time and place. Or whether there was something else at work, not with him, but within her.
Over th
e next few days it was Melissa’s turn to try to avoid Richard. She left for work when he was in the shower, she stayed late at the office so there would be no chance they would have dinner together. One night she even went out with a few of the women from the office, just to have an excuse to be away from the house, but she texted Richard that it was because she had to have a ‘work dinner.’
He didn’t seem to notice, he was back into his focused mode.
But the more Melissa avoided him, the more it built up inside her. It might have been easier if she actually had to deal with it, if she was in the same room as Richard for a few hours; then she’d find out if she could avoid bringing it up, if it was something she could keep hidden. But it grew in her belly like a balloon, and now she thought the minute Richard was alone with her he’d know right away there was something wrong, as if she had been away and showed up pregnant, a visible betrayal. Melissa didn’t think she’d be able to handle it when the time came, she’d burst out with a confession as soon as she saw him.
Slowly, though, an idea formed in her mind. A wild idea, to be sure, but maybe, just maybe, an idea that could solve her problem, her real fear. A fear that bothered her as much as her near dalliance with Vern.
The fear that Richard would only want to have sex with her if he was thinking of her with another man. That everything she had been worried about might suddenly turn around on her, and she would be the one not wanting to have sex, if that was the only way she was going to be able to have it with Richard. Where on earth would that leave her? She had to find out, once and for all, where she stood.
And then decide if she could live with it.
That’s why she decided to risk it, she had to know. Maybe she wasn’t thinking straight, but right now it seemed like the only way.
She’d tell Richard about Vern. About what he did. And about how she had reacted.
That would cure Richard of his crazy fantasies. The reality of Melissa actually doing something with another man, even if it was somewhat against her will, or so she kept trying to convince herself, would disgust Richard. She couldn’t tell him it was the biker; Richard might be so angry that he’d confront Vern. Melissa didn’t want to know how that would turn out. Or would he? Some primitive part of her reacted to it, two men fighting over her.
Yet after three days Melissa still hadn’t worked up the nerve. On the outside, their lives had reverted to the usual, work, work, tend to the house, more work. Richard had a quick overnight trip, that gave her a short respite. When she was around him she kept the conversation limited to work, the weather, anything but what she wanted to bring up, what she had to bring up.
For his part, Richard seemed totally—normal. It was as if this new thing in their lives, this unspoken specter, these other men, just weren’t there. The fantasy world that seemed so real to him, to both of them, simply not existing at any other hour. Or maybe Richard could just turn it off, only needing it during sex.
Yet Richard had told her he had been thinking about it all the time. Was he over it? Maybe she should just let it go, what happened with Vern, bury it, not take the chance on getting Richard thinking along those lines.
The night Richard left for his trip, alone in the house, Melissa had just about changed her mind and decided not to tell him anything. Not now, maybe not ever. Her marriage should be strong enough for the truth, but a little secret like this wouldn’t hurt it either.
The next morning she awoke feeling better, having had her first half way decent night’s sleep in days.
Only later did she realize how dangerous little secrets could be.
The fuse was lit on Melissa’s drive to work. The day was clear, crisp, fall was settling in. She had the music going, loud, as she liked it when she drove alone. She caught the traffic signal just outside the development in the left turn lane, not even upset this morning that it had just turned red, knowing it was an especially long light.
The music roared, and Melissa frowned, that wasn’t right for this song, maybe something wrong with the stereo. She fiddled with the knob, the roar growing louder, slowly it dawning on her it wasn’t the song, it was from outside the car, a deep bass throb. She turned to see a car in the next lane, a tiny subcompact, a car that couldn’t be making so much noise. But just behind it, she glimpsed the front wheel of a motorcycle.
The bike was too far behind her, she could just see the wheel, and then a boot, and a leg enveloped in a tight set of jeans, and as her eyes traveled backward her pulse quickened, thinking no, no, it can’t be, it can’t be him. . .
The rear seat headrest blocked her view, she couldn’t see who it was on the bike, it looked like a Harley cruiser, Melissa didn’t know enough about them to know for sure if it was Vern’s, she hadn’t been looking at his bike anyway.
Melissa turned off the music, oddly thinking it would help her know, hearing her heart thumping, seeing the motorcycle creep forward, just another second and she would see the rider, she wanted to know, she needed to know. . .
A horn tooted behind her. Melissa ignored it, the bike was almost abreast of her. The horn sounded again, angry, not a friendly reminder this time. She glanced up, pissed, the light had changed for her left turn, but the light for the middle lane was still red.
Still she waited, but the bike didn’t move. Melissa edged the car forward, every inch making it harder to see the biker, then mercifully the center light changed, and she made the turn without looking where she was going, her eyes dangerously over her shoulder, watching the biker roar though the intersection. Another horn blared, a warning, she had drifted across the lane, and she snapped her head around, jerking the wheel straight.
Had it been Vern? Had he noticed her? Had he thought Melissa was waiting for him at the light?
It shouldn’t have mattered. Why would she care what he thought, even if it had been him?
But she had wanted it to be him. Melissa had a wild thought of pulling a u-turn in the middle of the busy intersection and chasing him down.
But what would she have done then? Part of her wanted to run him down, the cocky bastard. The other part of her desperately wanted him, and, so help her, wanted him to want her.
Shaking, Melissa pulled over to the side of the road. It took almost ten minutes for her to get control of herself.
This reaction, from just the glimpse of a guy on a bike. What would happen if she saw Vern for real? What would happen if she ran into Vern while she was with Richard?
She’d lose it for sure. Then how would she explain it? How would she tell Richard then what had happened?
She couldn’t take that chance. For better or worse, she’d have to tell Richard now. Before something terrible happened.
Chapter 15
At work that day Melissa could barely concentrate. She kept looking at the clock, the time creeping by. A million thoughts in her head, how she should handle it with Richard, how to even bring it up. Over dinner? Richard, did you like the steak? Oh, by the way, I let another guy kiss me. Would you like some more wine?
Or in bed. Waiting up until he came to sleep, saying I’ve been meaning to tell you, I kissed another man, he started it but I let it happen. Sweet dreams.
Or the worst of all, Richard would come to bed and want sex, then what would she do? Say no, tell him first? Or after? Would she be even able to have sex with the truth on her mind?
No, that wasn’t the worst. The worst would be that she’d be thinking of Vern, and that would make her want sex even more.
When Melissa looked up again at the clock she was surprised to see an hour had gone by. She had been so caught up in her musings she hadn’t even noticed. She tried again to work but it was no use.
She couldn’t wait until bedtime, she’d have to get the conversation started over dinner, at least get the right mood set. Melissa reached for the phone, she’d call Richard and ask him to come home early for dinner. Halfway through his number she hung up, she wouldn’t be able to trust her voice if he happened to pick up.
<
br /> She texted him instead. ‘Could you possibly get home early, even for a late dinner?’ And then, just before hitting send, she added, ‘Really need to talk to you about something.’ She hesitated, realizing that might worry him, and considered adding ‘Don’t worry, everything is okay.’
But she couldn’t even lie in a text.
An hour later Melissa was out of the office, telling her assistant she’d be working at home, not even thinking how odd that would sound given that she had only arrived in the office a few hours ago. She stopped at the market on the way to the house. What to get for dinner? Something quick? Or sumptuous? Melissa realized she was over thinking everything. How on earth could the choice of menu possibly matter in light of what she was about to confess to her husband?
Richard hadn’t even confirmed that he was going to make it; she hadn’t heard a word. I’ll make dinner, just in case, Melissa thought. I’m going to go nuts if I don’t get it off my chest.
She settled on a roast, she could leave that in the slow cooker in case Richard came in late. Some salad, some vegetables. And wine. Plenty of wine.
At home, still keyed up, she went downstairs to the gym. Melissa hated the stationary bike, preferring to run outside, even in bad weather, but she hadn’t done that since her run in with Vern. She hadn’t dared, somehow knowing that wherever she ran, even far in a different direction, she’d be jumping at the sound of every car or bike that went by.
On the bike, pedaling furiously, even with the TV on, all Melissa could think about was what she should say to Richard. Screwing up her courage every time the little devil on her shoulder told her to not say anything. Scared to death if she kept silent, scared even more if she confessed. Thinking through every possible reaction she could imagine that Richard could have.
When she finished, the sweat was pouring off her. She was still wired. She ran upstairs, needing something cold to drink, maybe she’d ride some more.
