by C. C. Morian
She could only rely on her own judgment, what she knew of the Marcus she had loved.
Melissa shook her head again.
The knife moved, pricking under the elastic at the top of her panties, and Melissa tensed, still holding her breath, ready to burst but afraid to move a muscle.
The knife slashed down, controlled, the tip grazing her ass, tearing away her panties, fast, one side, then the other.
She heard the knife fall, and Marcus pushed his knee forward between hers, forcing her legs open, the wisps of her silk falling to the floor.
Melissa’s breath rushed out even as the blood sped to her pussy, she could feel herself swell, a rush of adrenaline and more.
All was forgotten, the flight, the mean words Marcus had said, her need to get some distance from him to think, all of it. She only wanted one thing.
“I told you that was my last pair!” she groaned, but she was reaching for his cock, freeing her arms, unbuckling him even as her face was against the wall.
“You also said not to tear them,” he said. “And I didn’t.”
And then he was in her, and she yelped involuntarily, almost a scream, her pussy, even though wet, still raw, more sex that weekend than she had in—ten years. Since she had been with Marcus.
Marcus clamped his hand over her mouth, growling in her ear. “Be quiet, there might be people in the next room, do you want them to hear?”
He started to fuck her, driving her against the wall, and if someone was next door they would certainly hear the merciless, unrelenting thumps. Would they call the manager, come pounding on the door?
Or would it turn them on, as Melissa would be if she heard it?
Sometimes she worried she was just such a sex craved slut. But right now, that didn’t seem such a bad thing at all.
She opened her mouth, her lips grabbing for his fingers, taking them in, licking them, sucking on them.
Melissa freed her hands, raising them on the wall, spreading her legs on her own this time, giving Marcus all the access he wanted to her pussy. His fingers were on her clit now, hard, then delved into her wetness. Melissa moaned as he hit her clit again, then he switched hands, the fingers wet with her juices, shoving them into her mouth, and she licked them, tasting herself, marveling at how fast he could do this to her, that how one minute she needed to get away, she was trying to stop him, and the next minute she couldn’t get enough of him.
She sucked his fingers dry, and he did it again, one hand going down, the other going back up, and no matter how fast she licked she couldn’t keep up with her own body, its desire to lubricate itself, to protect itself from the huge cock attacking her.
Finally Marcus removed his fingers from her mouth and kept one hand on her clit while the other held her hip, shifting now to impaling her into the wall, the plaster reverberating with each thrust. His hand raced up and down her clit, faster even than his thrusts, forcing her up on her toes, her heels dangling, her clothes bunched.
Marcus squeezed her swollen clit and this time Melissa did scream, and there was nothing to muffle it, and she could feel him tense up, but not because he cared if anyone heard them.
“Here’s a little something for you to bring back,” he said, and Melissa knew what was going to happen even as he said it, she knew his body so well. Marcus drove into her, throbbing, his muscles tensing and then exploding as his hot cum shot into her, so deep she wondered if it would ever come out, each spurt a nail holding her to the wall.
And all of that, his return to her, his excitement, her surrender, and most of all, the thought of his hot cum unleashed deep into her sent her into her own explosion, as if ignited by his seed, and even as he body jerked wildly she fought to hold her hips still, so that she wouldn’t lose a single drop.
When the last of her spasms died, she whispered, “Count to one hundred. Please.”
And they stayed like that, splayed against the wall, his weight against her, and she could feel every part of him, the slow collapse of his cock, his breath, his heartbeat.
Melissa didn’t count, she luxuriated in the feeling, in all of it.
Finally Marcus released her, and this time Melissa didn’t fight it, it was time.
She turned to him, feeling her skirt fall back down, tripping a little on her heels. Marcus’s strong hands were there to grab her, to keep her from falling.
He bent down and gave her the softest, most beautifully tender kiss she ever had, gentle, long, so full of promises, so unlike anything he had ever given her before, just a hint that they could be anything together. It was the most wonderful kiss in her life.
In that moment Melissa had it all, his heat, her desire, the completeness of joined passion. Maybe even his love, or as close to what she thought of as love that Marcus could give. If at that moment he asked her to stay, she didn’t know what she would do.
She wanted him to say it, just to find out.
Abruptly Marcus pulled away, as if he realized what he had done, what he was doing to her, to himself, about what he was revealing.
Ask me! she screamed inside. Ask me to stay!
And then, because he was Marcus, he pushed her down, roughly, to her knees.
“Clean me up. I want you to taste it all the way back.” His voice tinged with disdain. Not sounding like he meant it, but those were his words.
In that instant Melissa’s vision was shattered, gone. But oddly, it was replaced by understanding. He wouldn’t have been Marcus if he had not reacted like this, and maybe, probably, she wouldn’t have come here if he had reacted like any other man.
And that made her want him even more.
And she did what he told her to, because she was who she was too. She opened her mouth, taking his wet cock. As if taking him in her mouth was her way of having him. As if him pushing her to her knees was his way of asking her to stay with him.
When she finished she stood up, facing him squarely, unashamed, even knowing she looked a mess, her face flushed, the taste of sex in her mouth.
Marcus wasn’t done. He reached down and lifted her skirt again, his fingers slipping into her still wet pussy. He dragged his hand across her mouth, on top of her lip, her nostrils filling with their scent, his fluids and hers.
He pulled up his pants and buckled his belt, then retrieved his knife and slipped it into his pocket.
“Not much resistance,” he said, his voice a mix of disappointment and pride. “You will be back.”
Melissa held his gaze. “If I do, it will be because I want to. Not because I can’t control it.” But even as she said it she wondered if that would be true.
Marcus shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him either way. “I might not be willing next time.”
“Maybe you need it is as much as I do.”
Marcus cocked his head, as if he hadn’t considered that. “Maybe.” Then he laughed. “But I doubt it.”
He gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, another mixed signal. And then he was gone, the click of the door loud in the quiet room.
Chapter 22
Melissa ran through the terminal, cursing her heels, thinking she might even have to run barefoot, what a sight that would be. There wasn’t even time to change into her running shoes, every other pair she brought had heels. She hadn’t even had time for another shower, she had sprinted through the hotel and across the skyway, knowing she must look a mess, her skirt creased, her hair askew.
She made the plane with seconds to spare, dragging her luggage across the gap into the plane, the flight attendant about to close the door.
“There’s no more overhead room,” said the woman. “You’ll have to check that.”
Melissa’s lip shook, her adrenaline all used up, she was about to lose it. “Please,” she pleaded. “I have to get home right away.”
The flight attendant appeared ready to give her the usual line, but perhaps noticed something in Melissa’s face, or maybe her wild, fragile demeanor. “I’ll put it in our closet,” she offered.
“Thank you so much,” said Melissa, and stumbled down the aisle, sensing everyone’s eyes on her, most of them probably on board since before the delay was announced.
The plane was packed, one empty seat, hers, on the window halfway down. A very overweight man on the aisle, and in the middle a well dressed businessman. Melissa stopped at the row, hoping the man on the aisle would get up to let her in. He seemed upset that he had to make an effort; with a grunt he half stood, but couldn’t or wouldn’t come fully out into the aisle, so Melissa was forced to squeeze in past him, her breasts rubbing across the man’s girth.
The businessman had hesitated, probably waiting for the man on the aisle to move so he could let Melissa in, but seeing that wasn’t happening he started to rise as well just as Melissa passed by him, and for a brief movement his face was right up against her hips, and his eyes came up to meet hers.
He knows, Melissa thought. He can see my just fucked look, he can smell the sex on me.
She tumbled in her seat and busied herself with the seatbelt as the announcements began, feeling the man’s eyes on her.
A wild thought came into her mind, to whisper in his ear. A big black man just filled me with his cum. She’d take his hand and guide it under her skirt to her bare pussy. Would you like to feel it?
The plane roared down the runway, and if the businessman had looked over he would have seen her beaming, her eyes closed, lost in some fantasy world.
A jarring landing woke Melissa up. She had been so exhausted she must have fallen asleep as soon as the plane had taken off. The flight wasn’t long at all, but she was oddly refreshed.
She hadn’t even had time to go to the bathroom before getting on the plane. The taste of sex was still in her mouth, on her lip, the musk of it under her nostrils. Once off the plane, Melissa hurried into the restroom, washed out her mouth in the sink, and splashed some water on her face.
At a kiosk she bought some gum and sat down near a gate area, pondering her next step. She had to be in the right frame of mind when she faced Richard.
In many ways, the trip to the reunion had been a great idea. It has brought everything to the forefront, it had forced her to confront everything. Melissa had wondered if something had really been missing from her marriage, or whether she had just been going through some kind of slump. Not knowing if the wild times she had in her slightly younger days were a phase, or whether they were not only a part of her, but something she still needed.
And not knowing how much she still wanted Marcus.
A lot of those questions had been answered. Things could have turned out so much differently. She could have seen Marcus, and discovered that in the flesh, after ten years, she had no interest in him, that he wouldn’t ignite the old spark. That certainly hadn’t happened. It had been as good as ever, not just the sex, but everything; they had slipped into their old ways like she might slip into a pair of favorite well worn jeans.
Marcus had been Marcus. Hot, sexy, rough, sometimes dominant, not quite loving. Just as she remembered him. Perhaps she’d never know if it was just chemistry, or whether the combination of all of that was what attracted her to him.
Melissa also knew that Marcus would never satisfy her other needs, for trust, for a different kind of safety from just physical protection. Maybe if he could, she’d have the perfect man. But would she still be attracted to Marcus if he nuzzled her neck, gave her warm hugs, and talked about the humdrum elements of everyday married life?
It wasn’t worth thinking about, she’d never know.
Melissa watched the people in the airport, running for their flights, hurriedly heading off toward baggage claim to be met by spouses, kids. Couples, families. She could see their love, their joy. She now accepted with certainty that she needed all that as well, she needed the stability, the closeness. Otherwise she wouldn’t have come back home, she’d have stayed with Marcus, or at least stayed there, to see how everything played out with him. Something had made her want to get on the plane.
Certainly she owed it to Richard, who had, in his own way, sacrificed so much. How much he must love her to give her this freedom. Not that he would think of it that way, nor did she really; her freedom was not his to give. But just as she was free, so was he. And because of who he was, Melissa had no doubt that he was at home right now, waiting for her, that he wouldn’t have bailed on her, even though he might have been expecting the absolute worst.
This certainty, that Richard would be there, Melissa just couldn’t have with Marcus.
There was still much to figure out, to decide. How long would her high last from her liaison with Marcus? Would she be craving him within a day, a week, a month? Could she go back to life with Richard, with their infrequent, planned sex with the lights off? And if she did, would she be fantasizing about Marcus all the time?
And Richard. Would all of this change him?
If it did, it could still ruin everything. She could end up caught between two lives, two loves, not knowing where she belonged.
Melissa had been so caught up in what would happen at the reunion she hadn’t thought much beyond it. But some of her questions and decisions could wait. It had been ten years, a little more time wouldn’t matter now.
She would need to decide one thing: What would she do and say when she got home today?
And suddenly, just because of the way her mind had phrased the question, she had her answer.
Melissa dodged her way through the busy terminal, wanting nothing more now than to be home. Because that was her answer; she still thought of it as home, and that told her a lot of what she needed to do, where she needed to be. At least for now.
Her phone buzzed, and without breaking stride she pulled it out of her bag.
A text from Marcus.
Melissa’s first thought was to ignore it, she had just made a decision, she had a destination. But she immediately realized that was foolish; if her decision couldn’t stand up five minutes later, if a simple message from Marcus could make her turn around, then she hadn’t come as far as she had thought.
Unless Marcus was saying he had made a mistake, that he wanted her back, and he’d give her all of what she desired.
Her hands shaking, she stopped, leaned against a wall, and opened the text.
It said, ‘Maybe this will be the next best thing to him being there.’
The was an attachment. Just an icon, a music file. Frowning, Melissa clicked on it. At first she heard nothing, expecting a song. She raised the volume and heard a woman’s voice, breathless, familiar. It took Melissa a few seconds to place it, it was her voice, what—
Confused, Melissa turned up the volume all the way, just as her recorded voice cried out, “I thought you were going to fuck me in the ass!” And then the sound of Marcus grunting, and her groans.
Stunned, Melissa almost dropped the phone, passers-by staring at her, at her phone. Her fingers frantically sought for the volume control, just as her voice yelled, “Come on Marcus, you call this fucking?”
Melissa finally managed to mute the volume, collapsing against the wall, feeling eyes on her. A flash to Marcus picking up his phone before he had left the night before. What else had he recorded?
Damn him, she thought, as it all came back in a rush, here in the crowded airport, the power of his thrusts, the soreness she still felt in her ass. His cum still in her from that very morning.
Her eyes closed, fluttering, lost in it, not caring who was watching.
When she finally regained control, she stared at the phone for a long time.
But she didn’t delete the attachment.
Melissa turned up her street, and though she had not lived in this house that long, it seemed so familiar. In the garage she turned off the key and didn’t get out of the car right away, listening to the gentle pings of the engine cooling down.
Richard’s car was in the garage, just as she had expected.
She took a deep breath and got out. As soon as she was inside, she calle
d out, “I’m home!” the words meaning more to her than they ever had.
Richard appeared from the living room, his face a mixture of happiness and relief, yet underneath it all many questions. Melissa dropped her purse on the floor and ran to him, her arms outstretched, just wanting to hold him.
Richard returned her hug, warm, loving, complete. “I missed you,” he said.
Melissa nuzzled into his neck. “I can’t imagine how hard this weekend was for you, what a sacrifice it must have been. I want you to know how much it has meant to me.”
Richard cradled her head in his arms. “I’ve been thinking about you all weekend.”
“My poor thing. I’m so sorry.”
She felt his head shake against her hair. “Don’t be,” he said. “This was my idea.” He hesitated, then, with just a hint of trepidation, asked, “Did you find out what you needed to find out?”
That, Melissa thought, was as close as he was going to get to directly asking her what happened. He was, in his terrific way, telling her that she could share only what she wanted to share.
She pulled her head away so she could look him in the eyes. “Most of it,” she said. “I need to talk things over with you. But for now, I’m here, I just want to be with you. Is that okay?”
Melissa could tell he had a million questions, that her answer helped, but still left much unsaid, that nothing was fully resolved. So she stood on her toes and gave him a soft kiss, much more than a welcome home peck, hoping all she felt at that moment would be communicated with her lips.
Richard kissed her back, gingerly at first, and then with increasing intensity, as if all the tension that must have built over the weekend finally had an outlet. Melissa felt the force of it, the tension turning to heat, an intensity ready to boil over.
He finally pulled away enough to say, “I’ve been going crazy, I need you.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered, even though he had told her not to, she felt so badly for him, the guilt slamming into her, but it was going to be okay, he was here, he had waited. She was back home.
