Home Wrecker

by Dwayne S. Joseph

  I looked back up at Steve.

  He looked at me.

  Sex hovered around us, eager for things to unfold.

  My eyes on Steve’s, I wrapped my hand around his shaft and started to stroke him. I moved slowly at first, squeezing him every couple of seconds. Then I loosened my grip and stroked him faster. His body was tense. His breathing was quick.

  I stroked.

  Made him jerk.

  Made him moan.

  Made him say, “Shit.”

  I stroked.

  Quickly at the tip.

  Slowly down his shaft.

  Steve said, “Shit,” again.

  He was almost there.

  I was walking him, dick in hand, toward the point of no return.

  “Do you have condoms, Steve?”

  He moaned, said, “Shit,” again, and then, “I . . . in my pocket.”

  I let go of him and said, “I’m thirsty.”

  Steve looked at me and smiled. “I didn’t think you swallowed.”

  My eyes became slits. “I want water.”

  Steve’s smiled disappeared. “Water?”

  I took a step back. “With ice.” I moved away from him and headed to the living room.

  Steve didn’t move for a few seconds. A few more strokes and he would have been there. But I couldn’t have that.

  I turned and looked at him over my shoulder. “Is something wrong, Steve?”

  He put his manhood away and turned around. He shook his head. “No.”

  He was so irritated, I wanted to laugh. “Not too much ice,” I said.

  I went into the living room and sat down on their sofa. Dark brown Italian leather. Cool and soft. I leaned back against the down-blended cushions and inhaled the hardly-ever-used fragrance it gave off. I smiled to myself. In a few minutes it wasn’t going to be cool, and it damn sure was going to give off a different fragrance.

  I looked around the living room; something I hadn’t really done when I was there last. A matching recliner sat off to the right side, an accent chair to the left. The coffee and side tables were made from dark cherry wood and had marble tops. Their entertainment center was dark cherry also, and had antique-style brass-finished hardware. A fifty-inch plasma television set sat in the middle. A cable box, DVD player, and Bose stereo components sat on shelves at the bottom. Matching left and right tier units were filled with books, ranging from encyclopedias to Shakespeare to James Patterson, along with small decorative vases and bowls. The walls were beige, the hardwood floor dark. A painting of either Marlene’s or Steve’s grandmother hung over a fireplace set against the far wall. Another painting of what looked to be a Van Gogh hung near the entertainment unit. With the exception of the portrait of Grandma, there were no other pictures of family anywhere. I couldn’t help but wonder if Grandma wasn’t Grandma at all, but rather just some random picture picked to take up empty space. The room was cold and lifeless. It was Marlene’s marriage.

  Steve came into the living room with my water. “Here you go.”

  I took it, sipped a little, and then handed it back to him. “Thank you.”

  Bewilderment crept onto Steve’s face. “Is something wrong with the water?”

  I shook my head. “No. Why?”

  “You only took one sip.”

  “That’s all I wanted.”

  “But . . . I thought you were thirsty.”

  “I was. Now I’m not.”

  Steve set the glass down by the entertainment center, exhaled and put his left hand on the back of his neck and squeezed.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  Steve shook his head, but didn’t say anything right away. I observed his body language. He was tired of me. He was fed up with the game. He could have been fucking his secretary at that very moment.

  I took a discreet look at the time displayed on the cable box: 9:00.

  Thirty minutes was all I’d need.

  I stepped toward him. “You seem irritated.”

  Steve shook his head. “No. I’m just—”

  “Do you want me to leave?” I said, putting my hand against his chest.

  Steve looked down at my hand and then at me. He said, “No.”

  I licked my lips and traced my hand down his chest to his crotch again. “Do you still want me?”

  “You know I do.”

  I leaned forward, carrying my lips up inches away from his. I gave his penis a squeeze and felt him grow hard instantly. Just like before, I pulled his zipper down and released him again. But I didn’t stroke. I took a few steps back and said, “Take off your shirt.”

  Steve complied and removed his shirt, exposing a sculpted, hairless chest. I let my fingers roam over his pecs and then his abs for a moment before saying, “Take off the rest now.”

  He did as told. I let my eyes roam over the rest of him. Some people go to the gym to firm up their loose ends. Some go to look at the opposite sex and socialize. His arms, his chest, his abdominals, his legs; Steve went to the gym seeking only perfection.

  I admired his physique and his rock-hard erection for a few seconds, and then reached for the button holding my dress up behind my neck. I undid it and let the dress fall down around my ankles. “Is this what you want, Steve?”

  Steve’s dick jumped at my complete nakedness. He answered, “Yes,” and then took a step toward me.

  I shook my head. “Stay.”

  Remaining in his place, Steve watched me as I took my hands from my neck to my breasts. I ran my fingers over and around them. I pinched my swollen nipples. I cupped my right breast and brought it up to my tongue and did slow circles around the nipple before taking my entire breast into my mouth. My eyes never left Steve the entire time.

  I watched him watching me.

  I watched his mouth fall open.

  I watched his dick jump with each revolution my fingers and tongue made.

  I watched the rise and fall of his chest quicken.

  I watched him wrap his fingers around his shaft.

  I caressed my breasts and watched him stroke.

  I dropped my hand down to my very wet pussy, and tickled, tapped and two-fingered it. Then I pulled my fingers out and tasted my own sweetness. The pace of Steve’s stroking increased after that.

  My eyes went to the clock. 9:10.

  “Get the condom, Steve.” I moved back to the couch. “Put it on and come fuck me.”

  Steve let go of himself, bent down to his slacks, and pulled one out from his pocket. He was an animal as he tore it open, removed the latex, and rolled it down over himself. His eyes were ravenous. He meant business. He was going to show me that Marlene’s words were the absolute truth.

  I lay back on the couch and opened my legs. Like a lion pouncing on his prey, Steve was on top of me seconds later. He slid between my drenched walls and moved rhythmically. Back and forth. Clockwise. Counter-clockwise.

  “You . . . feel . . . so . . . good, Lisette. You’re so . . . so . . . wet. So tight.”

  I moaned. Got the chills. “Give it to me,” I said. I tightened my walls around him.

  He thrust harder, deeper.

  My turn to say, “Shit . . . shit . . . shit . . . shit.” I closed my eyes, collapsed my legs around his waist, lifted my hips, and took all he was giving me.

  “Tell me you like it, Lisette. Tell me how good it feels.”

  I opened my eyes. Steve was looking down at me with a smile.

  Damn.

  I took a look at the time. 9:23. I pushed up on his chest and said, “Sit down.”

  Disappointment appeared in his eyes. For a moment he’d had control. He wanted to hear me tell him that he was the man. That he was fucking me like I’d never been fucked before. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  I pushed up on his chest again. “Sit.”

  He did.

  My pussy was pulsating with excitement as I mounted him. The moment was nearing and I wanted to cum when that moment came. I moved my hips and took him deeper. He reached up t
o fondle my breasts. I wrapped my hands around his forearms and pushed them back against the couch, and kept them pinned there.

  Marlene had said that he fucked like he invented it. A few minutes ago, I would have known whether or not that was true. A few minutes ago, I’d lost myself and had given up control. Now I had it back, and I’d never know if what she’d said was the truth because now I was fucking him. I dug my nails into his arms and made him moan.

  I looked over my shoulder as I pounded him.

  9:27.

  I looked back at Steve. I wanted to look into his eyes when his world would be fucked up. I counted down the remaining minutes in my head.

  At 9:28, my walls were on fire.

  At 9:29, my pussy screamed.

  At 9:30, I heard, “Oh my God!” And then a tidal wave exploded from inside of me.

  Steve’s eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open as Marlene screamed, “Oh my God!” again.

  I drove my hips down on Steve one more time before he pushed me off of him. “Marlene!” He rushed to grab his clothing.

  “You son of a bitch!” Marlene screamed. “You son of a bitch!”

  I turned around on the now very wet sofa and faced Marlene. Her friend was standing beside her, shocked and dumbfounded. Marlene and I gave one another a look, and then she pointed at me.

  “You?” She threw her hands over her mouth. “How could you?”

  She was so good I wanted to smile.

  I joined the act, covered myself with my hands and said, “Marlene . . . I . . . I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry? Sorry? You bitch! I thought we were friends!”

  His pants on but not buttoned, his shirt clutched in his hand, Steve pleaded, “Marlene . . . please . . . it’s not . . . it’s not . . . shit . . . I thought you weren’t coming home until Sunday!”

  The look on Marlene’s face when she looked in his direction gave me the chills. She charged at him. “I hate you!” She swung out wildly and administered a slap across his cheek the neighbors two houses down probably heard. The neighbors three houses down probably heard the next one.

  “I hate you!” Marlene screamed again, going on true, raw, pent-up emotion. “I fucking hate you!”

  Steve backed away from Marlene and looked from Marlene to me to her friend. Shaking his head, he said, “Jill . . . this . . . this . . .”

  Jill put up her hand. “Save it, asshole.” She went over to Marlene, who was crying hard tears now, and put her hands around her shoulders. She consoled her, told her everything would be okay. Then she scowled at me. “I think you should leave.”

  I kept playing my part. “Marlene,” I said, getting up from the couch and grabbing my dress. “I’m so sorry. I never meant . . . it . . . it just happened.”

  Marlene looked at me. Again we gave one another a look. She said, “I can’t believe you would do this to me. We work together. We were friends.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, slipping on my dress. “This was just a mistake. A terrible mistake. We are friends.”

  “You bitch! Don’t you dare call us friends! Bitch! I should kill you!” She tried to charge at me, but Jill held her back.

  “Marlene, don’t! She’s not worth it. He’s not worth it!” Jill looked at me. “Leave. Now!”

  I gave her a you-don’t-know-who-you’re-fucking-with look. I know she didn’t have a clue and was just being a friend, but I still didn’t like being talked to that way. I cut my eyes at her one more time, and then looked at Marlene. She was still glaring at me. I have to say, I was impressed. “I’m sorry,” I said again. Then I hurried past them.

  When I got to the front door, I heard something shatter. I paused with my hand on the knob and listened.

  “You piece of shit! It’s over! Get your things and get out now!”

  “Marlene . . . please! I know I messed up, but we can work past this.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Something else shattered.

  Steve grunted and yelled out, “Shit! You cut me!”

  I smiled, turned the knob and walked out.

  The next day, I collected the other half of my money. This was supposed to have been a one time thing for me.

  It wasn’t.

  11

  One week later, I was working as a head designer for a different fashion company.

  In order for everything to go smoothly for Marlene, she and I had to end our friendship. I was the other woman and there was just no way for me to stay on at LeVor without both of us having to constantly put on an act. She would have had to hate me. I would have had to continue to be apologetic. The men in the office would have looked at me with sinful intentions. I would have been a tramp in the women’s eyes. I left LeVor for two reasons. One: I’d lowered myself and played the role with Marlene once, and I had no intention of doing it again. Two: I damn sure wasn’t going to be disrespected by anyone at work.

  Decision made, I bounced.

  Fucked up Steve’s world on Friday.

  Collected the rest of my money from Marlene on Saturday.

  Went to the office on Sunday to get the few personal belongings I had there.

  Monday, I made a call to one of LeVor’s rivals and took them up on an offer they’d made to me a month prior.

  By Tuesday I had my corner office overlooking the city.

  Three months after that, a woman I’d never met before was knocking on the front door of my condo.

  I’d just come back from the gym. It was my kick boxing night. A few years back, I’d seen Jennifer Lopez’s movie Enough. She portrayed an abused wife who faked her own death and then assumed a brand new identity. Her new life was good for her until her husband found out she was still alive. With her secret identity no longer a secret,

  J. Lo had finally had enough. She took self defense classes, stopped being the hunted, and kicked some serious ass. I started taking kick boxing a week after that. Now I taught a class every Wednesday night. Needless to say, I was tired, sweaty, and starving.

  I walked to the door, keys in hand, and looked at the woman, who stepped aside to make room. “Can I help you?”

  The woman smiled. “Lisette, right?” she said with a Southern twang.

  I stared at her. She knew my name. Instead of answering her question, I said, “And you are . . .?”

  She put out her hand. “Sorry. I’m Lisa.”

  I looked at her hand, but didn’t take it. “Lisa. Have we met?”

  Lisa shook her head. “No.”

  I took a step back, balled my fists, and got into a fighting stance. Lisa and I had never met, yet she was standing at my front door. If I had to go J. Lo on her ass, I would.

  Lisa put her hands up and said, “Whoa.”

  “How the fuck do you know my name? And what the fuck are you doing here?”

  Lisa’s eyes were wide. “We have a mutual friend.”

  “Friend? Who?”

  “Marlene.”

  I jerked my head back slightly. Marlene. I hadn’t seen her since she’d given me the other half of the money she owed me. We’d only spoken once after that. A short phone conversation. She wanted to thank me again for what I’d done. She called a few times after that, but I never answered. Eventually she got the hint and stopped calling. “Marlene?”

  Lisa nodded. “Yes.”

  I watched her closely. Studied her eyes, her body language. Tried to figure her out. Ultimately I couldn’t, so I asked again, “What are you doing here?”

  “Marlene sent me.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “She did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Lisa looked over my shoulder, down the hall, and then took a quick glance behind her. Satisfied that we were alone, she leaned forward a bit, and in a subdued tone, said, “She said you could help me.”

  I let go of some of the tension in my muscles and unclenched my fists. “Excuse me?”

  “She said you could help me,” Lisa repeated.

  “I can?”

  “
Yes.”

  “And just how can I do that?”

  Again she looked up and down the hallway. “She said you can help me divorce my husband.”

  I don’t know if it’s that I’m a cynic or a realist, but very few things really shock the hell out of me. A kid comes back to kick his high school bully’s ass, and kills him in the process—that’s real to me. A Catholic priest fucking around with little boys because he’s not allowed to do what comes naturally with a woman, is sick, but that’s real to me. Women wanting to trap their husbands is real to me. Marlene telling anyone about what I’d done for her. Now, that shocked me.

  I looked at Lisa intently. There was desperation in her eyes, similar to what had been in Marlene’s back in Houston. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Before I realized it was happening, Lisa stepped forward and grabbed hold of my wrist. “Please!” she said, her tone laced with the same desperation as her eyes. “My husband beats the shit out me.”

  I looked at her hand clasped around my wrist and then I looked up at her. “Let go,” I said.

  She did. “I’m sorry. I just . . .” She paused, let out a labored breath. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  My eyes on her, I rubbed my wrist and flexed it. Fear and extreme anxiety had given her a good amount of strength. “I can’t help you,” I said. “Call the police.”

  Lisa let out a chuckle. “My husband is the police. Captain of the hundred ninety-third precinct. Loved and respected by all. Some even want him to run for mayor.”

  I looked at Lisa. Stress had her eyes red with pain, with disappointment. Tears welled in the corners. He was the police. Damn.

  I asked, “How old are you, Lisa?”

  “Forty.”

  I shook my head. A grown woman living a lie. Sad. “I can’t help you,” I said again.

  Lisa’s shoulders slumped down. “Please,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I . . . I have money.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I can’t help you.”

  Tears fell from her eyes down her cheeks. “But . . . Marlene said—”

  “Marlene was mistaken.” That said, I unlocked my door and left Lisa alone in the hallway, where she cried hard tears for a few minutes before shuffling away.