If Only For One Night

by Brenda Hampton

  “You know you want to do this. Stop lying to yourself,” he said to me as I was shaking my head no.

  Wasn’t exactly telling him no. I was still trying to convince me, myself, and I. His hands gripped my waist and roughly snatched my ass back into him. His dick was placed right between my ass cheeks, and if clothes weren’t separating us, we would have a problem. He reached around and unsnapped the buttons on my jeans, sliding them down just enough to expose my boy shorts and my chocolate ass cheeks. He gave my ass a smack and I felt it jiggle a bit.

  “Still don’t want to? Don’t lie.”

  I just couldn’t bring myself to admit it, so I still shook my head no. He brought his right hand around, slowly sliding it down into the front of my boy shorts.

  His wet lips touched my ear. “You’re a liar, Nicole. Pussy’s wetter than a rain forest in Brazil.”

  My knees buckled when his fingers stroked my swollen clit and traveled down further. I bit down on my lips to bite back a moan. While using his right hand to stroke me in the front, he took his left hand and pulled my lace boy shorts to the side. He then inserted two fingers inside of me from behind. Both of us could hear what his touch was doing to my insides.

  “Still don’t want it?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer. I was trying my damnedest not to give in. I gripped onto the counter, when he squeezed my clit between his fingers and pulled a bit. I wanted to call on Jesus but refused to give in. He removed his fingers and I heard him unzip his pants. What I felt next was my undoing. He placed his head right at my entrance, giving me only a few inches of him. My eyes damn near popped out of my head and I think my mouth was stuck in the permanent form of “Oh”. I started breathing like I was having an asthma attack, and I felt a few of my nails break while I was holding onto that damn counter so hard. I even banged my fist against the damn thing. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I bit down so hard on my lip, I broke skin and tasted blood. Oh, I was ready for a lot of things in my life, but good Jesus this wasn’t one of them.

  “Still don’t want it?” he asked again, invading my freaky thoughts.

  Oh what the hell? I nodded a very clear yes and he removed his head and his right hand. He then turned me around to face him. He rubbed his wet fingers across my lips, before leaning in to suck my bottom lip into his mouth. When I tried to suck on to his lips, and massage the natural curls in his hair, he backed away. I almost panicked, watching him put his dick back into his pants. He zipped them and smiled with a teasing look in his eyes, “You don’t fuck married men, remember?”

  Moments later, he turned and walked out. I thought he was playing, until I heard the front door open and close. I put both hands over my mouth and screamed. I wanted to go out there and run his ass over, but it was still daylight and too many witnesses. My damn legs were shaking and I couldn’t stop them. Against my will, the orgasm he had brought me to just from fucking with me dropped me to the floor. It took me almost fifteen damn minutes to get myself together and get out to my car where he was standing with one ankle crossed over the other. He was on the phone, but ended the call by the time I got to the car. I put his papers back in his briefcase and slammed the trunk shut—hard.

  “Damn,” he said, jerking his head back. “What’s wrong with you? You mad?”

  I didn’t answer. I hit the automatic locks and opened his door out of habit. Then, I went over to the driver side and slid into the driver’s seat. I turned the radio on and listened to Trey Songz and Luda talk to me about a sex room. He leaned his seat back and hummed to the song. It annoyed me, so I changed the station. Jeremih was singing about birthday sex. He hummed to that song. It annoyed me, so I changed it again. This time to Miley Cyrus’ “Partying in the USA”. He laughed and pushed his seat all the way back, propped both hands behind his head, and closed his eyes. I smacked my lips and rolled my eyes. While driving, I realized he needed to tell me where we were going next, so I asked him. He told me. Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of the biggest Bank of America I had ever seen. I parked and grabbed his suit jacket from the backseat as he got out of the car. I put his wallet back in the pocket and grabbed his briefcase from the trunk. With his briefcase in hand, I held his jacket open and let him slide into it. We walked into the bank. Never seen any shit like this in all of my life. This was the difference in being rich and being wealthy. This bank screamed that it catered to the wealthy and famous. Forget the rich. Blondie ran right up to him and I swear all I saw were dollar signs in her eyes.

  She introduced him to the bank manager and then looked at me. “I’m sorry, with this being a business meeting of such magnitude, I am sure you understand that only the three of us can be allowed into the back room,” Blondie said as she cast me what she thought was a belittling glance.

  “No problem,” he said to them. “Give me just a second.”

  He turned to me and handed me his ID and a black American Express card. “Go across the street to The Ritz and book the Ritz Carlton suite.”

  “Are they going to let me…”

  “Just say you want to book the suite and hand them what I just gave you. They’ll know what to do.”

  I nodded. “And then what?”

  “Order me something to eat and you, too, if you’re hungry. Then, wait for me.”

  He took his briefcase and turned to walk with them to the back room. I proceeded to walk out of the front door and waited for traffic to let me across the street. I admit, I was a bit nervous about walking into the hotel with this man’s ID and credit card, but I did as I was told. I tried to keep my face in check when I walked into the lobby. This shit screamed money! I was only 26, and if I wanted to be able to live like this, I had to hurry and put my degrees to use. I walked up to the counter, and when the lady asked me how she could help me, I did exactly what he told me to do. Just like he’d said, she knew what to do. A few minutes, and a phone call later, she was handing me the electronic card key to the Ritz Carlton suite. I hopped on the elevator and headed up to the suite. I won’t even waste my time telling you how amazing the room was. It looked more like a penthouse than a hotel room. I ran and jumped across the comfortable king bed, just because. Let me stop acting silly and order this man’s food. Hell, I didn’t know what he wanted, so I ordered us both steak and lobster with a couple of sides and dessert. Got him a bottle of Remy, since it was well known that he liked the stuff. There was already a chilled bottle of complimentary wine, but wasn’t sure if he would drink that. I sat in the front room of the suite and watched CNN until room service delivered. Not thirty minutes after that, he was walking into the room.

  “It’s a done deal,” I heard him say to someone, swiping his hands together. He was on the phone. I was being nosey because I heard a male’s voice on the other end. I walked over to the dining area and set his food out for him. Old habits die hard. Took down a glass from the cabinets and put four cubes of ice into it before pouring some of the Remy for him. I also got him a bottle of Fuji water.

  “Who’s who?” he asked the person on the phone. “Oh, I hired a personal assistant for the day and I have instilled a new ‘Don’t ask me and I won’t tell you’ policy, so don’t ask.”

  He ended the call and we ate in silence, for a while anyway.

  “So, who’d you buy the house for? You and the family moving?” I asked, wiping my hand on the crisp white napkin.

  He didn’t even look up from his food. “Not sure yet. It could become just another investment. Time will tell.”

  “Well, when and if you move this time, don’t bring your side ass with you.”

  This time he looked up, only to cut his eyes at me. “I only moved her to Miami for my son.”

  “Boyyyy stop! You lie. You could have your son without sleeping with the whore bag.”

  He laid his fork down, sighing for the third time today. “Why do you insist on making me talk about this shit? Don’t you think I have enough of that every day in my world? And now you want to be directly in my face
fucking with me about it too? Can I get a break, damn?!”

  My neck moved in circles. “Hey don’t be damning me, sir! But I’ll leave you alone—for now.”

  He stood up and stretched. “Good. I’m going to shower. Do me a favor. I have some things I need to fax. Will you do it for me? They have an office downstairs that you can use. Everything you need is in the briefcase.”

  While he went to shower, I did what he asked. Took me all of thirty minutes. I walked back to the room, and went into the bedroom. He was coming from the shower in nothing but a towel. Lord save me! This man’s body was ridiculous. No man’s body should be this damn perfect. I mean every damn muscle was in the right place. Wonder if he tasted like butterscotch or caramel? I wanted to run my tongue from his sternum to his abs and past his navel to his dick. I needed to get my ass up out of here and quickly because that towel was doing nothing to hide what was hanging low between his legs.

  I shifted my eyes from his dick to his handsome face. “Okay, so I faxed those things off for you and your card, ID, and door key are all on the nightstand right over there by the bed. Do you need me for anything else?”

  He inched the towel lower, causing my eyes to gaze at the minimal soft hair above his shaft. “Yeah, I do need you for something else.”

  My eyes shifted back to his eyes. “Ok. What?”

  “You know I want some pussy. So quit fronting.”

  I frowned at him. “You have such a filthy mouth and I am not giving you any pussy. Told you that already.”

  He stepped a few inches forward and I watched his dick grow. “That’s what your mouth says. Why not let me see that Brazilian wax up close?”

  “Because you, sir, are a married man and I have already overstepped my boundaries. So, I will be leaving now.”

  If I didn’t know better, I would think it was dark outside. But it was just the blackout panels in the room that gave it that dark allure.

  He picked up the glass of Remy from the table and sipped. “Well, at least have a drink with me before you leave.”

  I knew I should have turned around and kept walking, but hey, it was only one drink.

  “Ok, fine,” I said, holding up one finger. “Just one drink, and then I’m leaving.”

  He grabbed the bottle of Remy, the one in the black bottle, and we walked over to the sitting area of the room where the baby grand piano was. He poured me a shot and I took a sip.

  “What the hell are you doing, Nicole? You don’t sip that shit. It’s a shot. Take it to the head.”

  I looked at the luminous amber color of the liquid and then took it to the head like he’d suggested. That shit showed me where my heart was. It was burning so badly, I wanted to go pour a whole bucket of ice down my throat. This was precisely why I had a one drink minimum whenever I was out on the town. My ass couldn’t handle liquor. So when he poured another shot, I should have said no, but I didn’t. Hell, truth be told, I needed a fucking drink. So, I dropped my purse and keys and got comfortable in one of the bright orange chairs.

  “Where’s your husband?” he asked, sitting across from me.

  “What?”

  “You’re married, right?”

  I nodded and looked away from him.

  “So where is he? You have been with me for several hours and your phone hasn’t rung. You haven’t made any phone calls either. I would want to know where my wife was and if she was driving some dude around . . .”

  “He’s at work,” I lied. Well, yeah, I lied.

  I could feel him watching me. He was pushing a subject I really didn’t care to talk about. Made me sick to even think about it, let alone talk about it. I got up and walked over to the bay window to look out. It was about to rain. Mood killer. I now hated the fucking rain.

  “Why are you watching me,” I snapped. I could see his image in the tall glass windows that I looked out of.

  He chuckled. “No reason. I just think I get it now.”

  He struck a nerve. I turned, pointing my finger in his direction “Fuck what you think you know.”

  “I feel the exact same way. Fuck what you think you know.”

  I didn’t respond, just turned back around.

  “Your husband cheating on you, Nicole?”

  My chest felt heavy and my breathing labored. I felt like I was drowning.

  “No. Why would you ask a thing like that?”

  “I guess that’s why you are always talking shit, huh? What I do, hit a nerve? Get a bit too personal for you?” He taunted me and I didn’t like it.

  “No. Told you my husband isn’t cheating on me…”

  “And, I know you are lying. Is that why you are so quick to judge me and my situation? Because you can’t handle your own?”

  I quickly turned to him again. I was tempted to throw my drink in his face.

  “Why don’t you worry about your own shit,” I asked, walking up to him with my hand on my hip. “Apparently, your shit is raggedy or you wouldn’t be in the fucked up place you are in now. Never understood the secret to your madness anyway. How can you love someone and do something that you know would hurt them?”

  “Are you asking me specifically, or do you want to know for your own reasons?”

  I stared at him with a hard look but didn’t answer his question. I quickly washed my drink down my throat, and as the rain fell hard against the window, I looked back at it. The liquor started to take effect. I moved over to the chair and faced him again. I watched as he stood, making his way back into the bedroom area. My phone vibrated in my purse by my leg and it startled me. I quickly snatched my purse open and grabbed my phone. It was only a text message.

  Still in the conference. Call you later, was all it read. It was from my husband. I cringed and frowned at the phone.

  “Was that your husband?” he asked, coming from the bedroom.

  I jumped and broke out the trance I was in. “No and why?”

  “Maybe you should call the man and let him know where you are.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t and why in hell do you care?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t.”

  He was annoying me, or maybe it was the fact that he mentioned my husband and that annoyed me. He had put on the pants from his suit. I watched the way they fit perfectly around his waist. The man even had pretty feet. My leg had started to shake. Always did that when I was upset or annoyed. He handed me another drink.

  “Want to talk about it,” he asked.

  The rain had my attention. It was taking me back to a night I would rather forget.

  “Talk about what?” I said, starting to nibble on my nails.

  “Your problem. Hey, it’s fair game. You know all of my business and you definitely know me to be a naughty man.”

  He stood there with his arms folded across his chest. There was something akin to a smirk on his face. I couldn’t really tell.

  “I know what you tell me and most of that is probably a lie. I mean, if you can’t be honest with your wife then who the hell am I?”

  He wasn’t amused and his facial expression showed as much.

  “I take it you are having a moment of misguided anger. You seem to have a lot of those. I get it now, it’s because you are mad at your husband and you are too chicken-shit to say anything to him, so you come at me all the time like you have lost your gotdamn mind.”

  I squinted with a touch of fury. “There is this intersection that is known for the amount of pedestrians that have been killed crossing the street. How about I drop you off there and see if you can become another statistic?”

  He only gave a curt smile.

  “My husband isn’t cheating on me,” I continued. “Just because you have a tricky dick doesn’t mean all men do.”

  “No. Just me and your husband,” he replied with a smirk.

  “Fuck you!”

  “I offered, you refused.” He shrugged. “Your loss,” he said before walking over to pour himself another drink. “You probably should take me up on that offer though
. Judging by how tight your pussy is, your husband hasn’t been in it for a while. Your choice or his?”

  He put the bottle of Remy down, and then picked up his filled glass. While folding his right arm under the left, he crossed one leg over the other, looking as if he was actually waiting for me to answer that shit. Right then, thunder shook the earth and lightening lit up the sky.

  “Whatever the choice, it’s the same one your wife made.”

  When his eyes darkened and his jaw flinched, I smiled. Like a game of chess . . . check! He slowly walked over and took the seat in front of me—again. The rain was bothering me. My phone vibrated beside me—again.

  Going to have to stay until tomorrow. Call you later.

  I wanted to take my phone and stomp it to hell, but I simply placed it on my thigh and took a swig of my drink. My leg started to shake again. That sick feeling that you get in the pit of your stomach when you know something is wrong and can’t do anything about it settled in. Pissed me off.

  “I take it that was your husband. Damn, he could have the common courtesy to, at least, call.”

  I was so mad and breathing so hard that my shoulders moved up and down. I could hear myself inhale and exhale.

  “I really meant that from the bottom of my heart,” he continued, irritating the hell out of me.

  I decided to get him where it hurt. “Did your wife leave you yet? She should. No woman should subject herself to total bullshit and disrespect. I hope she never comes back.”

  He fired back. “Your husband probably started cheating because you talk too damn much. Sometimes, a man just wants peace. Maybe he wasn’t getting it at home and decided to get it somewhere else. That’s what happens when you annoy a man. They tend to go out and look for what they can’t get at home.”

  I bit back my anger. “Well, you’re proof of that being a tall-ass lie. Like I said, just because your tricky dick likes to come up with lame ass excuses as to why you like jumping from pussy to pussy, doesn’t mean my husband does.”