Overwhelmed

by Marita A. Hansen

  “How?”

  I pressed my lips together, not sure if I should tell him.

  “Is she the reason you want the book tour broken up?” he asked.

  “Mostly. She’s very vulnerable right now.”

  “Did she break up with a boy?”

  “It’s way more serious than that.”

  “You can tell me?”

  I shook my head. “It’s private.”

  “If I know what it concerns, then maybe I can understand more about your needs in relation to the book tour. But if I don’t know, I may say or do something insensitive.”

  I breathed out. “She has suicidal thoughts.”

  He went still.

  I looked down, feeling bad I’d told him.

  “My second wife killed herself,” he blurted out, making me look up in surprise. “Hide any pills you have in the house.”

  “Did your wife overdose?”

  He nodded. “I was working too much. I didn’t realise how upset she was. She would tell me things, but I was usually too exhausted to take in what she was talking about. My youngest found her in the bathroom. That’s why he blames me. He saw what was happening, while I didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He pushed to his feet. “No need to feel sympathy for me, I don’t deserve it. And don’t hide or ignore your daughter’s feelings. Suicide is a silent killer that steals our loved ones before we realise what’s happened.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Sorry, I better get back to work.”

  I got up and headed for the door, stopping by Eric. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For listening.”

  He nodded. “Anytime.” The man appeared pained. No, he looked devastated.

  “You take care.” I pushed up on my toes and kissed his cheek.

  He placed a hand on my face, holding me against him, my lips still on his flesh. I went to pull back.

  He let go. “You remind me of my late wife.”

  I remained silent, not knowing how to answer that.

  He continued, “You don’t look like her, but when I first met her she was very much like you. I wish you were my second chance.” He leaned forward, looking like he was going to kiss me, but instead he placed his forehead against mine, reminding me of what Tom did.

  Someone cleared their throat behind me.

  Eric quickly stepped away, his gaze shooting past me. I glanced over my shoulder, finding my agent standing a few feet away from us, the look on his face concerned.

  Damian’s focus shifted from Eric to me. “Hello, Kelly. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I was going over the book tour with Eric,” I replied.

  His gaze moved back to Eric. “That’s my job.”

  “I just wanted to make sure things were fine with Kelly first,” Eric said.

  “Again, that is my job. I’m her agent.” Damian refocused on me. “But, I suppose Eric is a hands-on type of person.” He smiled, making me want to slap it off his face, because I knew what he was insinuating.

  “I should go,” I said, slipping past him.

  “Say hello to your lovely husband from me,” Damian said, making my back stiffen.

  I glanced back at him. “I’m sure that’s not a wise idea.”

  Damian’s smile widened. “Such a pity, we could’ve had so much fun.” He wriggled his fingers at me, then walked past Eric. “Two delicious men who want you. You are such a lucky lady, Kelly,” he said, too loudly.

  Eric scowled. “Ignore him. He’s just teasing. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

  I nodded.

  “What’s on Saturday?” Damian asked, his voice again too loud.

  “Nothing you’re invited to,” Eric snapped. He closed the door. A second later, raised voices started up on the other side, but not loud enough to hear what they were saying. I wondered whether Eric was telling Damian off, because by the look on his face he wasn’t amused.

  I glanced over at the receptionist, who was staring at me. She dropped her gaze, pretending to be concentrating on the computer. I quickly walked out the door, wondering whether she thought I was having an affair with Eric.

  I headed home, worried that others might be thinking the same thing.

  20

  I found an email from Eric after I got home. He apologised for Damian’s behaviour, saying that his friend was an intolerable tease and to ignore him. I wanted to, but his words kept plaguing me, which in turn, caused me to worry about seeing Eric again. The man created a maelstrom of emotions within me, which left me feeling deeply uncomfortable—as well as guilty. Even worse, since I’d had sex with him, I wasn’t sure whether the way he’d touched me in his office had crossed that invisible line of what was appropriate and what wasn’t, and although I didn’t reciprocate, it didn’t stop my body from being turned on. Was that cheating? No, I couldn’t control my body’s responses, but I could control my actions, and I didn’t act on anything. Therefore, I was fine. I just needed to remember that.

  I forced all thought of Eric out of my head, focusing on completing my editing before the kids returned from school. But aspects of him kept sneaking back in: those eyes, his voice, the memory of his breath on my flesh, all of it making me want to scream. Luckily, my mind was kept engaged after the kids returned, between making dinner for them and listening to their constant bickering. An hour after I put them to bed, Tom arrived home from his Naval Reservist meeting. Not taking ‘no’ for an answer, he jumped me in bed, our lovemaking wiping out all lingering thoughts of Eric.

  The next day a friend-request popped up on my Facebook page from Eric, bringing him back to the forefront of my mind. I immediately accepted it, and went to his page, feeling a little guilty about scrolling through his family photos. There were pictures of his deceased wife, the woman beautiful. She had a heart-shaped face and long strawberry-blonde hair. In one photo, she had her arms around two dark-haired boys who resembled Eric, one of them Tate. He looked about sixteen and had a big smile on his face. I scrolled through more pictures, finding a few with Eric and his wife together, both of them seemingly happy, Eric often staring down at her.

  A beep made me jump. I glanced at the bottom corner of my computer, realising a message had popped up ... from Eric.

  What are you doing?

  Writing, I replied back, not wanting to tell him I was looking at his pictures.

  About what?

  I gave him a short description of my latest story, a new genre I was trying.

  Sounds interesting. Is there a lot of sex in it?

  I laughed, replying with a yes.

  Do you ever use real sex scenes in your novels?

  Yes.

  Which ones have you used in your first three books?

  Have you finished the third book already?

  Yes. Each book gets better. So, what are the scenes?

  None in those books, the real scenes are in my newest one.

  What’s it about?

  ...

  Kelly?

  A love-triangle.

  Have you got a blurb?

  Yes.

  Give it to me.

  No, it’s under wraps right now, I replied back nervous, because it was inspired by our threesome.

  You’ve piqued my curiosity. I can’t wait to read it.

  You will, if I get it finished.

  Is that an insinuation I’m keeping you from your writing?

  I smiled, answering with a no.

  Good, because I would never stand in the way of your talent.

  My thoughts went to Tom and his intense dislike of my writing career—until now, when I was finally showing something in return. Deep down, I knew I resented him for making me feel so damn guilty for writing. It felt like I had done it all alone and with a giant mountain of guilt piled on my shoulders, pushing me down until I cracked at times, crying when no one was around. Yet, here was Eric, wanting to know about my writing, even spending money on it because he believed in me, somet
hing my husband hadn’t given me. Yeah, Tom supported me financially while I wrote, but definitely not emotionally. He’d just made me feel like I wasn’t contributing to the family.

  A beep interrupted my thoughts about Tom, another message from Eric.

  Kelly? You still there?

  Yes.

  I’ll let you go so you can get back to work. Just one thing: I’m really looking forward to Saturday night.

  Me too, I typed without thinking, my politeness kicking in before my brain caught up with what I’d written. Shit, did he mean about possibly having sex or just the dinner?

  I’m happy to read that. See you then.

  The message system went quiet, no more beeps, making me wish he’d chatted longer, or not at all, because now I didn’t know if I could concentrate on writing. I flicked back to the sex scene I had been referring to, wondering what Eric would think of it. Without giving it the thought it deserved, I cut and copied the segment, then placed it in the message system.

  Here’s the sex scene I was referring to, I typed.

  As soon as I’d pressed the send button, I knew I shouldn’t have showed him, especially since it was about our threesome. But, he was my publisher and he’d asked.

  A few minutes later a beep sounded, Eric replying to my message:

  Hell, Kelly, you almost made me come.

  I laughed nervously.

  You there?

  Yes, I typed.

  That was about our threesome.

  Yes, I replied back, although I’d changed a few things, romanticising it more.

  I’m so glad you can use me as inspiration.

  I use everyone I know in my writing.

  Well, you can USE me all you want.

  My smile dropped.

  He continued, Maybe you will get some more inspiration from Saturday night. I can show you some very interesting moves to write about.

  We may not be having sex, Eric. Tom might not want to.

  He’s a man, and Natalija is a very persuasive and attractive woman. He’ll want to have sex.

  I breathed out.

  So, maybe you’ll be writing about a foursome soon.

  I quickly typed, I’m not into women.

  You won’t be concentrating on Natalija. Do you know what I’m doing right now?

  Messaging me.

  With only one hand.

  An image of Eric jerking himself off in front of the computer flashed across my mind.

  Guess what I’m doing with the other hand.

  Picking your nose, I replied, knowing where this was heading.

  Very funny, but can you guess what I’m really doing, as well as who I’m thinking about?

  Barbara Streisand.

  You really are a comedian. It’s just a pity you can’t see and hear me.

  Eric, I should go.

  No, you should COME with me, because I’m close just thinking about what you wrote about us.

  And Tom.

  I don’t want to think about him, he’ll make me soft. I only want to think about you. What are you wearing?

  I can’t tell you that, plus I have to go.

  Then just read my reply, because I know you will. My hand is running up and down my cock while I’m thinking about you sucking it. Though, this time I’m not wearing a condom, so you’re tasting my flesh and pre-cum, because I’m leaking for you. I hear noise coming from the reception area. I have an appointment with a famous author, but I need to come, since you’ve gotten me too hard to stop. My phone rings, probably my receptionist telling me that the author is here to see me. I ignore it, because my mind is on your mouth sliding over my cock, so warm and moist. You’re naked; your beautiful big tits are touching my legs, bouncing against them as you bob your head up and down my cock. I’m close to coming, but I want to fuck you instead. So, I pull you up and spin you around, leaning you across my desk. Your beautiful round arse is in the air and your pussy is dripping wet for me, calling for my cock to slam inside of it. Aching with need, I take hold of my cock and do just that, penetrating you without any preparation. You cry out, unable to hold it in, while I groan, not caring that people could hear or walk in on us. I start thrusting inside of you, fucking you like you should be. I lay my front against your back, wanting to grab your delicious tits. I cup them and start kissing your neck. You turn your head to me and I latch onto your mouth, while continuing to penetrate your wet pussy. Fuck, I’m close. I need you, Kelly. Fuck, fuckkkkkkk...

  The message stopped, the realisation he was coming turning me on beyond what I could handle, the man’s words making my pussy throb with need. I could imagine him sitting in front of his desk, with his cock in hand. His head would be flung back as he came over his crisp white shirt. I put the laptop down on my bed, feeling guilty I’d read that, and even worse that I wanted to come with him. I ached to put my hand on my pussy, rubbing myself until completion, but I couldn’t do that while thinking about him. The line between what was right and wrong had started to blur again, making it harder to know whether I was cheating or remaining faithful. But I’d told him I had to go, so communication wise I did nothing wrong, and God, my pussy was all wound up, a physical reaction to his words, something I couldn’t control.

  I lay down on my front and slipped my hand under my pussy, pushing and rubbing at it. The pressure built up inside of me almost instantly. Within a minute I was groaning, the release badly needed. I breathed out and pushed to a sitting position, going still as my computer beeped, another message from Eric popping up:

  I hope you came hard, because I did.

  Shame heated my cheeks while guilt tortured my mind.

  See you on Saturday. And wear the same lingerie you wore to the club. I want to take it off with my teeth, then lick you all over...

  The sound of my kids’ voices came from outside. I slammed my laptop shut, guilt yelling at me that I had crossed that line.

  ***

  Tom’s ute pulled into our driveway, capturing my attention. A minute later, he walked through the front door. He was wearing worn out jeans and a ripped shirt, suggesting he’d been building, rather than dealing with clients. He also looked exhausted.

  “What’s for dinner?” he asked, dumping his keys on the bookshelf.

  “Tacos.”

  “I’ll have a quick shower first.”

  He disappeared, the shower starting up a minute later. I took his plate of tacos to the coffee table, knowing he’d want to watch the News. A few minutes later, he emerged dressed in a clean pair of shorts and shirt. I put a beer in front of him as he sat down. I went back into the kitchen, watching the kids play basketball outside. I smiled, happy that Nicky was having fun, although her brother didn’t look so happy, but that was because Nicky was hogging the ball.

  I wiped the bench and stacked the dishes, ready for Remy to wash since it was his night. Once done, I headed into the sitting room. Tom looked up at me, already having devoured all the tacos, only the beer in his hand left.

  He pushed to his feet. “Where’s the computer?”

  “I’ll get it for you,” I said, realising I’d left my message page open. I rushed down the passage and into our room, opening it up. I clicked the start-up button. The offending page popped up with a new message from Eric:

  I want to lick you all over, especially your wet pussy. Fuck, just thinking about it is making me hard again...

  Noise came from the passageway. I quickly clicked off the page, closing it down, my heart now in my throat.

  Tom appeared in the doorway. “I thought you were getting me the computer.”

  I walked around the bed and held it out to him.

  He took it with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “I’m just tired,” I replied, not wanting to tell him what Eric had done, knowing it would upset him.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, looking concerned.

  “Yeah.” I breathed out. “I ju
st need an early night.”

  “Then take it. I’ll sort the kids out for dishes and bed.”

  I nodded, wanting a shower first—a cold one.

  He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, making me feel even worse. I didn’t like not knowing what to do, whether to tell him or not. Had I done wrong in keeping it a secret or even reading the message? No, I hadn’t, because I never replied back. Eric was coming onto me, not the other way round. I just needed to get it into my head that I didn’t do anything wrong and that there was no use in upsetting Tom over it. Saturday was going to be just a dinner, not what Eric was saying.

  Friends ... not friends with benefits.

  21

  My nerves grew steadily as Tom drove down Eric’s long driveway, the Saturday night dinner only minutes away. Tom turned up the radio, a popular song playing on it. Usually he listened to talkback, but he seemed distracted. Was he having second thoughts? Or was he worried about me being with Eric again? Because if he was, we could just have dinner and a chat, then politely leave.

  Tom started talking, “We need to stay in the same room if we do end up having sex with them.”

  “I agree,” I replied, his words making the possibility of having a foursome even more real.

  He parked our car next to a black Maserati. We got out and headed for the front door, Tom knocking on it. A few seconds later it opened. Eric’s butler Gerard greeted us with his polite British accent. I smiled at him, still amused that Eric had a butler, but I guessed he was rich and British. Maybe it was a stereotype, but he seemed to fit it.

  The butler ushered us in. Tom placed a hand on my back, shadowing me. I glanced back at him, giving him a smile, still amused at the butler. Tom returned my smile, although he appeared just as nervous as I felt.

  The sound of footsteps approaching caught our attention, followed by a female Russian voice. “Hello, darlings,” Natalija said, heading down the staircase. She was beautiful, all long blonde hair and stunning blue eyes, a Barbie with a Russian accent. I didn’t know why Eric was even trying to bed me with Natalija in the house.

  I smoothed down my black top, the same one I’d worn to the party the other night. Again, I appeared underdressed, because Natalija had on a long form-fitting dress with a sweeping neckline, showing a portion of her golden breasts.