Unbelievable!
The next thirty minutes pass in rapid-fire succession—into the hallway, down countless flights of stairs, out into the pouring rain, away from the hotel complex that has been maddeningly roped off by the NYFD. Sirens, fire engines, police vehicles, hoses, hotel staff, and guests are everywhere. The guests scatter; already clogged streets become choked to near bursting with equipment and panicky, half-dressed out-of-towners. By the time he leads Olivia hesitantly to an all-night diner four blocks away, Miles’ shirt is soaked to the bone. Her nipples shine like beacons. Either she hasn’t noticed or no longer cares. She is freezing, dead tired, and drained of all emotion. At 2:18 A.M., they have only each other for comfort.
That thought alone is sobering.
They sit across from each other now, Olivia and Ryan, in a cramped, dingy booth, sipping lukewarm coffee. The silence and wobbly table are the only things separating them, as she tries unsuccessfully to forget this night, this man, this situation.
She is thinking, How on earth did things get to this point?
Chapter 4
He enters her slowly, feeling her expand as he fills her up. He groans in response to her grabbing his ass and pulling him inside of her. He glances down; Carly’s caramel skin is aglow with the sheen that accompanies lovemaking. Her body writhes underneath his frenzied thrusts. Her small breasts, with dark erect nipples, beckon him near. Her pubic hair is trimmed neat, and he loves to watch himself thrust in and out of the sweet spot between her legs.
At this moment, he is thinking of her.
He is savoring the moment of being inside his wife. Yet, he ponders her…Olivia’s legs, thighs, navel, breasts, neck, ass, and beautiful face.
He longs to drink her in, consume her in one bite, so he can carry her around inside of him wherever he goes. Since this is not possible, he dreams of her instead. Constantly. At work, during the commute home, while having supper, afterwards as he and his wife sit on the couch watching television, and even while they are having sex.
Now as he thrusts deep inside of his wife, he imagines he is making love to her. He thrusts harder, giving it to her the way he supposes Olivia would want it…deep, hard, and long. Carly’s eyes are glazed as he pummels her, mouth open, tongue poised at her lips, but no words emerge. She is not one to talk during sex—not even a whimper or a moan. She only makes faces, ushering him onward with a gesture here and there. She’s not shy—not afraid to take his dick in her hand and put it where she desires.
But she doesn’t moan.
And this is okay with him. It never even crossed his mind. Until the one evening when Miles and Olivia stayed over…
The rain pounded the roof with a vigor that frightened even him. He was huddled on the couch with Carly, while Miles and Olivia sat cozily across from them on the love seat. With the electricity out and half the city in the dark from the storm, their faces were bathed only by candlelight. It had been pouring for hours—started just as they arrived. They were supposed to be going out for dinner and a movie—and now had no choice but to change plans, deciding instead to dine in. Then, the power went out. They listened to the reports on a portable radio about the roads becoming flooded.
Ryan told them to stay over in the guest bedroom. No way were they going to attempt to drive anywhere in that deluge.
Later on that night, after exhausting the supply of chardonnay, merlot, and margarita mix, they retired to their separate rooms. Carly, as usual, drank a bit too much and had to be put to bed. So, Ryan lay beside her, stroking her smooth belly with one hand, tugging on himself with the other. In the next room, Miles made love to his wife. It was clear they tried to keep the noise down, but Ryan had no trouble discerning Olivia’s moans through the thin wall.
Ooooooooh.
Ahhhhhhh.
He imagined Miles taking her from behind, her round, heart-shaped ass flattening against his harried thrusts as she moaned and groaned.
He heard it all—Olivia begging for more, commanding her husband to give it to her deeper. Her whispers became increasingly frantic until she cried out, a single muffled scream that caused Ryan to spurt onto his own belly, her orgasm mixing with his as Carly snored peacefully beside him.
He never forgot that night. Never forgot those sounds of love that haunt him even to this day. He longs to hear those words, soft melodies that alighted from her lips.
Ooooooooh.
Ahhhhhhh.
Mmmmmmmn.
Yeahhhhhhhhhhhh.
Sounds of love…
From this woman…
The object of his obsession…
Another man’s wife.
The huge, warehouse-like space is littered with cubicles and conference tables made of steel, mesh, and chrome. Four elevated offices located in the four corners of the building; the domain of management—hers—Olivia’s diagonally across from his. The staff, he recalls with a smirk, calls them birdcages, and that is exactly the way he sees his office, as a cage—because everyone, all the staff, can watch the intimate actions of their superiors just by glancing up at the elevated space and four sheets of glass.
While sitting in his cage, re-reading an e-mail thread from a throng of engineers, his cell rings. He absently glances down and notices he has three missed calls. Answering on the fourth ring, he notes the time. Well past 3:00 P.M.
Miles. No preamble.
“I waited for close to ninety minutes…”
Ryan clenches his teeth and swears.
“Oh, shit, man, I totally forgot. Got tied up with this defect shit.”
“Whatever. We need to talk. It’s about Olivia.”
This stops him dead in his tracks. He is silent.
“Hear me?” Miles demands.
“Yeah.” A million scenarios run through his head at warp speed. Of course, she told him. Ryan would have been naïve to think otherwise.
What to do?
Deny it?
No, she has the letter…his words on a page.
He wonders if Carly knows yet.
If not, it would only be a matter of time.
Oh, Christ.
“I have to take care of a few things,” he hears Miles utter, “but will be free later on. We need to talk. Tonight—can’t put this off any longer.”
“Okay.”
Miles provides the when and where, then hits End. Ryan stares at the cell in his palm. Glancing up, apprehension covering his face like stubble, he peers toward her office. It sits vacant.
He punches the switch angrily, bathing his cage in privacy.
Men always focus on the physical to a fault.
He does that now.
Reliving, in excruciating detail, how she took him—inch by delicious inch—into her awaiting mouth.
He recalls with razor-sharp clarity the feeling of absolute pleasure he took in slipping inside her mouth. The feeling was so exquisite and overpowering, as he knew with a surety he would not last, couldn’t hold back the passion surging forward like a wailing, out-of-control sandstorm. No longer caring, his mind ceased to perform the analysis, to evaluate what he was doing there and then, or the dire consequences of his actions.
When exactly did he compromise his marriage? He should have paused to consider this simple question.
But he could not.
Was