As the title states, this is part 2. It can certainly be read on its own, but it is best if you go back to the beginning.
I appreciate the feedback for chapter 1. I hope that this chapter is as well received.
The few weeks following my chance encounter at the park were overcast and humid. Thunderstorms threatened almost every afternoon and the temperatures soared. I was drawn back to the park in hopes that I would find him again, only to find myself washed out by the weather at each turn. I began to think that my first encounter with my mysterious stranger would also be my last. I couldn't help but mourn my missed opportunity.
My husband seemed to be waiting, knowing that I was preoccupied with thoughts of that encounter. He took advantage of that preoccupation, even though he knew that he wasn't the one that I thought of when he took me to bed each night. I knew that deep down, somewhere in his soul, it hurt him that I often thought of being taken by someone who was as close to his alter ego as one could be. I also knew that he was confident enough to know that he had my heart. He knew that he was so much more than any other man could ever be. He knew that I needed him in a way that I would never need to let go and release the part of me that needed to be....used.
It was my husband who brought me back to life when I had been shattered by a three year relationship in which I was made to feel less than who I was. It was my husband who taught me to believe that I was beautiful and sexy. It was my husband who showed me that affection could mean so much more than fucking. It was my husband who taught me that love was what would carry us through the years into the stage in our lives when fucking might be a distant memory.
And what, I wondered, did I teach my husband? I taught him how good fucking could be. I taught him that there was more to life than the missionary position. I taught him that as important as love was, the fucking could be so damned good. I taught him that a woman could be every bit as sexual and demanding as a man. I taught him that a woman could be every bit as distracted by her lust as a man could. I taught him that there were things that some women needed, that I needed, that were difficult to explain. I taught him that there was a fine line between love and lust, and that the line could be as gray or as black and white as it needed to be. And every night when he took me in that gentle way that he did, and every night when I begged him to delve deeper into his soul and find a way to give me what I needed, I taught him that there was a part of me that he would never be able to comprehend.
We fell back into our comfortable routines. He asked once or twice about my encounter, but there was nothing much to tell. He didn't seem to mind my being distracted by another. As he had once told me when he discovered my love of chatting, he was, after all, the one who reaped the benefits when I became aroused by late night sessions. And as he and I reaped those benefits, I became engrossed in my own routine of work and family. My memory of that afternoon was pushed to the back of my mind for the most part. And as is generally the case, it wasn't until I had stopped looking that I once again found him.
It was a workday afternoon and I had been asked to deliver some documents to a downtown client. Seeing that it was finally a bright, beautiful day, I decided to grab a sandwich and take my lunch break by the river after running my errand. I kicked off my shoes, rolled up the legs of my jeans, and found a spot where I could sit comfortably with my feet dangling in the cool water. I pulled out a book and turned to the page that I had dog eared to mark my progress. I nibbled my lunch, quickly becoming lost in the author's words.
"I missed you last Saturday."
His voice was so close that I nearly choked on the water that I had been sipping. I looked up at the source only to find a dark silhouette. From my angle of sight, and with the sun behind him, I was practically blind. He stood too close, leaving me at a disadvantage; seated on the ground such that he towered over me. Even so, I knew it was him. I lowered my gaze, returning the top to my water bottle and setting it in the grass at my side.
"I didn't realize I was expected." I responded in a voice that was a bit too shaky.
I looked back up at him; my natural tendency to make eye contact when having a conversation kicking in. He took a step closer, effectively blocking out the sun and allowing me to see his face. The smile that had nearly brought me to my knees at our first meeting was ineffective this time around. I was already seated after all. I did however, feel my breath catch as he looked down at me. Though he had been kind enough to block the sunlight and enhance my view, he was now so close that I was put in the uncomfortable position of having to stare nearly straight up at him. Familiar with the psychology of body language and its use to intimidate, I knew all to well that he had planned his approach with intimidation in mind. Unwilling to play such games, I pulled my legs beneath me and stood up.
"You've been here every Saturday since the first time we met." He said as I rose. "You must be looking for something, or someone."
"I come here quite often actually." I replied. "I didn't realize that anyone had been keeping tabs."
He grinned at me knowingly and said nothing. After a moment he donned his dark glasses once again and walked to the edge of the river leaving me standing alone. I watched as he squatted down, dipped his hand in the water, and stared out across the falls. I waited. We remained in our positions for a few moments, neither making a move. I was tempted to follow his lead and sit beside him. I was also tempted to scoop up my belongings and flee. I refused to give him the satisfaction of either response. I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I waited for something to happen.
Rising suddenly he turned and walked toward me. "Your lunch hour is nearly over." He said. "It's time for you to go."
"Yes it is." I responded, not thinking for the moment about the fact that he knew that I was, in fact, there for a lunch time visit only.
"Gather your things." He said, leaning to pick up the book that I had abandoned at his arrival. "I'll escort you to your truck."
It wasn't too far a stretch for him to assume that I could be there on my lunch break. I could write that off as a lucky guess considering the time of day. That he knew that I drove a truck rather than a car however, was slightly unnerving. It was early afternoon and the park was crowded. I should have felt perfectly safe. I did not.
"I can find my own way back." I told him, scooping up my shoes and the remnants of my lunch.
I reached out my hand for my book. He reached toward me with his free hand and clasped it on my wrist, pulling me toward him in a swift and sudden motion. He lowered his face to mine and caught my gaze. Staring into the dark glasses was unsettling. My own eyes looked back at me and I didn't like their size or the look of fear in them. As if reading my mind he let loose my wrist and reached up to remove the glasses. I found myself staring into the dark eyes that had so haunted me.
"I'll escort you." He said, leaving little room for discussion. "I wouldn't want anything untoward to happen to you, Catherine."
His use of my name caused my heart to stop for a second and then to attempt an escape via my throat.
"How do you know me?" I asked, my voice shaking.
