This story is being posted in multiple parts due to its length, but they are all written and will come out in quick succession.
It picks up after Mallory and Jim had a minor misunderstanding, but his week got better when Addison dropped in to flirt with him some more while he was working at the bar.
—C
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Jim was nervous. It had been only Lori for eight years of marriage, two of dating, and precious little of even her for a while. Nerves or not, though, when Addison said, "You remember that ever-decreasing subtlety? Well, how about you come back to my room?" he'd smiled.
As she preceded him into the room and turned to hang up her suit jacket, he let his eyes roam. She was a stark contrast to Lori. It wasn't just her shape or the dark hair that contrasted to Lori's caramel locks. It wasn't the deep red of her lipstick and nail polish or the faint scent of some smoky perfume that evoked cardamom and pepper. Everything about her was different, from the poise to the sensual confidence. He felt his pulse jump and the faintest shift.
Addison caught the appreciation out of the corner of her eye and noted his nervousness. She got a little charge out of both of them. She stepped closer, leaned up, and let her lips brush his. "I have a question. Do you like a woman who talks dirty or do you prefer a little Miss Innocent? I can do either."
"Umm ..." He thought about it for a second while she tilted her head up at him expectantly. "I guess I'd say that I like a classy woman who can get raunchy in the bedroom."
Her face split in a dirty grin. "My kind of guy!" she murmured.
She took his hand in hers, pulled it up to her mouth, and kissed the palm lightly. "Before you turn me on so much that I can't think straight, can I go over a couple of ground rules?" She continued kissing his palm.
"Okay."
"I don't want a customer seeing any marks on me, like hickeys." She glanced up at his eyes and chuckled at his "What am I? A teenager?" expression. Her mouth moved along his hand, kissing its way to the tip of his fingers. Just before her lips opened enough to admit the very end of his finger, she said, "Bare in my mouth is fine."
She felt a little shiver go through him as she said that. She laughed inside; that had been exactly her goal, though what followed also mattered to her. "But you'll need to wear a condom for when we ..." She raised her head to meet his gaze fully. The dirty grin came back. "... fuck." His grin answered hers.
She let her mouth and tongue tease his fingers more boldly, hearing the change in his breathing. "Finally, if you're into butts, warn me and there's no such thing as too much lube." His breath caught. Arousal became more discernible. Another silent laugh for her.
"Jim, only two pieces of clothing separate that mouth of yours from my tits and, quite frankly, that's two too many."
Lying curled against each other later, he asked her, "You're not married, are you?"
She rolled on her side to look at him. "No, why?"
"I was thinking about what you said earlier: that you noticed I was no longer wearing a ring. That implies you noticed I was wearing one the first time and, yet, you were still flirting with me."
"I see. And now you're wondering whether I'm one of those bitches who doesn't mind breaking up a home, right?"
Jim looked uncomfortable and didn't say anything, but she didn't get upset. "It's a fair question," she said. "The answer is no, I'm not." He continued to lie there silently, and her voice took on an amused tone. "But I guess you want more than that, right?"
"A little."
"Okay. I was just flirting. You're fun and it's good for the ego to have an attractive man interested in talking to you. My only expectations were a few laughs. If things
did
start moving past that, there'd have been a pretty direct question. And then, if I didn't hear either the word widower or the word divorce, the game would have been over.
"On the other hand—and here I hope you aren't the super-judgmental sort—it's the husband's job to police his vows, not mine. If you seemed honest enough that your marriage was over, I wasn't going to ask for notarized copies of the paperwork. That's not naïveté about whether scumbags lie; it's simply that I'm not the Morality Police."
She looked him squarely in the eyes. "Fair enough, or do you feel the need to get your clothes and scoot?"
He shook his head.
"Great. Then I think Addison needs to pay some attention to getting Jimmy down there back in the game." Without waiting for a response, she took him in her hand and lowered her head.
As she slid quietly out of bed early the next morning, he said, "Regrets?"
"Just th—" she broke off her intended humor about hotel coffee as she saw the somber look. "Jim, I had a good time. Did I do something to make you think otherwise?"
"No, no."
She looked at him searchingly before the light dawned. "She did a number on you, didn't she? Did she tell you that you were bad at sex?"
Jim turned red. "No, not really. She— Never mind."
"Just spit it out."
"She said that she didn't find me very attractive anymore ... my weight, you know. I was just 'comfortable' she said, and that—" he broke off again. His expression was pure mortification.
"Nothing
she
said is going to change
my
mind. Come on. Get it off your chest."
He looked away. "She also implied that she found a lover who was ... either much better at it or maybe better equipped. I've never quite figured out which she was avoiding saying."
Addison burst out laughing. Seeing him start to get angry, she shook her head. "No, I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at how silly that is," she protested.
"What?"
"Oh, come on! You're just fine in both regards. If you thought for two seconds, you'd realize that from the way I behaved. Or, I bet, if you think back to girls you were with before her. Hell, I'd bet even with
her
before she went off the rails.
"Your weight?" she continued. "Okay ... I might perv on a hot guy once in a while, but I'm not all about the looks. I'm about a guy who makes me laugh, who's intelligent and interesting to talk to, and, above all, who's nice and attentive. You've got all that in spades, and you're kinda cute to boot."
She winked at him. "So, to hell with her, and come back and fuck me again! Because I promise you, Jim, I'm very happy with the way I've been fucked right now, and I can arrange to be in town a week from Monday. Now scoot-scoot-scoot 'cause I gotta go be classy for some clients."
As he opened the side door of his house, the smell of the coffee pulled Jim toward the automated coffee maker. He took a sip—lukewarm—and glanced at the clock. Six forty, about twenty-five minutes later than he normally came out from the back of the house. He shoved his mug in the microwave. On autopilot, he poured the rest into an insulated carafe and hit the button for the second program, which would deliver freshly hot at seven when Lori usually appeared.
He looked at the pot rack.
Make some eggs? No.
