Sasha

I pulled myself together as well as I could, but it was very difficult preparing to see Dylan again. As the plane taxied to the terminal in Denver, I practiced what I was going to say about my trip; I rehearsed the lies I would have to tell. I was going to be happy to see him and pretend to be interested in the inevitable small talk. When the plane stopped, the other passengers got up and grabbed their bags. I sat for a moment, forcing myself to move only when the rest of cabin had exited.

As the terminal came into view at the end of the jetway, I saw Dylan standing there. I took a deep breath. He threw his arms open and I could see a bouquet of flowers in plastic wrap in his hand. I compelled myself to put one foot in front of the other more quickly. When I reached him, I put my arm around his neck and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"You're home at last! Welcome back!" he exclaimed loudly. "Gee, you must have been sick; you look terrible!"

"I'm just exhausted. I really need a good night's sleep. Let's get home quickly." We stepped on a moving sidewalk and I kept on walking, which made him sprint to catch up to me. He asked a lot of detailed questions about the trip, about my meetings, which I answered in short sentences. Luckily, he did not ask for too much information about my extra night in L.A.

We got to the car at last. I slumped my head against the seat and closed my eyes. I felt his hand patting my leg.

"I'll get you home in jiffy, honey. You just relax."

I actually did doze and woke up as we pulled into the garage of our home.

"I'll bet you're glad to see this old place! You want a drink? It's still early."

"Oh no, honey, I'm sorry, I'm going straight to bed."

"OK, let me bring up your bag." He grabbed my suitcase and started up the stairs. I followed him into our bedroom. He put the bag down and came over to where I was standing. "You get changed, I'll be back in a minute." He pulled me close and kissed me on the lips. I didn't move. Then he was gone, out of the room.

I wearily got undressed and brushed my teeth. In a few minutes, I crawled under the blanket and closed my eyes. I was just about asleep when I felt Dylan get in on the other side of the bed. He immediately slid over and snuggled up against me. I felt his hand reach over and caress my breast.

Oh shit

.

"Honey," he whispered. "I missed you."

"Dylan, please! I'm

so

tired!"

"I know, but I've been dreaming about you all week! C'mon, baby!"

He pulled up my nightshirt and thrust his hand between my legs. I froze. In a second, he was on top of me, forcing my legs apart. I was almost in shock; I wasn't prepared for this to happen tonight. As he kissed me sloppily, he tried to poke his hard penis into me. There was no way I could talk him out of it at this point, so I wearily opened my legs a little more and guided his cock into me. He really had to push to get it in. I moaned, but from pain, not pleasure. I rocked my hips to speed him along, feeling like he was tearing me apart. It didn't take long before his moans got louder and with one forceful thrust, he was done. He collapsed on top of me and I pushed him off. He rolled over, snoring, within seconds. I lay there on the damp sheets, my cunt burning, my head throbbing. All of a sudden, I heard Sasha's voice in my mind:

I love you, sveetheart."

I turned away, silently crying. At last, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

I awoke late the next morning. When I gathered my thoughts and remembered what had happened, I felt such despair. Dylan was already downstairs and from the smell of it, he was cooking a big Sunday breakfast.

He came up in a little while and stood by the bed. "Are you awake yet?"

Pretending he woke me up, I opened my eyes half way and said testily, "Does it look like I'm awake?"

"Sorry, honey! I thought you might like some breakfast. It's late!"

I immediately felt a twinge of guilt. "No, not right now. I'm really not feeling well. I have a bad headache."

"I'm sorry. Can I get you some aspirin?"

"I took some already. I just need to sleep."

"OK, honey, you do that."

I pulled the blanket over my head and closed my eyes, but my mind was racing. Everything that Dylan did now, no matter how innocent or well intentioned, truly annoyed me. I didn't know how I was going to stand living with him. Yet, the thought of telling him what happened, just the day before, seemed as impossible as him strolling back into the bedroom to tell me

he

was leaving.

I wonder if I could do that

, I thought.

I wonder if I could make him hate me and make him leave voluntarily?

Hmmm - I'll have to think about that.

I drifted off to sleep. It was after two when I woke up again. Dylan was tiptoeing around the bathroom, but was not able to keep from knocking over a bottle on the counter. I stumbled out of bed, into the bathroom.

"You're up! Are you feeling better?"

"A little. I really went down for the count," I replied.

"Well, come down and have some coffee and something to eat - that'll help."

I agreed that sounded good. I put on my bathrobe and followed him downstairs. He was very solicitous of me; he reheated my breakfast in the microwave, made some fresh toast and poured a cup of coffee. I grabbed the paper and started to hungrily shovel forkfuls of food into my mouth, not very daintily.

He sat at the other end of the table and laughed. "I love to watch you eat! You make cooking really worth the trouble." I smiled, but my heart sank as I remembered who said something like that to me just the day before...

I spent the rest of the day in my bathrobe reading the paper and checking on e-mail. When Dylan went out, I was grateful to have the house to myself. I thought I was doing a very good job of keeping Sasha out of my head, but would find something to remind me every so often; an article about L.A. in the newspaper, a bottle of champagne in the fridge. At one point, I was very tempted to pick up the phone to hear that sexy accent.

What, are you nuts? That's really not going to make you feel any better.

Although Dylan made a gourmet dinner, I didn't have the appetite for it. I ate an acceptable amount, but did not have the energy for more than that or the small talk Dylan wanted to engage in. I made my excuses and went to upstairs early. I lay in bed with my eyes wide open, devoid of emotion other than the underlying despair that had been my constant companion all day. At least the next day was Monday. Work would be the best therapy. I rolled over and fell asleep.