I had spent most of the afternoon trying to recover from my breakfast encounter with Trey. I have to admit, to this day I've never looked at fruit in quite the same manner, and it has become my favorite breakfast food.
Trey went off to his meetings, having snagged a quick shower and a much-needed change of clothes. I had laughingly offered to wash his fruit-and-pussy stained outfit, but he just gave me a peck on the cheek and said he'd get it later. Right before he left, he pulled me to him, one hand around my waist, the other sliding under my robe, and using that sexy bedroom voice, requested that I cum all over his fingers so he could smell me all day. What woman could resist a request like that? Of course I obliged, and then spent all day imagining him surreptitiously sniffing those cream-coated fingers!
I cleaned up around the house, but my mind wasn't in it. I went from room to room, thinking about having him here, remembering having him there. I leaned up against doorframes and felt the wood press into my breasts, wishing it was my lover instead. I sat on my couch and softly rubbed my pussy, head thrown back, eyes closed, craving his fingers rather than mine. I tried to clean off the kitchen table—and got weak-kneed whenever I thought of how sexy and sensuous he'd made me feel, just a few short hours ago. And once, just once, I touched my belly and wondered if his seed had taken root there.
Over and over I told myself that I couldn't do this, that I was a married woman, that all Trey and I had was some wickedly hot passion between us but it would never amount to more than that. But in my heart, I knew it was already too late for me. I had fallen for my lover eons ago, through the email we had sent and the late-night conversations we'd had. Since that first meeting at my husband's reunion, my heart had known, even while my mind refused to accept that my marriage had become one of convenience, not one of love as a marriage should be.
Feeling a ball of despair, anger and frustration settle into my stomach at the futility of my dreams, I finished up my chores and decided to soak in a long, candle-lit bubble bath, regardless of it being late afternoon. Armed with a favorite book, a glass of coke and a square of chocolate, I nibbled, sipped and read my way into oblivion, conveniently forgetting the mess my life had become.
When the bathroom door crashed open, I jumped and shrieked, knocking my coke glass off the granite ledge of the tub and barely saving my book from falling into the water. Trey gracefully swooped up the glass, set it on the counter, and dropped to his knees beside the tub before I could gasp for a breath. Laughing, grinning, whooping his pleasure, he reached into the froth of bubbles and pulled me to him in a huge hug, ignoring the blast of bubbles that exploded everywhere as he clasped me to him. Never one to turn down getting my hands on this sexy man, I lifted my dripping wet arms and hugged him back, figuring his wet shirt was justifiable revenge for my thundering heart.
Pulling back slightly, Trey kissed me—forehead, temple, eyelid, nose, and finally, mouth. On and on and on we kissed, mouths meeting, tasting, parting, rejoining, tongues licking, exploring, breath mixing, moans matching beat for beat. One big, dark hand stroked the length of my back, over and over, while the other cupped my head and held me to him in that sweet, sexy way that they do it on the old movies. My fingers, frustrated by the fabric of his shirt, had settled on either side of his face, softly cradling him as we kissed, and kissed, and kissed.
After what seemed like and eternity, he pulled away—and when we looked at each other, anointed in little puffballs of soap bubbles, we couldn't help but laugh. Reaching out to smooth bubbles off of his ear, I asked what he had been so excited about. After another whoop echoed off the granite bath, he explained that his meeting today had gone incredibly well – but he'd explain the details later. Right now, he said, he needed to take his lady out to celebrate.
Trying hard to ignore the extra-hard thump of my heart at his choice of words, I stood up, water and bubbles cascading down the pale length of my body. Seems no matter what I did, I was never able to tan. But seeing the look in my lover's dark eyes as he reached up to rub bubbles off my pale pink nipple, and once again realizing the contrast of his smooth, dark skin against mine so soft and pale, I was grateful that I had never developed that west coast toasty color.
Wrapping me in a big, fluffy towel, Trey enfolded me in his arms and just held me for a minute, gazing at our reflection in the mirror. An unidentifiable expression passed over his face, and then with a quick grin, he popped my butt and told me to hurry up and get ready, that we were going to meet my husband at the restaurant. Biting back a surge of disappointment that I hadn't been the first one he contacted with his news, I smiled and turned away, saucily telling him that if I was going to get dressed, he needed to go wait in a different room, or it wouldn't happen.
Although I thought I had covered my feelings well, he tucked a hand under my chin, lifted my eyes to his, and said that the reason he'd not told me first was to buy us some more playtime—that his finger had been pressing the number to speed-dial me when he thought better of it, and called my husband. That said, he gave me a quick, hard kiss, told me to get my cute ass dressed up, and headed down the hall, knowing if he stayed, we'd end up on the bed so very few feet away.
