I was in a jam. It was a serious, life-altering situation that would end badly any way you looked at it.
I'd gotten drunk on a work trip and fell to a predator. He was handsome and witty and knew what to say and when to say it. I woke up in his bed the following day. I was mortified, but the silver-tongued devil that he was talked me through, saying it was just the heat of instant attraction, neither had meant to do it, and we would never speak of it again.
I spent the next three nights with him. He was a skilled lover, far past my husband, mainly because we were each other's firsts. We tried, read books, and watched porn, but it still ended up as regular, vanilla sex. And it was enough, right up until it wasn't. Dylan was larger, more demanding, telling instead of asking, and could last forever. It was a minimum of three orgasms every time, and I was lucky to get one with my husband.
I went home, scared and ashamed, knowing he would know just from looking at me. He didn't, wrapping me up in love and telling me how badly he had missed me. We made love that night, and I found myself wanting to scream at him to yank me around like a toy and do anything he wanted to me. I never came close to climaxing and waited until he started softly snoring before going into the bathroom and getting myself off thinking about Dylan.
Four months went by, and my affair faded into memory. As I returned to the old me, I had to attend another seminar. I almost didn't go, but I knew if I refused, I'd give up any hope of promotion, so I mentally girded my lions and determined if I ran into Dylan, it would be purely platonic. I registered at six. He had me screaming by seven-thirty. He just walked in, half ripped my clothes off and fucked the hell out of me. The conference turned into three nights and most mornings fuck-fest.
Again, Bobby was pleased to have me home, but I was so bored I almost went to sleep during the reunion sex. Four months later, the same scenario occurred. I seriously considered leaving Bobby when Dylan let it slip he was married.
I got my promotion and didn't have to go to the next convention, though I did warn the woman taking my place to watch for Convention Cassanovas, naming Dylan as an example. Six months passed, and I felt I was in a good place. I had a wake-up call when one of the women Robby worked with came on to him hard. It upset him so bad he told me about it, and I raged. How dare she! Conniving bitch! It never came to a confrontation because she got fired, but it scared me. If he had slept with her, I would have gone scorched earth. Then, it occurred to me that I had my closet full of skeletons and was mentally wiping my brow.
It made me value my marriage more, and I consciously tried to keep him happy. I introduced him to a few techniques I'd learned from Dylan, telling him I'd read about them, and they seemed like they might be fun. They were, even though they never reached the intensity of what I'd felt before.
He came home to find a candlelit dinner served while I wore sexy lingerie. He wondered if he'd missed an event, but I kissed his worries away. "What's going on?"
Suddenly, I felt self-conscious. "I... uh... I have something important I want to talk about. I never brought it up before because I had to travel, but with my promotion, it'll only be once, maybe twice a year. I want; I want..."
He was grinning. Damn him, he almost always knew what I was thinking, except for one glaring instance. "Yes. Throw your pills away."
The dinner I had fretted over grew cold but was good reheated. We sat around in robes, knowing it would be foolish to dress. I knew I was glowing. He seemed happy as well, and we knew it was too early, but we screwed like people possessed for a month. I'd never felt so loved.
................................................................
Four months went by, and I still wasn't pregnant. The doctor told us not to worry because sometimes it took longer for the drugs to clear my system than expected, and in no time, we'd be changing diapers at three in the morning and wondering what we'd been thinking.
Then, my manager called me in. "Did you hear about Julie? She was hit by a guy who blew through a red light, and she has a broken arm and a broken leg. I know you were happy you didn't have to travel, but I need you to step up. You're familiar with what's required, and Julie should be recovered by the next time."
I couldn't say no, so I went home and told Rob about my trip. He was disappointed but understood, and I ensured he was well-satisfied before I left. He fell back after the last time, grinning. "That was it! I'm sure you're pregnant now! Mark the calendar!"
We put a big red X on the calendar in his workshop before he took me to the airport.
I arrived, got settled in. and went to the afternoon sessions. It wasn't surprising to see Dylan there; his smirk when he saw me annoyed me no end. He tried to get close several times, but I kept people between us. He finally got close to me at dinner. "It's good to see you! Maybe we can spend a little time together later."
My reply shocked him. "I don't think so, Dylan. You're a fine lover and rocked my world, but it's in the past. Let's just let our interludes pass into fond memories. My husband and I are trying for a child, so there's no way I'd be intimate with you. I can't take the risk."
He seemed irritated. "We'll be careful, use condoms, and I know a pharmacist who could get you the morning-after pill. How's that work?"
"It won't. I might already be pregnant, so there's no way I'd take that pill. Condoms break. And frankly, the thought of sleeping with you makes me queasy. You're still in shape, good-looking, and have an excellent package, so you shouldn't have trouble finding a bed buddy."
He looked shocked, and the word he keyed in on was 'queasy.' He must have brooded on it because he got me to sit with him during the night's standard meet-and-greet mixer. Then he handed me his phone, and I almost fainted. It was a picture of me on my knees, right in the middle of blowing him. "YOU TOOK PICTURES? YOU ASSHOLE!"
Dylan smirked. "Lower your voice. I take pictures of all the women I fuck. Wanna see Julie while I'm doing her doggie? No? Then, let's cut to the chase. If you don't want this and the rest of my photos of us together getting out, you'll be in my room tomorrow night. I'd do you tonight, but I already got someone from the Cleveland office lined up."
