Lips of an Angel

Author's Note:

Scott Roth is nothing if not a dutiful husband, but his patience is wearing thin. When the power goes out during a thunderstorm and his wife volunteers his services to a young mom named Mallory without consulting him, he's ready to snap, but doing so may cost him the marriage he's been working to save for over ten years.

A note to the reader:

if you are looking for sympathetic characters and a neatly wrapped up happily ever after, this story is probably not for you. The actions, ethics, and plot of this story exist somewhere in that murky grey area. Consider this fair warning should you choose to continue reading and discover that you are unhappy with the choices the characters in this story make.

This story is part of my When The Lights Go Out universe and features scenes of adultery, references to toxic relationships and domestic abuse, and a structure that involves multiple timelines.

**

None of this would have happened if my wife had just made something decent for dinner.

I know. It makes me sound like a complete fucking asshole. "If she would've just cooked something better, I wouldn't have been such a goddamn monster."

But things are never that black and white.

There are two sides to every story, three if you count the truth. Except in my marriage. There's only one side to the story there, and that's my wife's side.

If you asked Liz, she'd probably tell you that each and every night, I was late coming home from work, so each and every night, she would have dinner ready for the time I was

supposed

to be home and it was my fault that it was overcooked garbage by the time we actually ate it. She wouldn't come right out and ask why I was late. She would imagine the reasons, I'm sure, and she'd just quietly bide her time until she could throw it in my face that I was

always

late coming home and that was justification enough for her to not trust me.

And yeah, I could've just told her that I was late because I was driving my dad home from the office because he'd lost his license as the result of another fucking DUI. I could've told her I was especially late that day because he'd lingered in the car, lecturing me about one of the restaurants that I was apparently being too lenient with. I mean, shit. I could've caved in this battle of passive-aggressive pettiness the two of us were having and just picked up something for dinner, but I didn't. Instead, I drove through a storm so severe my windshield wipers couldn't keep up and I could barely see ten feet ahead of me, got home, and sat silently at the table as my wife placed a plate of dry chicken and soggy broccoli in front of me without comment, and I waited. I waited and waited and

waited

to see when she'd finally bring it up.

I know I'm no angel myself. I can admit that. I fucked up more than my share. My whole marriage was the result of my fuck-ups. But at least I could

admit

to my fuck-ups. If you asked Liz about it, she'd tell you she was a goddamn saint.

The problem was,

everyone

thought Liz was a goddamn saint. Mrs. Elizabeth Roth, my wife, the woman who volunteered for everything, who was the force behind all the good that happened in town, who put aside absolutely everything in her dedication to making Minwack Falls a better place to live.

What people didn't know about Liz was all the stuff that happened behind closed doors. They didn't know how much I fucking

loved

the woman I married. And I did love her. I always

would

love her.

I just wished that she'd stayed the same woman.

**

"Please, Scott," she whispered.

There was no need for her to beg the way she was. There was no saying no to her, not when she had those delicate fingers wrapped around my cock and was gently urging me forward. Not when she'd pressed those full, pink lips to mine tentatively, hesitantly, certain about what she wanted but uncertain how I'd react.

There'd been no need for that uncertainty. She kissed like an angel; softly, sweetly, chastely at first, almost wholesome in its innocence.

I destroyed that almost instantly.

The moment those lips touched mine, I captured them. I insisted on them. I deepened that kiss, cupping her cheek and pulling her tight body against mine. I tasted the light fruitiness of her lip gloss and felt the warmth of her breath as she gasped and then exhaled, giving in, already moaning softly, already shifting her hips because she already knew how much of an effect she had on me. My cock was already hard, painfully hard, had been from the moment I saw her lean across the table and caught a glimpse of the milky white skin disappearing beneath that black top.

How could I resist her? How could I have even tried? Her body was a sinner's paradise, beyond worth the price I had to pay for it. Long, auburn hair. Deep blue eyes. The kind of ass that made you believe there really was a God. Tits that made you certain she'd made a deal with the devil to get a body like that. And that mouth, that smile...

Lips like a fucking angel.

She consumed me. Everything about her. There were no thoughts, no words, nothing I could do but let her unbuckle my belt as I shoved her skirt up and her panties down. Dainty white teeth sank into her bottom lip as she looked up at me, conquering me completely with the lightest of touches.

"Please, Scott," she whispered, and before I'd even thrust my cock inside her, she owned every piece of me.

**

If my daughter and I were closer, she would have described my mood as "hangry."

We weren't, though, because I'd spent most of Ramona's childhood trying to make up for Liz's overprotectiveness.

My intentions were good. I swear my intentions were good. But I might've overcompensated a little in trying to give my daughter the space to discover herself, which meant I didn't really know who my kid was.

I knew she liked video games and, apparently, eyebrow piercings. I knew she was funny, though that was mostly from overhearing her chatting with her friends on the PlayStation. I knew she was insanely smart, since her university tuition was a hell of a lot cheaper given all the scholarships she kept getting. I knew she had dyed her hair blue and didn't have much to say to me or Liz. But I didn't

know

her, and that sucked.

In any case, "hangry" was probably the best way to describe how I felt after choking down the food I'd paid for and Liz had "cooked." But I didn't say shit about it. It wasn't worth saying shit about it. Instead, I went to the living room and figured I'd hang out until Liz left the kitchen, then pound back the half pack of Oreos I knew was still in the pantry.

Except that backfired when Liz asked me if there was gas in the generator.

And see, again, this is where I sound like a complete fucking asshole. Because of course there was gas in the generator. And of course she'd volunteered me to bring it over to someone's house so she could look like the town superhero even though I was exhausted and hungry and beyond fucking annoyed.

And of

course

she insisted it was just

fine

if I didn't want to go, since it just meant that poor Mallory St. John's baby wouldn't have a bottle for dinner and my time on the couch was

obviously

more important than helping a woman whose husband was out of town. Of course she did, and of course I bitched about it, and of course I did exactly what my wife wanted me to anyway because underneath all the sniping and guilt trips and passive-aggressiveness, I owed it to her.

But all I wanted to do was relax. Was that so much to ask? I worked my ass off all day. I dealt with my father being an absolute prick. I drove through a goddamn thunderstorm, white-knuckling it the whole way home. I was tired. I was hangry. I just wanted to lie on the couch and wait for Liz to leave the kitchen so I could gorge myself on Oreos.

I didn't even know who Mallory St. John was. Apparently, she knew Liz from one of the many committees she was a part of, and despite Liz's insistence that I'd met her at the town's Candy Cane Parade the previous winter, I couldn't put a face to the name. Liz, being Liz, scoffed about it and informed me that the St. Johns were a lovely couple in their mid-to-late twenties or at least, Jeremy was in his late twenties, Mallory may have been younger than that, but Liz wasn't

entirely

certain and made sure to remind me not to bring it up, because

obviously

Mallory's age would be something that would come up naturally in conversation.

But, I was nothing these days if not a dutiful husband, so I lugged the generator out from the garage to the driveway, loaded the damn thing up in the truck, and drove halfway across Minwack Falls to the townhouses on Mapleview Road.

Like, I would've probably said yes anyway. Did it make me

that

much of an asshole to just want to be asked first?

Whether it did or didn't, I wasn't in the best of moods when I pulled up to Mallory St. John's place. That mood didn't get any better when I realized she lived in one of the middle townhouses that

didn't

have a driveway in the front, which meant I had to hope to God she could just bring out whatever fucking appliance she needed to heat the bottle up since I didn't think my extension cord was long enough to get all the way from my truck to her kitchen. If she couldn't, that meant I'd have to unload the generator and drag it closer, and this whole fucking debacle would turn into even more of a shitshow.

Grumbling internally, I got out of the truck, intending to cut across the lawn to her front door.

"Hey, dude," came a voice from behind me.

I bristled, slightly annoyed by the casual and flippant tone, exceptionally annoyed when I turned and saw a guy, maybe in his twenties and wearing a black hoodie reeking of defiance and weed, coming up behind me.

"Yes?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

The kid grinned, a silver hoop through his lip glinting. "Couldn't help but notice that you've got a generator and--"

"--and I'm helping the woman who lives here, and then I'm taking my generator and going home," I finished sharply. "I'm not running a generator service for the entire damn town."

The smile faded off the kid's face, replaced by a moody insubordination. He snorted, sneering as he rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, dude. I was

gonna

offer for you to park in my driveway so you could get to Mallory's door more easily, but whatever." He turned on his heel and started towards the townhouse beside Mallory's.

I sighed. "Wait, can I--"

"No, no, don't let me take up any more of your time," the kid said as he sauntered away. "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

The little prick.

I mean, I probably deserved that, but I glared at his back all the same before starting towards Mallory's house. Just as I reached her front step, the kid wrenched his front door open, then let it swing shut behind him with a loud bang. The sound echoed through the quiet street with a crack, and from behind Mallory's door, I heard a baby start to wail.

The little

prick

.

I knocked, my annoyance growing more and more with every passing moment. She didn't answer, because of course she didn't. Why fucking bother being considerate of my time when I was the one trying to help her? Annoyed, I clenched my jaw and knocked again, three loud raps that couldn't be ignored, and decided she had another minute before she was just going to be shit out of luck.

Of course, just as I was about to turn around and leave, she answered.

"I'm so sorry," the woman breathed as she flung the door open.

My jaw almost dropped.

Red hair, tied up in a messy ponytail.

Startling blue eyes, slightly swollen and wet around the edges.

Pink lips, the bottom one tucked between her teeth as she grimaced apologetically.

Suddenly, I couldn't even remember what the word 'hangry' meant, let alone what it felt like.

"Hey, don't worry about it," I said brightly. "I'm here to help."

She released her lip from her teeth and half-smiled.

"You're an angel," she said. "I'm Mallory."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling as I extended my hand.

"Scott Roth."

**

I was too old for her.

She didn't think so, but then, it never bothered her the way it bothered me.

"We're both consenting adults," she teased. "And I don't care what people think. I want you."

And God, is there anything else that makes a person feel so good? Hearing that you're wanted? That the most beautiful woman you've ever seen in your life, an ethereal creature whose body is an addiction and whose smile could end wars, wants you?

It gave me strength.

It made me weak.

"I want you," she whispered. "Stay with me, Scott."

And how could I say no? How could I stop her from dropping to her knees, from taking my cock out, from looking up at me as she stroked it and licked it and opened that perfect mouth so she could wrap her beautiful lips around me? How could I?

How could anyone?

I couldn't say no to her. I didn't want to say no to her. I wanted to keep her, to follow her on the adventure that was loving her, to always look down and see those big blue eyes looking up at me as she shoved my cock down her throat. I wanted to kiss every inch of her perfect body and spend my life between her legs, nourishing myself on her pussy and making her scream my name over and over again.

So I stayed. I watched as she worshipped my cock, my knees shaking each time she tried to swallow it, the wet sound of her choking on my length one of the sweetest things I'd ever heard in my life. I wrapped those beautiful reddish strands of hair through my fingers as she fucked my cock with her mouth, not so I could pull her hair or guide her head but so I could feel more of her, so I could entwine as much of her with me as I could.

I groaned out a warning when I was about to come, and she stared up at me, her eyes sparkling as she kept sucking, kept choking on my cock, kept playing with my balls until I was gasping and shooting a load down her throat. She swallowed it all, a self-satisfied smile on her face when I finished and she took me out of her mouth, and it only faded after I'd pushed her on her back and shoved my face between her legs so I could return the favour.

**

"You're a magician."

I half-smiled, swaying gently as Mallory prepared a bottle for the baby I was currently soothing. Ellie St. John was five months old and had apparently been crying since the storm had stopped. This was different from her usual non-stop crying because she was also refusing to take her unheated bottle.

"I was trying to hold it together, but when I saw Liz's update on the town Facebook group, I just lost it," Mallory said, her voice hoarse. "So then Ellie was sobbing and I was sobbing and I just... She's so damn picky about her bottle and Jeremy

insisted

on getting one of those on-demand hot water things so of course I couldn't even use water to heat the formula and--"

"It's okay," I said. "New-parent life is hard. I mean, my daughter's nineteen now, but I remember these days. They're not exactly fun, no matter what everyone else says."

Mallory smiled gratefully. "I thought I was the only one who felt that way."

I shook my head as Ellie snuggled in my arms. "I love my daughter, but I wouldn't ever want to go through that again."

"She was a picky baby too?"

"Something like that," I lied.

Mallory didn't push the issue. Instead, she grabbed the bottle warmer off the counter, shaking her head as I offered to take the appliance if she wanted to carry Ellie.

"A few more minutes without her crying would be heaven," she explained. "If you don't mind."

"Not even a little bit."

When we got out to the truck, I did end up giving Ellie back to her mom, since I had to get the generator going. The baby fussed in Mallory's arms and I could feel her impatient eyes on me as I plugged the bottle warmer in. It was a little different than the one we'd had when Ramona was a baby, but an appliance is an appliance, and it only took a moment before I had the thing running.

"It should be ready in about three minutes," Mallory said as Ellie whimpered. "Do you, um..."

"Want me to hold her again?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"Seriously. You're an angel."

She sighed after she'd handed Ellie to me, leaning against the side of my truck and closing her eyes briefly. I watched her for a moment, frowning in concern.

"Are you going to be okay?"

The corners of her mouth flicked up and she re-opened her eyes.

"Eventually," she said. "Probably. Maybe."

I must have looked concerned, because she laughed.

"I will be," she said. "I'm feeling better now that... well. You've helped a lot."

I smiled, trying not to feel too pleased with myself and failing miserably. "It's no problem. That's what neighbours are for."

She sighed and closed her eyes again. "I can't even tell you how much that means to me."

When the bottle finished a few minutes later, Mallory took Ellie again and I carried the warmer back into the house. Almost immediately, Ellie had started crying, but as soon as Mallory popped the bottle in her mouth, she went silent.

"Thank you so much, Scott," Mallory said as Ellie fed and I tucked the bottle warmer back on the counter. "I could kiss you."

My mouth went dry and I chuckled.

"No problem," I said as casually as I could. "I'm gonna be out for a while, so if you need anything else, just... you know. Let me know."

Her smile was bright enough to light the entire fucking town.

"I might just take you up on that."

**

"I dreamt about you last night," she said.

I glanced nervously at the door, lowering my voice. "Good things?"

She giggled coquettishly and the sound travelled directly to my cock. "Very good things."

"What kind of things?"

Her sweet voice floated through the phone, telling me in graphic detail how she'd dreamt about my tongue and all the places I could put it, and then about how I traced that same path with my cock. My mouth was dry as I stared at the door, torn between wanting her to continue and wanting her to stop.

"...might want to try that for real," she said breathlessly. "I mean, if I dreamt that it felt good, I bet it feels good for real. Don't you think?"

"Hmm?" I asked distractedly.

She was silent for a moment.

"Is... is everything okay?" she finally asked.

The uncertainty in her voice killed me.

"Of course," I said quietly. "I... it's just hard for me to, uh, talk. Right now."

"Oh," she said. "Well... maybe we can talk later?"

"Yeah, honey. Yeah, of course."

"Or maybe you can come over later?" she asked in that suggestive giggle. "Make my dreams come true?"

"Nothing would make me happier," I said earnestly.

She wouldn't let me hang up until I promised to come see her, and told her exactly what time I'd be there, and agreed to pick up a bottle of lube so she could live out her apparently newfound dream to have me fuck her in the ass. When I finally managed to get her off the phone, I let out a relieved sigh, closing my eyes as I rested my head against the back of the armchair.

That was how she found me; my eyes closed as I basked in the alleviation of avoiding discovery again, my heartbeat refusing to slow to normal as I pictured myself fucking that perfect ass, my cock still painfully swollen from the words of a woman who wasn't my wife.

She thought it was because I missed her, and like the fucking dirtbag I was, I let her think that. I let her crawl into my lap and unbutton my jeans. I let her kiss me, I let her shove her tits in my face so I could suck on her nipples, I let her pussy envelope my aching cock as she fucked herself on me until she was coming.