My husband had finally packed all of his things, and was now standing at the front door, staring at me from behind dark sunglasses. His mouth was a straight line, tight, his eyebrows drawn together. I wasn't sure if he'd been angry or feeling regret. I couldn't have cared any less at that point. I just wanted him to walk out of that door, and hopefully out of my life. He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand.
"No, Chayton. Just leave," I said.
"Alessa, come on, we can work this—"
"God damn it, Chayton, I said no! Now leave!" I screamed, pointing a rigid finger toward the door. Thankfully, he said nothing else, turning away. He shouldered his duffel bag, and grabbed his suitcase. He paused when he opened the door, and I expressed my exasperation with a sigh. Not only because he was letting in chilly, December air, but because he felt like he had to keep talking. I wrapped my silk robe tighter around myself, my nipples suddenly becoming attentive.
"What, Chayton?" I asked, making a point to use his full name. "What could you possibly want to say to me?"
"I'm sorry," he said dourly, his head down. "For everything. Really."
"That's a fucking
laugh
Chayton. You weren't too sorry when you were fucking your so-called 'cousin' of yours." I turned away, walking toward the kitchen, thankful that the children were away at school. They didn't need to hear any of this. "I'll have movers send over your crap."
I heard him let out a defeated sigh, followed by the door closing shut with an angry rattle. I glanced over my shoulder, hearing car doors slam, and the engine roar to life, then the sweet sound of tires screeching hurriedly against pavement, the roar of the engine fading into the distance.
Finally, he was gone.
I wouldn't have to put up with his bullshit anymore. No more staying up at odd hours of the night waiting for him, only to fall asleep and then feel him sliding into the covers at three in the morning. No more tears from discovering phone numbers in his pockets. No more lame excuses. No more bullshit. It was over, and I was free.
Free
. I probably should have felt upset or something, but that word—
Free
—seemed to keep a smile on my face.
Padding bare feet into the kitchen, I snagged the phone hanging near the fridge, and dialed Nicholas, my best friend Velia's hot little brother. I figured that I could get him to help me gather the rest of my husband's shit . . . among other things. The phone rang for a moment before he answered, sounding groggy. I glanced at the clock. It was just five minutes till two.
"Jesus, Neeko, were you sleep?" I asked, releasing the front of my purple silk robe, letting it hang open. I was, of course, completely nude underneath.
"Lessa?" He said, coughing. He waited a long moment before saying anything else, probably wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Of course I was sleep, it's like . . ." A pause, and then a curse. "Fuck, it's after 12 already?"
"Yessiree-bob," I said with a laugh.
"Wow . . . well, it is my day off," he reasoned. "What's up, Lessa?"
"Well . . . Chay's gone. His bullshit finally caught up to him."
"Damn, Lessa, I'm sorry to hear that," He said with a bit of uncertainty. He probably didn't know whether to be joyous or consoling.
"Don't be, hun," I said. "I
do
need someone to help me gather all of his crap so that I can send it to his brother's, though."
"Sure, when do you need me?"
"Is . . . now fine?"
"Now?"
I could already see the smile creeping up on his deviant little lips. Though he'd never made a move against me—out of respect for my sham of a marriage—but he never hid the fact that he wanted me. From the little comments he'd make about my weight being sexy, to catching him watching me with amorous eyes. Velia had even told me once that Nicholas has had a thing for me for
years
.
And with Chayton gone . . . I could finally do as I pleased, whom I pleased. Nicholas in particular. I suddenly felt a twinge in my pussy . . .
God, Velia is going to kill me,
I thought amusingly.
"Sure, now is fine," he continued. "Just let me grab a shower and I'll head right on over, alright?"
"Awesome, hon. The door'll be open when you get here," I said, leaning back against the fridge, my fingers aching to give my pussy a bit of attention. I suppressed the urge.
We exchanged our goodbyes and hung up, and I let out a deep breath. He was really coming over, and I intended on seducing him! I hadn't seduced anyone since . . . well . . . ever! Anxiety filled me, twisting in my gut. What the hell was I going to do? What if he didn't respond to my advancements? And suddenly my age became a factor, a liability. I was thirty-eight years old, and Nicholas was barely 25. How was he really going to find me and my overweight, thirty-eight year old body attractive? I almost had a mind to rush to my computer to see if there was a way to drop from a size 16 to a 5 in ten minutes.
Stop being silly, Alessa
, a voice told me.
You know good and well that he wants you. Just show off those tits of yours and he'll be filling you with cock before you know it.
I felt myself smile, looking down at my 38G breasts. My nipples were still hard, like little rocks, yearning to be touched and sucked and squeezed. My insecurities suddenly felt silly. This little seduction bit wasn't going to take much effort. Not much effort at all.
× • × • × • ×
"Hey, Lessa," Nicholas said, kissing my cheek as I leaned into do the same. He'd arrived in thirty minutes, smelling like Irish Spring and fresh deodorant. Despite the cold, he wore a short-sleeved shirt, black, with a silkscreen of Kurt Cobain smoking a cigarette printed on the front. He wore some old gray sweat pants, and well-used running shoes. He didn't look like he was wearing socks. The cold didn't seem to bother him.
God had blessed Nicholas with a magnificent body. He was tall—a whole head taller than myself—lean, well-muscled, though he insisted that he'd never worked out a day in his life. He kept his dark hair trimmed short, finger-length, just a tad shorter than my own blond locks. The sun had colored his skin a beautiful bronze color.
I felt my pussy twinge again when my breasts moved against him slightly. Though, at there size, it couldn't have been helped. It didn't make my pussy any less soaked, however. I held my robe closed at the waist, letting a little bit of cleavage show. Scratch that. "Little bit" might be an understatement in my case.
Either way, I felt satisfied as his dark green eyes occasionally wandered south.
"Hey, Neeko," I said, turning and making for the master bedroom. I motioned for him to follow. "How was the drive over?"
"Goddamn lunch hour," he said with annoyance, though he tried to let humor slip through. "People obviously don't like packing their lunches."
"Aww, I'm sorry," though I really wasn't. I was glad it took him long as it did, I had to tidy up the house a little bit, after all.
I led him into me and my husband's bedroom. I'd made the king-sized bed, and piled my husband's business suits in a pile next to his other clothes by the antique armoire. I'd taken down all of the pictures of me and Chayton, and tossed them into the garbage, so the coral walls were bare except for the occasional black nail.
When Nicholas stepped further into the bedroom, I moved to close the door behind him, turning to lean my back against it, trapping him. He turned, a confused grin curling his perfect mouth upward. I suppressed the urge to lick my lips, feeling like I could devour him right then and there. He lifted a brow.
"Lessa?" He asked, bemused.
"I have to be honest with you, Neeko," I said. "I really don't need your help getting my husband's shit together."
Sureness showed in his expression then, as if he'd known what I was going to say next. He stalked toward me, his steps slow and careful.
"Truth be told," I continued, closing my eyes. Shame was crawling up into my chest, but I'd gotten this far. "I really want you to fuck me. I want you to throw me on the bed, and fuck my brains out. Call me filthy names, smack my ass, and fuck me." When I reopened my eyes, I discovered him standing before me, his shirt removed, on the floor behind him with his shoes. His sweat pants were pulled down slightly, showing off his midriff. He wore no underwear, it seemed. And I could see his cock pressing against the front of his pants, twitching as it tried to point toward me.
I ... am so wet
, I realized. My robe was open, my plentiful breasts revealed, aching for him to touch them. He was so close, I could feel the heat emanating from him.
He was still smiling, like a deviant little child.