In the distance, I heard the crunch of gravel under car tires, the tiny rocks being rolled over and displaced. Looking through the trees, I saw a large black sedan. However, I paid this no real mind at all, figuring it was one of my husband’s business associates or managers. Stan’s office was usually always unlocked, even when he was away on business. This gave his cronies access to anything they may need and meant they didn’t have to bother me with false pleasantries or hang around the main part of the house.

Settling back into the outdoor lounger, I enjoyed the warming sensation the sun was providing. A book was next to me, as was a pitcher of water, slices of lemon, and ice cubes suspended in the cold liquid, but I had yet to pick up the novel, and I had yet to pour myself a glass. It seemed too much effort once I had made my way to the pool. I wanted nothing to puncture the sereneness of the moment. The flicking of the pages, the rush of liquid as I poured, or the clinking of the frozen ice against the glass, would interrupt the nothingness I was enjoying. It was just me, the hot sun, and the still pool. Well, everything had, for the most part, been quiet, until Mr Black Sedan had skirted along the driveway, but I told myself it didn’t matter. Whoever it was, I would not have to interact with them. They could go into Stan’s office and help themselves to whatever they liked while pretending to work.

Closing my eyes, I extended my arms out and stretched, wanting them to color and crisp in the midday heat. I took a deep breath in, and then out, making a noise of satisfaction at the perfection of my moment. My moment was shattered not two minutes later. It happened so suddenly, I could almost hear the glass of perfection smashing.

“Mrs Gallo?”

I quickly turned my head in the direction of the voice and saw Mary standing before me, looking puzzled.

“Mrs Gallo,” she said again. “Someone is here for you. A gentleman.”

“Gentleman?” I questioned, standing awkwardly.

“Greetings, Mrs Gallo.”

'Oh God,’ I thought. This was no gentleman.

“Anthony,” I said. “What brings you here?”

Anthony smiled smugly, his air of self-satisfaction already pissing me off, and he hadn’t even been here a minute. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my chest, and I realized I was wearing my skimpy gray bikini, the one I wore when no one else was around. The one I wore when I wanted to tan all of my body. The one I wore that was basically the same as being nude, but that I only used for proprietary’s sack around the staff. Awkwardly, my hands flew to the old t-shirt that was hanging over the back of a chair. However, it didn’t make much of a difference, my stomach was still on display, my slight discomfort clearly pleasing Anthony. He had always been very good at employing the element of surprise. “Stan is away on business, if you’re looking for him,” I said.

“I thought he was supposed to be back by now?”

“He rang this morning, he’s staying an extra couple of days.”

“Ah,” said Anthony, who then casually shrugged. “I can talk to him when he gets back.”

I felt hot now. Too hot. My skin felt prickly with sweat and I longed for the cool of inside. Being out by the pool was no longer the peaceful paradise I had wanted. It was tense now, and Anthony’s smug arrogance was infecting the air. I felt fidgety, my fingers drumming against the sides of my thighs out of sheer nervousness. I had nothing to be nervous about, telling myself I was being silly. This was just my brother-in-law, and yet, I was nervous, and my stomach still had butterflies. Years later, he still had that effect on me.

I felt as if I needed an excuse to leave, despite the fact this was my own home. I needed something to do with my hands, which were getting more and more antsy. I picked up the book and walked back inside, past a chuckling Anthony.

His bags were in the main hall of the house, piled neatly against the wall, the luggage all black and matching, expensive Italian suitcases, some with wheels, others for carrying. “So." My eyes scanned the bags. “Run out of big brother’s money, have you?”

“I live here too, you know,” he said. “Stan has always allowed me to live with him, I just choose to not be here most of the time.”

He had me there. This was his home too. He had the guest suite on the lower floor, essentially an entire wing to himself, but his job kept him away most days of the year. I had to admit, it was rather clever of Stan to create a job for Anthony. It gave him something to do, rather than just mooching off everyone else, and it made him feel important; he could throw his weight around. It was a mostly meaningless position that allowed him to be able to travel a lot, which he enjoyed, as well as drink expensive alcohol and eat fancy dinners on the company dime. All he had to do was have the odd meeting over the phone, consult with Stan from whichever part of the world he was currently in, submit a few reports, and that was it. It kept Anthony out of Stan’s hair and meant he could run the business properly.

“I heard you married some Cypriot woman. An actress,” I said.

Anthony smirked. “She was from Malta, and no, we were never married.”

I had heard the ripple of rumors and gossip from the house staff, whispers of marriage and children. It irritated me.

I found it annoying because the story constantly changed depending on who told it. Her country of origin changed as often as the status of their relationship did. One day she was Greek and had children from a previous marriage, the next she was Sicilian and a rich widow, having outlived two husbands. It grew tiresome, hearing snippets of a story that was ever-changing. It also maddened me though, because that would’ve been so typical Anthony, to run off and marry someone in secret without bothering to tell the family. There was a part of me that had always expected him to return home with a woman from overseas.

Walking past us with a pile of fresh, folded sheets, I stopped Mary, asking if she would have the guest room prepared. She smiled at Anthony appreciatively as I spoke to her, not concentrating on what I was saying, a coy little twinkle in her eye. I observed all this as if I was the outsider in my own home as if I was the guest, the intruder.

"Actually,” I said, taking the bedding off Mary. “I’ll do it.” The poor girl looked confused by my contradicting instructions, looking from the sheets I now held, to my face, and then back again. “Go and find Roy, and ask him to help with the luggage.”

“Yes, Mrs Gallo.”

“So, Mrs Gallo,” Anthony said. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing full well that I hated the title. I found such formalities pointless, I would have much preferred to be on a first-name basis. However, Stan insisted on the usage of my full title, saying I wasn’t there to be friends with the staff, I was technically their boss. I know it rankled with some of the staff that I was younger than them, and barking out orders, and I wasn’t always popular but I did my best to stay out of a lot of the day-to-day household stuff. I let them be, rather than overseeing everything and dishing out instructions.

“She new, is she?” Anthony asked, motioning in the direction Mary had left.

"Yes, she is.”

“What happened to Juanita?”

“You know damn well what happened with her,” I said defensively.

It could’ve caused a PR nightmare, what happened. It turned the house into chaos too, causing dissension in the ranks of the staff. Sleeping with Juanita was one thing, but then when he was caught with his cock inside Emily, it caused huge domestic issues, neither of them knowing about the other. Juanita was the first to quit, refusing to work with Emily or to be in the same house as Anthony, for whom she had plenty of choice phrases, both in English and Spanish. Emily returned to her hometown, moving in with her brother who had threatened to go to public with Anthony’s indiscretions. They never did, luckily, and Anthony walked away with a mere stern dressing down from Stan. Not long after, he legged it to the Mediterranean, and that was when the rumors started circulating that he had a secret wife over there.

“Do you know how hard it is to find good staff?” I asked. “We were looking for months for someone to take over, after what happened.”

“Oh, poor you,” he returned, sarcastically.

“Touch Mary, or do anything with her, and I will make sure Stan throws you out on your ass.” I wanted to do more than just admonish him, truth be told, but I left it at that.

“Okay, okay, easy, Mrs Gallo. Don’t get your panties…” he looked me up and down. “…Or should that be, bikini bottoms, in a twist. She looks barely eighteen, too young for me anyway. Hey,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Is that how she got the job? You two went to school together or something?”

“Oh shut up,” I mumbled under my breath, walking away. I first heard his laughter, and then his footsteps fall in behind me as I strode through the main hall and down the stairs to the basement floor. Annoyingly, he was whistling, a cheery tune that he made sound sarcastic, it's true intention only to spite me, but I never said anything, I just let the notes float on the air, and then fall into nothing.

There had always been tension between Anthony and me. We met when I had been an exotic dancer in college, to earn extra money. He had come into the club for his friend’s bachelor party, paying me continuously over the night for private dances. I had made a killing. When I wasn’t dancing for him, I was turning him down for dates. I had a rule that I never dated, nor slept with customers. I wasn’t that kind of exotic dancer. The group was dragged out at closing time, Anthony the only one who wasn’t completely drunk. He came back the next night and asked me out again. That time, I said yes, against my better judgment.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t attracted to Anthony, it was quite the opposite actually. There was chemistry between us from the very beginning. It was like fire. Everything was electric, and we flirted up a storm, the conversation dripping with sexual innuendo and teasing. I had come home from that first date soaking wet, my panties damp, and my pussy almost aching with need.

All told, we went out together four times, but we never had sex. We came close, and as much as I wanted it to happen, I rather enjoyed the torture of waiting. I enjoyed the teasing, knowing that once we finally did fall into bed, it would be spectacular, but it never happened.

True, we weren’t in a relationship, so really, he didn’t have to answer to me, or anyone, for that matter. We had only been out on a few dates; it wasn’t like it was a marriage. However, I was still pissed when I found out. He had gone into the club looking for me, but I wasn’t working that night. It wasn’t that he had paid another woman for dances; that was never the issue. It wasn’t even that he had banged her; that also was not the main issue. It was a part of it, sure, but it didn’t bother me. What bothered me was that she looked like me. Of all the dancers in there, he had to pick the one who resembled me.

“But, she looks like you. Do you not see how much that means I want you?” he had asked. I failed to see the compliment.

We argued, but even the fighting had been horny, in its way. I wondered if he would push me up against the wall, lift my skirt and fuck me hard. I had wanted it, truth be told. I wanted him to get angry, bend me over, and go for it, his cock pistoning out of me, unleashing all his frustrations.

My pussy was wet by the time he left, and, one hand on the kitchen table, bent over, I masturbated. It was fucked up, I knew that, but I also knew what I saw as well. I had seen his own arousal pressing up against his trousers. He was turned on by our argument, too. It could have been a dangerous game to play, being aroused by anger, and wanting someone to use you and fuck you whilst fighting. I wondered which would’ve been hotter, the sex after torturing ourselves on dates, or the anger sex. I wanted Anthony, perhaps more than any man I’d ever wanted before. I was furious with him after the argument, but I wanted him more.

He disappeared after that, I didn’t see him for two years. By the time we bumped into each other again, it was at mine and Stan’s engagement party. That’s when I found out they were brothers.

Stan didn’t know that Anthony and I had dated. Part of me had wanted to tell him, but then the other part of me didn’t see the point in it. What good would it do? Would Stan believe me when I told him we had never slept together? What would he think if he found out that I had wanted to, desperately? It remained something that I kept locked away, deep down inside me. It was easier to ignore that way. Squashed down so far away, in the depths of my mind, and perhaps even my heart, I could forget about it. And on the nights when it threatened to come back up again, and my mind wanted to think about it, I could easily suppress it. It remained an unspoken thing, between Anthony and me, but we both knew. Every time we looked at each other, we were reminded of it. It wasn’t the dates that we saw, or the memories of aching and lusting over the other, the teasing and denial. No. It was the argument. I knew we both saw it. I could see it in his eyes, and he could see it in mine. He knew that our fighting had turned me on, and I knew that he had walked away from that situation aroused. I had sensed it, just as he had within me.

I made the bed as quickly as I could, not wanting to be around Anthony any more than I had to. With a distracted mind, I fought with the bottom sheet, wondering why it wouldn’t fit on top of the mattress. Offering no help, except only to laugh at me, Anthony stood there, watching me try to pull the shorter side of the sheet. I tore the sheet off the mattress in a huff, wrestling with it, until it was the right way around, everything tucked neatly into place. I glared at him as I left his room. How dare he laugh at me. How dare he come back. But most of all, how dare he ignite those memories in me. Memories I had successfully forgotten, long ago.

For the rest of the day, Anthony kept to his room, only leaving his underground dwellings to make coffee in the kitchen. I had returned outside, to bake in the sun, trying to recapture my moments of calm and peacefulness that had rudely been interrupted earlier, but to no avail. It was well and truly, over.

Anthony came outside and hovered near the lounger for several moments, not saying anything. I sensed his presence, but did not look at him, or acknowledge him. When finally he did speak, it was to tease me. “So, does little gold digger not have any friends? You’re out here all alone?”

“Did it ever occur to you that I love Stan? And that I don’t care about the money?”

“But it’s a nice bonus, right? The lifestyle and the money make it easier to live with a man thirty years older than you.”

“What is your problem?” I asked, turning my head to look at him, thankful that my sunglasses covered my eyes, so he couldn’t see my true expression. “Did you come out here just to cause trouble? To bait me?”

“Well,” he said, shrugging casually as if the matter was of no real importance to him. “I do love seeing your reaction, watching you explode, but I came out here to enjoy the sun.”

“And you can’t do that without being an ass to me?”

“I could, but there’d be no fun in that, now, would there?”

When he didn’t get the answer from me he was after, Anthony silently slid into the lounger next to mine. With my eyes closed, it would have been easy to forget here was there. Neither of us said anything more. I wanted to forget he was there, but I was painfully aware of his presence; of his constant, steady breathing in and out, of the smell of his cologne, mostly woody, but with a hint of citrus at the end. I dared not open my eyes to take a peek at him, of his shirt made of thin material, three of the buttons open, a light sprinkling of hair on his chest. It was all my mind could do to not remember how the hair grew deliciously darker and thicker below his belly button, and how it trailed down, below his belt. My nipples were now hardpoints inside my swimsuit, and I felt a slight tingle in my pussy. ‘Fuck,’ I thought. Mercifully, he seemed unaware of my inner thoughts, and he wasn’t looking at me. He was concentrating on the garden, looking out into the distance.

“He’s new,” Anthony said, nodding his head in the direction of the groundsman.

“Mr Peters retired over the winter.”

“Ah. So you hired toyboy over there, so you had something to look at?”

“I didn’t hire him, Stan did.”

“But still, must be nice for you to finally have someone your own age to talk to.” I sighed in frustration but gave Anthony no answer.

Coincidentally, Blake and I did actually have a lot in common, and he seemed to be the only staff member who didn’t judge me for marrying Stan. He was also the only one who didn’t call me Mrs Gallo, instead calling me by my first name. Blake was actually two years younger than me, and being only twenty-six, he was one of the youngest staff members we had, aside from Mary. He seemed to enjoy the physically demanding job, telling me that he loved being outdoors all day. He was also very knowledgeable when it came to plants and flowers, teaching me a lot about what to plant where, how to tend to the garden, and recommending me good books on the subject. Of course, I wasn’t blind, Blake was a very good-looking young man with a taut and toned body from the demands of his job. However, I had met his boyfriend several times. and I did not feel the need to tell Anthony that Blake was gay.

“Storm’s coming.”

“What?” I answered back, my thoughts slowly coming back to the present moment, my arousal still distracting me.

“Look at the sky, storm is on its way.”

He was right. A rainstorm was coming. The air was changing, too. It felt still outside, too still. The breeze had died down, and the air felt close, heavy, and damp, whereas earlier, it had been dry and parched. It was dense too, the heat full of the rich smells that came with the height of summer. I could smell the fruit trees, heavy with the burden of ripe, plump offerings, the air carrying the scents from the neighbor's orchard. I could also smell the sweet grass, as well as a whiff of lavender.

As I looked to the sky, in the vague distance, fat, dark clouds were gathering, heavy with water. I wagered the storm had already broken in some places, it wouldn’t be long before it came here. Standing gracelessly, I started walking down to where Blake was working, the freshly cut grass strong in my nostrils.

“Jade,” Blake greeted me happily. “What can I do you for?”

“You think that will turn into anything?” I asked, pointing to the black clouds in the distance, which from here, could hardly be seen.

For several moments, Blake pondered, watching the sky before answering. “Hard to say, really, at this time. They may lose steam before reaching here, and we’ll just get a light shower, but then again, it may not, and we’ll get heavy rain, which, if you ask me, we need. Hasn’t rained in months.” He was silent again, just staring. I watched a rivulet of sweat run down the side of his face, missing his eye by a mere fraction. He looked over to the pool, where I had just come from. “Who’s summertime Ken doll over there?”

I tried to suppress a smirk. “My brother-in-law, Anthony.”

“The Lord of the house hath returned?”

This time, I did smirk. “He’d like to think of himself as Lord of the house, sure. He’s Stan’s younger brother.”

“Much younger brother, by the looks of it,” Blake observed.

“There are only ten years between them,” I replied, a slight edge in my voice. The last thing I needed was for Blake, someone I considered a friend of sorts, to start in on the ribbing.

To the casual observer, it did seem like there was a lifetime between Stan and Anthony. While Stan was only fifty-seven, his hair was more salt than pepper these days, and the stress from his job showed on his face. All I’d do was look at him, and I could tell he was taxed. Each time he came back from being away, a new line of stress would appear. He wore an expression that was either permanently perplexed, or anxious. He had the face of a Roman Patrician, and I wondered when the first cracks would start to appear on the statue.

Anthony was in fine shape, however. He’d grown out a beard whilst away, and his skin was golden brown, evenly tanned all over, Adonis himself. Indeed, his appearance had surprised me as well, and if I was being brutally honest, stirred me, the same as when we first met. I wondered how Stan would react to Anthony’s return, although part of me already knew the answer to that question. If I’d been a betting person, I’d be able to make a good wager and walk away with the winnings.

Stan looked older than his fifty-seven years, and Anthony looked much younger than his forty-seven.

“I wouldn’t worry, about the storm, Jade,” Blake said, changing the subject, sensing my tone. “It’ll blow itself out and turn to nothing. All summer we’ve seen rain clouds, but nothing has happened.”

I walked away not knowing which storm to worry about. The unease of the sky, or between the brothers.

—--------------------------

It started with a few solemn drops on the roof, long intervals punctuating the rain. I heard one drop and waited for the downpour, but it took a while to get started, as I counted several seconds between each, fat, heavy plop. It kicked in a few minutes later, getting heavier and heavier, louder and louder until all other noise was drowned out. The living room doors were still open, the humidity in the house almost suffocating. It was just after ten, now almost completely pitch black, nothing to be seen, except the haze of rain right in front of me.

I sat back down on the sofa, my bare legs sticking uncomfortably to the leather. I was still wearing my bikini from earlier, the heat in the house, and the humidity, making it difficult to wear much else. I’d thrown my old t-shirt back on, but even that was feeling too heavy to wear.

Although it was mostly pointless, I had tried to recapture my tranquility from earlier. However, my book reading was interrupted a few short minutes later when the room was plunged into sudden darkness. I looked around aimlessly, but couldn’t see anything, the ceiling lights completely dead. The power was out. I heard unsteady footsteps. Footsteps that were unsure of their destination. From somewhere behind me, I heard Anthony’s voice. “Power outage,” was all he said.

A sarcastic and cutting response played across my tongue, but I suppressed the urge. Now was not the time to argue or start a shit fight. “Yeah,” I eventually said. “Seems that way.”

“Anybody still working?”

“We don’t have overnight help,” I answered. “Only daytime housekeepers and staff.” I dreaded when people finished up for the day. When Stan was away on business, I was all by myself in the big house. I was safe enough, we had top-of-the-line security systems, and Big Joe lived in the cottage at the bottom of the property, should I need any assistance. However, safety wasn’t my real concern, boredom and loneliness were. I had tried papering over that crack several times, by going out every night with friends, having cocktails, and hitting the town, but it had never truly been my scene, and I always ended up feeling worse, lonelier than ever before.

“Okay, so where do you keep candles or flashlights?” came his next question.

“There are some flashlights in the store cupboard of the basement hallway.”

The two lamps in the living room were battery-powered, and, finding my phone, a small radius around me was briefly illuminated as I flicked them on, the living room once more returning to light, soft though it was. Anthony was walking around somewhere in the house, his frustrated mutterings and murmurings ringing out and echoing. He returned later, triumphantly bearing a large flashlight. “I don’t know how much juice this baby has.”

“Probably best to conserve it then, in case it’s like this for a while." I looked around the dimly lit room, not knowing what else to do, having no answers. "I guess we’ll just stay here then, where we do have light."

“How well-stocked is Stan’s liquor cabinet?”

“He always has a healthy liquor cabinet."

Anthony disappeared again, into the depths of the dark house, the flashlight leading in front of him, shining the way. He returned a short while later with wine bottles, two in each hand. “You seriously plan on drinking all of that?” I asked.

“I figure spending time in the same room as you, I’m going to need alcohol to survive.”

I pursed my lips and let out a long sigh, but didn’t say anything. I picked up my book, trying to distract myself. From the kitchen, I heard the clinking of glasses and then a noise of satisfaction as Anthony found the appropriate vessel for the wine. “Would you like a glass?” he asked, coming back into the shadowy room.

“Please.”

The rain poured from the sky in heavy drips, the water slicing against the windows on an angle, fat rivulets chasing after each other as they ran down the glass. The large French doors were still open, the humid breeze forcing its way into the room, whenever it picked up. I made no move to close the doors, and I was unfazed by the rain that did make it inside. I gently swirled the red wine around the glass, and then drank deeply. ‘Deep,’ I thought. ‘Bold. Bordeaux style.’ A favorite of Stan’s ex-wife. I wondered if he had purchased the wine himself, or if the bottles were left over from the old days.

Anthony was watching me, and, mirroring my own thoughts, he said, “Jules’ favorite.” He watched for my reaction, but I gave none.

“It’s good wine.”

“Bit too harsh for me, much like the woman herself.”

I rolled my eyes. “You had issues with her too, did you?”

“Actually, no, I thought she was fine. Not much of a looker, but she was a good businesswoman, and she helped Stan a lot in the early days when he was starting up. “

I had met the famous Jules several times, but there wasn’t much to say, really. We got along fine. I was polite to her, and she was polite to me. It was fine. Everything was fine. Fine, fine, fine.

Stan had been divorced for a couple of years by the time we met. The children had grown up and he and Jules were on somewhat amicable terms. She came out of the divorce well, getting two of the holiday homes, one on the beach and the other near the woods, as well as a large settlement.

My feelings towards Jules were complex. I wasn’t jealous of her. Vainly, I knew I was much prettier. However, I was jealous of the relationship she and Stan had, of the dynamics between them. She was his old trusty friend, they had been through everything together. He still consulted with her on the business, even though she no longer had a part in it. He still looked to her for guidance, or for her opinion on matters. It bothered me that she wasn’t bothered by me. She didn’t see me as competition, she didn’t have the daggers, or hate in her heart for me, the younger woman. True, I had never stolen Stan from her. However, she was fine towards me. It was awkward, sure, but she was always courteous. She knew that she still had Stan, in some form or another. She wasn’t threatened by me, or worried, or cussing me out, simply because I was the younger woman. She knew that what she and Stan had, I would never have. She saw me as a silly girl sure, but even still, she wasn’t bothered. It irked me.

I downed the red, and without saying anything, Anthony stood up and poured me another glass.

“They’re still sleeping together, you know,” Anthony said, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“Stan and Jules,” he said. “They’ve been doing it.”

I was quiet. For a long time, I didn’t move, nor say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t comprehend what Anthony had told me. I was waiting for the punchline. I was waiting for his dumb joke or sarcastic response, but it never came. When I looked at him, I expected his expression to be one of unsuppressed glee, but it wasn’t. His face was stony.

When I did speak, my voice came out as a croak. “Why’d you tell me?” I asked, tears threatening to spill over, which I tried to swallow back down again. I wouldn’t cry in front of Anthony. I couldn’t.

"I wanted to do the decent thing."

“You’ve never been decent towards me.”

“That’s not true,” he said in a low voice. “I was decent towards you when we dated. I respected your wish to wait for sex, even though you were a cock tease, and got off on torturing me, denying me at the last moment what I craved.”

We were both standing now, throwing accusatory glances at the other, invisible daggers hurtling across the room. “You know what’s not fair,” Anthony continued. “I saw you first. I met you before he did, I asked you out before he did."

“You saw me first? I’m not a possession. I’m not some pretty little fancy that you can find and then keep, because you noticed me first.”

“But maybe, maybe if I went in there and white knighted you, protected you from something, like Stan did, then maybe we’d be together, huh?” He was angry now, his breathing rapid. He picked up his glass and finished what was left, and then poured himself another, and then another in quick succession.

“That’s not how it was, Anthony. By the time I met Stan, I had already resigned my position at the club. Stan didn’t rescue me, or ride in on a steed and scoop me up. That’s not how it happened. I didn’t need rescuing, and I wasn’t vulnerable or unable to make my own decisions. I didn’t need someone to try and white knight for me.”

He gave a small, resigned shrug of his shoulders, not caring what I had to say. He looked down at the empty glass in his hand, and I figured he would crack open the next bottle and pour himself another, but he didn’t. It seemed to happen in slow motion. I watched him look from the wine glass to the wall, and then back again. He raised his arm, and holding it by the stem, threw the glass hard at the nearest wall. It smashed, millions of shards raining down, landing on the hardwood floor below. It was almost beautiful, really, like the first drops of snow for the winter. The smashed pieces shone and reflected, almost dancing in the light. Pretty, but deadly.

“What the fuck?!” I said in disbelief.

Immediately, he sat down again, his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped over. He looked utterly defeated and dejected. I stood there staring at him, still in shock, he didn’t move though. Retrieving a dustpan and brush from the kitchen, I set to work, trying to clean up as much of the mess as possible. In the dim light, it was difficult to see, and I mumbled under my breath several times, nearly hurting myself. When I did inevitably get myself, it was my hand. I felt a sharp prick and then drag across my palm, and then warmth as my blood came to the surface.

Kneeling back, I swore, and then before I knew it, tears were streaming down my face. I was angry. Angry at Stan, angry at Jules, and angry at Anthony. I was frustrated, and I felt resentful. Anthony was beside me now, asking if I had hurt myself, wanting to see. He stood me up roughly, almost dragging me over to the light. “Not that deep,” he said. “I’ll go to the bathroom, and get some stuff to clean it up and cover it.”

I went over to the coffee table and picked up the bottle of wine, the brief temptation to throw it and see it shatter with the recently deceased wine glass welling up inside me. However, I managed to talk myself out of it. This night was already a mess, I wasn’t going to add to it and make it worse. Instead, I raised the bottle and took several long sips from it, wanting to clear my mind. It worked. When I put the bottle back down again, my thoughts were elsewhere, and I felt the familiar buzz that comes from alcohol.

Anthony finally returned from his trip to the bathroom, and with a surprisingly gentle touch, he cleaned the cut and patched it up. “Jade?” Light as air, he was holding my bad hand, his fingers gently resting on top of mine. “I am sorry.”

Lifting my hand, he placed kisses on each of the fingertips, his exhales tickling my skin. I didn’t pull away or stop him. From a body that didn’t seem to be my own, I watched while he kissed the skin gently. He traced his lips over the back of my hand, and then up my arm. He hesitated for a moment, looked up at me, and then it was all over. I was against his chest, our lips crushed together, his beard scratching my chin as his tongue started to probe at my mouth. I was delirious. Delirious from the wine and the kisses, delirious from the frustration and anger I had felt only moments earlier, but now none of it mattered.

He was holding me to him; one hand on the back of my head, the other on my tailbone, drawing slow circles on my spine, causing me to shiver. I could feel his arousal growing, where our bodies were grinding together, but neither of us made a move, we stayed locked in the embrace, kissing, running our hands over the other’s body. It was an oddly romantic moment that we were sharing, with the sounds of the rain outside pelting the ground, the dim lighting, the scent of the red wine, as well as what we had drunk. I felt buzzed again, but it wasn’t the wine, it was the kissing. It was the moment.

Anthony’s hands left my body, searching around for my bikini bottoms. Pushing the thin fabric aside, he ran his fingers up and down my pussy, and then spread it slightly, his fingertips brushing over my clitoris, and teasing my hole. Breaking away from the kiss, I let out a low moan, thankful that I had him to hold me up, otherwise, I’d have been at risk of collapsing. Slowly, he entered a finger inside me and twisted it, building up a slow rhythm, moving it in and out.

“Oh, God, Anthony,” I whispered, my lips inches away from his. I started untying his shorts and said, “Please. I need to fuck. Now. Please, Anthony.”

He pulled his finger out of me and broke away from the kiss, a now serious look on his face as he gazed deeply into my eyes. “Jade. I’ve waited so long for this moment, dreamed of it. Let us not deny ourselves the full experience. I want to love all of you, not just stick my dick inside of you and have at it.”

His finger found my pussy again, running up and down the slit, parting it and teasing my clitoris, my body erupting in shivers and goosebumps. “I want to go down on you,” he said. In response, I moaned against his mouth and ground my pussy against his hand, which was once more against me, his fingers searching inside of me.

Awkwardly, we walked backward, almost stumbling, until I felt the soft leather behind my legs. I tore the itsy bitsy swimsuit from my body and almost flopped down onto the chair, spreading my legs, watching, and waiting. A now nude Anthony knelt in front of me, kissing the inside of my thighs repeatedly, trailing kisses ever closer toward my pussy, which was aching for him by this stage, but then backing right off. Desperately, I almost cried out for him, begged him to get to work. I wanted to say, “this pussy isn’t going to lick itself,” but before the words had formed, his tongue was on me, almost soothing me, gently coaxing me back against the chair, telling me to relax and let him do his thing.

I was already close from the fingering, my body was all worked up and ready to cum. However, Anthony took his time exploring me, his tongue gentle against my pussy. There wasn’t an area of skin he didn’t cover, his mouth was everywhere, one moment sucking on my clit, and the next, teasing the labia. I felt a slight breeze of air dance over my pussy, cool against my wetness and heat. Kisses landed on my thighs and pussy lips, Anthony using his tongue to explore my hole or flick the clit. His teeth as well were employed, gently grazing the delicate skin, nipping against the ever-hardening nub. I wanted to close my eyes and enjoy the moment, get lost in the sensations of my approaching orgasm, which was building up. However, I was transfixed. I couldn't tear my eyes from his feasting of my nether flower. His tongue lapped at my cunt, licking and teasing, swirling and gliding over every inch of dripping wet skin, but then he trailed it lower, down to my asshole.

I felt like I was balled up inside, a tight band of energy just waiting to explode and bounce with an orgasm. I could take it no longer. I wanted to cum. No, needed it. His tongue flicking back and forth over my asshole, rimming me, I shot two fingers to my pearl, working it, my moans becoming louder. I was grinding my pussy and ass against his face, desperate with the need to get off. My fingers were slippery from my pussy, which was audibly wet as I twirled my clitoris, trying to unleash and bring forth my orgasm from within.

Anthony looked up, his tongue still on my ass, and we made eye contact. He snaked a finger inside my pussy and gently worked it as he rimmed me. I was a goner. It sent me over the edge, both my holes on fire from his ministrations. I came hard, my body tensing for several seconds, and then relaxing, my hips rolling, my thighs trembling. Out of breath, I put my hand over his own, where his fingers were still inside, stopping his movements. “Oh my God,” I whispered.

He took one last swipe of my pussy with his fingers and then offered them to me, placing them on my lips, where my mouth opened, and I accepted, greedily sucking. “How would you like to do this?” I asked, puffing slightly, still out of breath. “Would you prefer to sit, while I return the favor?”

“I want you on your knees," came his husky response.

My limbs feeling like mush, I managed to sink to the floor, kneeling before Anthony, his cock already hard, inches from my face. I flicked my tongue over the tip, and then gently sucked, taking more and more of the head in my mouth. A hand at the base, I gently started stroking as I sucked, his cock hardening and growing even more in my mouth.

I licked the length of him, from his balls to the tip, and then back down again, my fingers following along behind my tongue, trailing over the moisture my mouth had left. I opened wide and took him down, his shaft against my tongue, which I held flat. He hit the back of my throat several times and moaned each time I did this.

Slowly, I bobbed my head back and forth, taking more of his cock as I sucked. Closing my eyes, I enjoyed the way he was running his hands through my hair and praising my cock sucking skills. “My balls,” I heard him say. “Suck my balls.”

His cock left my lips with a loud, wet popping sound. Holding his balls in my hand, I felt their weight, heavy with the need to release and cum. Lowering my head slightly, I lashed my tongue against his balls. I was gentle, using only the lightest flicks with the tip, but when I heard his appreciation of my efforts I twisted my tongue around his swollen sac and then sucked them into my mouth. His balls were warm, and I heard a heavy intake of breath, which he held for a few seconds, and then let out, in a ragged gasp. I alternated between the two, going back and forth between the left and right, taking turns sucking and playing with each of them. His cock was rock hard, and I was jacking him as I did this, the shaft and head slippery as he leaked pre-cum, which I rubbed in, using it to ease my hand over his cock.

I felt the heavy thump of his shaft near my forehead. Anthony was holding his cock at the base, and gently hitting it against my face. Now offering me his cock, I opened my mouth and accepted it. I managed to take most of his length down my throat, building up my rhythm from earlier, bobbing back and forth. He was now nicely lubricated, and he slid in and out of my mouth easily. When I did manage to deep throat him, I gagged the first time, backing right off and coming up for air. I stroked him a few more times and then attempted again. This go around, I was much more successful, as I managed to hold it for slightly longer. “Look at me,” he said in a low voice, my face pressed against his stomach, his balls resting on my chin.

Slowly, my eyes wandered up his body to his face. “God you’re sexy,” he uttered. “Sexy fucking girl.”

Putting his hands on the back of my head, he thrust into my mouth, approving of what I was doing when I gagged on him. My pussy was desperate for his cock. I wanted to jump him and just go for it, just fuck. Staring up at Anthony, I saw the same flicker in his eyes. He wanted it to. “I’m getting close,” he said. “I need your pussy.”

Much to our advantage, the sofa was rather wide. He lay me down gently, parted my legs, and slowly entered, my pussy feeling like it was being unfurled around him. When I imagined our coupling, I expected it to be hard, horny, and fast, but Anthony was surprisingly tender, his thrusts slow and measured. I wrapped my legs around him and drew him deeper inside me, the full length of his cock fitting perfectly.

The rain had eased off somewhat, and I could begin to hear things clearly again; the wetness of my pussy, the slap of his thighs against mine as he picked up the pace, his grunts and my moaning, every sound was mixing together into one. I could smell the wine on him, and taste it faintly in his mouth as we kissed, my senses heightened from the alcohol.

His cock was exquisite, and I had the sudden, dread feeling, that it had never been like this with Stan. For all the sex we had, it was never like this. I wanted to laugh, actually. Like a madwoman, I wanted to cackle maniacally, big heaving gulps of laughter that burned my lungs, but I didn't. I pushed all my thoughts aside and focused on the here and now, on the cock deep inside me, on the way his balls slapped against my ass, of the way his strong thighs flexed against my own with each thrust, of the increasing tempo of his breathing and panting.

Anthony mumbled his impending orgasm in my ear and grabbed at my left tit, palming it and rolling the nipple, squeezing it firmly, his nails digging into the skin. He came loudly, and I felt his cock twitch and pulse inside me, his cum deep in my pussy. We stayed locked together afterward, kissing, our tongues pressing up against each other, until eventually, my legs fell away from where I had them wrapped around him, a dull ache in my leg muscles. As I sat up, I felt a rush of warmth from within me, his cum leaking from my pussy, and onto the expensive leather couch.

The lights came back on, the house springing to life with power, electricity once more flowing through the walls. We didn’t look at each other, we looked everywhere except at the other, our eyes taking in the carnage of the evening, from the wine bottles on the table, some of them empty, to the shards of smashed glass on the floor, and then, the couch, where we were now sitting.

I stood, turning off the lamps we had used while the power had been cut. I didn't know if I should be embarrassed that Anthony could properly see me naked, in full light, or if I shouldn't care.

“I love you,” he said. I slowly turned around to face him, surprised. “I do,” he said. “I just never handled it very well."

I just nodded slightly, words failing me, unsure of what to say, or even how to say it.

"In fact, I handled it poorly. That chick from the strip club, who looked like you, and the women I took up with overseas, they weren’t good substitutes, and I wasn’t fair to them. They didn’t deserve my crap just because I had unresolved feelings for you.”

I was fighting against a lump in my throat, I tried to get rid of it, swallow it down or something, but it wouldn’t go away. “What do we do, then?” I managed to get out, my voice only slightly above a whisper.

“I’ve put you in a bad position with Stan. I know that. Whether you two decide to stay together or split up, I’ll respect it, and I won’t come near you again.”

“Even if we divorce?” I asked.

“It would never work out between us, Jade. I'm too much of a bastard. No matter how much either of us wanted it, it would never work. We’d end up hating each other, and I don’t want to hate you. I can live with you hating me, but I couldn’t live with myself if I hated you. We don’t work.”

I sat next to him on the couch, cuddling into him as he wrapped his arms against me. I tried to commit everything to memory, never wanting to leave this moment, or forget it. I needed to remember how everything looked, how everything smelled, and how everything felt. I needed to remember him. Me. Us, as we were now.

"I love you, and I want you to be happy."

"Which is why we can't be together," I said in a tiny voice.

He kissed me on top of the head and held me close.

I didn’t fight the tears this time when they came, I let them stream down my face. Weary, and with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I closed my eyes.