“Did you fuck her?” I whispered.

He stood at the other end of the room, my husband, with his back to me. Slowly, he turned, eyes finding me in our bed.

“You want to fight? Is that what you want?” he accused, denying nothing.

“Why can’t you just answer the question?”

“No, I’m not fucking cheating on you, Samantha. God, why does your mind always go there? Why-”

“Because there always seems to be something that comes up to make me question you.”

“You’re projecting.” Eric pointed his finger at me. I fucking hated that. “Maybe I should look through your phone.”

“Go ahead,” I urged, “I’m not hiding anything. But if you're not, I don't know why you're making this so fucking difficult," I growled.

“I’m not going to talk to you if you’re just going to shout.”

“That wasn't shouting.” Now my voice rose.

“I’m not going to-”

“If you’re innocent,” I interjected, “why did you snatch your phone when I picked it up? You say you have nothing to hide, but I saw a text, I saw her name, and now you’re being defensive.”

“I’m defensive because I have nothing to hide, and you’re constantly questioning me, and it’s driving me fucking nuts! You try being an innocent man on trial. I can’t be in this fucking relationship if you’re going to control me.”

“I’m not trying to control you,” I assured, wanting to ease his mind. “I’m just worried, that’s all. Worried I’m not enough for you.” I looked down at my hands resting on the sheet tucked beneath my arms. Every step Eric took toward me eased the pain.

“You are all I want, Samantha,” Eric mumbled, pulling up my chin and giving me a kiss sweeter than usual. “Please trust me.”

___

The next morning, I ran. Music blocked out the world so I could focus. My goal was to focus on nothing, but of course, my mind wandered. It wandered to the sex Eric and I had last night. How I wanted to enjoy it, my doubts rendering me unable. It wandered to James as it had so often during the nine days since I’d met him. His killer smile and smoldering eyes, his tongue in that frosting…

When he appeared, tall and fit and suddenly jogging right beside me, I almost didn't believe it, wondering if my imagination was stepping up its game. I tried to ignore him. Fire and pumpkin colored leaves trickled down every other tree as we passed, the chill in the air cooling us as we ran.

I finally spoke; “Why are you following me, James?”

“I live fairly close, you know. I wasn’t sure I’d actually see you on this trail. But I did hope,” he confessed, glancing at me when my head finally turned.

“Did you make friends with George just to get close to me?” I demanded, slowing to a stop. Deep in the trees, I didn’t see anyone around.

“That’s ridiculous.” He was so calm.

“Is it?”

“I didn’t know he was your son until he took me to your house.”

"So you're staying friends with him to pester me?”

James’ smile darkened. “Interesting word choice.”

“Why? Because it’s true?”

“Because you like when I ‘pester’ you.”

“Excuse me?"

“You. Like. It,” he repeated, pacing his words deliberately. Mockingly.

Many retorts came to mind, my lips twitching to voice several. “Excuse me?” I reiterated; all I was able to manage.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

I scoffed. “Alright, that’s enough-”

“You’re bored out of your fucking mind, and it makes you want to fool around with me.” His conviction weighed my jaw to the ground. James took a step toward me.

“That’s not true.” I took a step back.

“Oh?” he challenged. “So you're never lonely in that big house? You enjoy serving cookies to superficial assholes all day? Dressing in tight clothes and heels to get the attention your husband doesn’t give you?”

I’d heard enough. Turning to leave, James grabbed my arm before I could, yanking me back. My head in his rough grasp; our mouths pressed together. I registered how warm his lips were, how incredible he smelled and felt, and then pushed him off of me.

“What is wrong with you?!” I spat before promptly running away.

He didn’t follow.

___

Eric’s bags were already packed when we got home; loaded in his truck for his next work trip. He was able to stay just long enough to watch George win his game before taking us home and hugging us goodbye, giving me a few extra kisses.

Watching his headlights back out of the driveway, the house felt lonely, George already gone to a post-game celebration. Without any buffers around to distract me, I had to face what happened that morning during my run.

What the fuck was wrong with me? Denial of attraction can only go so far until evidence on the contrary appears in the dampness of my panties. What we were doing was completely inappropriate. I couldn’t be attracted to him; teenagers didn’t interest me. Why James? I was a woman with the world in her hands, and I was actively crushing it every time he snuck into my head. I was going to need to be better, more assertive if he tried anything again.

___

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. Is this what the end of my rope looked like? It had been fourteen hours and James’ mouth against mine was all I could think about. I wasn’t about to endure this nonsense any longer, waiting for someone to figure us out. He was just going to have to tell George he couldn't come over anymore for some entirely unrelated reason.

I hit Send on my phone, and grabbed my coat.

At 11:00 p.m. sharp James walked into my store as invited. The closed sign was flipped, all the curtains drawn, but I left the door unlocked for him. And here he was; tall, dark, and pensive as ever.

I walked around the counter, groupings of tables and chairs sprinkled around us. 

“I want you to leave me alone, James,” I pronounced firmly.

His amusement began with a small smile. “So that’s why you told me to come to your store after dark, alone by the looks of it?”

“I felt I should say this to your face, and I didn’t want anyone knowing our business.” That came out wrong. “Not that we have business. And that’s what I’m trying to avoid.”

“Business,” he teased. “Between you and I.”

“People thinking there’s business between you and I.”

“Good call. Probably shouldn’t tell the town how bad you want me to fuck you.”

Arms crossed, I glared to hide the rip of arousal he just sent through me. He ambled toward me, hand grazing the backs of the chairs he passed.

“That's not true.” I mumbled.

“Be honest with yourself–Mrs. Carter," he mocked.

“James, don’t fuck with me,” I snapped.

“No? I kinda like to see you like this.” The same excitement played in his eyes as the day I hit him.

“Angry?” 

“Yes."

"Why?" I was incredulous.

"Because it means there's someone real under that picture-perfect exterior of yours. And I'd love to meet her."

I blinked.

“This is absurd. I want you to stay away from me James, I’m serious.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t?” I was growing madder by the moment.

“If you did, I wouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right, it’s time for you to go.”

“Mmm I disagree,” he said as he closed the distance between us.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, pushing him away when he got close enough.

James took me in his arms and kissed me. I shoved at him again, but he held on, keeping me close.

“You don’t want me to leave yet. Not until I get you off.”

The butterflies in my stomach added to the chaos.

“James-” I was interrupted by his hands on my hips as he lifted me onto the counter.

“Stop lying. You want this, Samantha.”

“No,” I fought.

“Say it. You want me to get you off.”

I continued to fight as he succeeded in unfastening my jeans, his hand maneuvering down, rubbing the cotton panties that clung to me.

“God damn, you’re wet,” he stated in awe. 

“James-” My warning was cut by his two fingers pushing deep into my warm, accommodating pussy. My eyelids flickered and my breath grew short, adjusting to the shock he gave my system.

“You feel this? You are so fucking wet for me, Samantha. You can pretend all you want, but this pussy wants me.”

“James, please,” I gasped, pushing at his arm.

“Please, what?”

I shook my head, panting heavily, pussy stretched around his fingers as he stood between my legs. 

“Please what?” James demanded again.

“We can’t do this.”

“We already are.” 

His face inches from mine, an arm around my waist, he began the real ministration; pressing rhythmically against my g-spot. I held the counter beneath me, cursing the moan that finally left my lips.

“Ahh so you do like this,” he purred, fucking me expertly with his hand.

“Damnit James!” I cried.

“That’s it, Samantha, let it out.”

“I can’t do this,” I whimpered. 

“Then let me do everything,” he said. I reluctantly moaned again.

One feeble hand pressing on his chest, I couldn’t deny how fucking incredible this felt. James was a potent drug and I was the highest I’d ever been, knowing I should stop this, quickly growing unable to. A small piece of me woke at the thought of losing such control, fear driving my hand as I suddenly slapped James across the face like I had once before.

He instantly grabbed a fistful of my hair while he finger fucked me.

“I fucking love when you’re feisty,” he growled, low and deep in his chest. Adrenaline spread through me like a venomous bite.

“James–fuck!”

Being dominated by him brought me to an insidious realization: That as long as I didn’t give–only let him take–I considered myself not as horrible a person. It could be said, then, that me enjoying the way he took control wasn’t doing me any favors.

“You want to fight me, huh? Let that anger out,” he challenged. James’ grasp on my scalp held me steady as I reached out, nails digging into his chest through his shirt. “Fuck.” He moved faster.

I felt like an instrument, and James played me well. He was young, but he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Ohh fuck.” My words were thick with intention. I almost sounded worried.

“Yeah? You gonna fucking cum?” James asked through his teeth.

“Oh my god-”

“That’s right Samantha, let me give you what you need. Let me feel you cum, right on this hand, baby.”

His words severed the single thread I hung by, dropping me into a vat of pleasure and consequence. He moaned as I screamed, squeezing his wrist–but not to stop him. My pussy contracted viciously around him, gushing more than I ever had before.

“Fuck yes, god you are fucking perfect, cum for me Samantha,” James encouraged.

Everything outside me was fuzzy, everything inside me sharp and explosive and so fucking delicious. I heard myself crying, “Yes, yes, please, oh fuck!”

“Good girl, keep going.”

And, fuck, did I. Riding the most intense wave, moaning and humping as the urge came. But what goes up, must come down. And fuck, did I do that, too.

Limp and panting, I rested against James’ hard chest, sheathed by a single t-shirt behind his unzipped coat. He smelled divine. When I was done shivering, breath caught, noticing just how soaked my panties were, I went numb.

James took his hand from my hair and moved it to my chin, lifting my face. Eyes deeper than any ocean, he gave me one small kiss, then backed away, putting his fingers in his mouth to taste me as he left.