All she had gotten was a text message at noon:
All afternoon she was giddy and nervous. She truly loved him, mourned his marriage, but never claimed him. She knew she would never be anything more than a woman on the side, and with the way she was treated when he was near, she did not mind in the least.
Five O'clock finally arrived. She hurried out to her car and fought traffic home; she had an hour to navigate traffic, clean her apartment, set out candles, and primp. The problem was, her usual drive home was a forty-five minute commute. And she could not be late.
When she arrived home, she had five minutes - not enough time! Sacrifices would be made, much to her chagrin. It seemed to be her worst day, even with the date set; she hurried her walk, carelessly rushing her steps, and caught her heel. Not only did she break the stiletto, but she twisted her ankle, only six feet from her front door.
What she never knew was that he was always early, sitting and watching as she hurried about her preparations. This was no exception.
He walked up the sidewalk, smirking to himself; she was always falling or bumping into things. His smirk faded to a frown as he got closer to her; she was half-sitting, half-crawling from her short patio to her door, sounds of her tears quietly reaching his ears.
His steps were silent, but his cologne carried on the small breeze. She looked up and gasped. The evening was ruined, she had let him down, and she was in no condition to please him.
He tsk'd her as he bent down and scooped her up in his arms, unlocked the door, and carried her in. She muttered under her breath never ending apologies, silencing only when she was gently sat upon the bed. Surprise filled her voice as she commented on the rose petals strewn about the room, the candles already lit.
In response, he smiled and held up her spare key, no longer hiding in the false bottom of the hanging ivy planter. He put it back in his pocket and dried her tears on his sleeve, ignoring her protestations of ruining his silk shirt. He kissed her to quiet her, holding her face between his hands. He reveled in feeling her melt into him, there was just something to having a women relax and submit herself to him, made him feel more like a man.
She raised her hands to cover his only to have him grab her wrists, gently but firmly, and put them back at her side as he broke the kiss. A small smile played along her lips, her eyes drowning with intoxication from his grip.
How can anyone refuse such a look? He kissed her again, harder, forcing her mouth open, pressing her backwards onto her back, arms still held to her side. A moan rumbled through her throat, crawling deliciously into his mouth. He raised himself above her to better look at her; her long hair had escaped its bun when she fell, creating an intriguing dark red halo as she lay beneath him. Her pale jade blouse was loose from her skirt, but only just barely, revealing a small patch of skin at her lower stomach. Her deep evergreen skirt was nearly to her hips as a result of his carrying her, showcasing her legs, and, surprisingly, a pair of flesh-toned thigh-highs held up with black garters. He shifted to better view the tanned skin peeking out between her blouse and skirt, releasing one of her hands to lift the blouse ever so slightly.
He knew she was beautiful, it is what attracted him to her, but never with his wife had such small amounts of skin done what hers seemed to do. He was suddenly filled with a hunger so deep, that hours with her would not sate him. She was his drug, and she was irresistible. He lowered his head slowly, focused only on her stomach, taking in the scent of her before he kissed her softly. She moaned again, shifted a most minute amount, allowing him to smell how ready she was, how much she had missed him. His head snapped up, eyes catching hers. His eyes had bled to nearly pure black with desire, the only trace of his gold color a thin ring. She gasped and stilled under his gaze, afraid to do anything to cause him to look away.
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