I’m stuck in the backseat, and his friend won’t keep his hands to himself.
This weekend was supposed to be a vacation, it turned into a nightmare. Along with us five couples, my husband invited his single best friend and he just would not stop shamelessly hitting on every last wife but me.
Now that we’re alone he’s making his intentions known. He wants me now. He wants to show me what he can do.
Not that I was out of bounds for him. Ordinarily he’d hit on me too because his best friend had no boundaries. Not that he ever had any success with married women, right?
He claims my friend finally broke. He claims he made her break her vows. He tells me he can show me what he did. He says that I won’t be able to resist.
And from the moment his hands are on me I know how right he is. Moaning and begging for more, I only vaguely realize the danger we’re in.
Because we’re only in the backseat. My husband is only inches away.
And I don’t know if I can stay quiet anymore.
Excerpt
I told myself I needed to know, that’s why I nodded. I told myself it was just about curiosity, but that was a lie.
But what was the truth? Where did it lie? Why was I letting this happen?
I don’t know if even I knew, but I suspected that he did.
Drake doesn’t hesitate, the moment that I nod. He’s on me in an instant, pinning me back against the luggage and pressing his lips to mine. His hands spin me around and he has me pinned into the corner against the back of the seat, his tongue pressing forward with an urgency and forcing its way into my mouth.
He kisses me like he wants to own me and for a moment I lose myself in it, feeling only him and the urgent desire that he has for me and for that moment it makes me feel like I am the center of the universe with all eyes on me.
I am a beautiful woman who has always been uncomfortable with that fact. I have known, for a long time, the effect that I can have on men but I’ve never leaned into it. I’ve never wanted to be anything but taken for who I am. I don’t want to be the center of attention, I barely want to be noticed at all.
And yet somehow he makes me want more of it. The knowledge that I could turn the eye of this man, that he could actually want me like this, is so base and carnal that I can’t help the way it appeals to me. It strikes at some chord deep in my belly, far below my surface thoughts in some place primal.
It makes me respond, bucking up against him and moaning as I push back and push my hands onto him. I am kneading at him, desperate in my need as I pull him into me and feel his hands and his lips and his tongue start to roam.
I moan again and this time I clap a hand over my mouth because I remember that my husband is in this car and Walter can’t see me like this. The thought of him gives me an instantaneous moment of regret that I try to hold on to, try to use to heft me up out of this pool of desire and into the realm of clear-headed refusal.
But I don’t think it works.
Guilt surges through my veins and I close my eyes and try not to think of it. Then I try to focus on it and use it to give me the strength to be a better woman but demons I didn’t know that I ever had pull me down instead into the depths. I am torn, knowing I should hate myself and that I should stop this but not willing to do anything but let him touch me, but let him keep on going.
Drake is pulling at my clothing. He’s peeling my dress down and kissing the tops of my breasts and he’s snaking a hand up at the side to play with my panties. He’s going to have me and I’m not going to do anything to stop it, rather the opposite I’m going to give him every last inch and do my best to keep it all a secret.
And that heartbeat is enough time to let me make that decision. To think things through rationally and consciously make the choice to cheat, to do the one thing I never thought I would do. Somehow the feel of this man on me has spurred me into this and dammit, I’m moaning so loud that even my hand isn’t keeping it covered.
Walter is going to hear. Walter is going to know. Walter is going to catch us if I don’t do something to quiet myself down.
So I push now. I squirm out from under Drake and I spin around, flipping my knees up onto the seat and pressing my lips against him then leaving him with my finger pressed against it, the universal symbol to remain silent.
As I reach for his belt. As I unbuckle it. As I unzip him. As I prepare to gag myself on every last inch.