Foolishly Falling for You

28

Anita

I open my eyes in his bed. No...I'm on him. His arms are warm and tight around me. How mortifying for him to see me that way. I shift. His eyes are closed, his thick lashes resting against his cheek his lips parted. It's dark out. How long have I even been here? It doesn't matter. I need to go. But I'm stuck looking at his face. He's so beautiful. He has the body of a knight but his face is gorgeous. My hand reached up, brushing his cheeks, my fingertips pressing against his plump lower lip. I could kiss him. He wouldn't know and it would the last time. A kiss goodbye.

I lean up, careful not wake up, my lips an inch away from his, but I can't bring myself to press our lips together. Maybe I'm scared he'll wake up. Maybe I'm scared he'll stir something inside me that I've killed and buried.

And yet...I can't resist the temptation. I connect our lips, just barely, just a touch. His lashes flutter, his eyes, fields of green reveal themselves. His hand wraps around my wrist, his eyes flicking between mine.

"I..." I swallow not knowing what to say. His lips turn up into a little smile. So pretty. He closed the gap, his soft lips against mine, gently coaxing them open. I bury my nails into my hand trying to force myself to pull away. He pulls me closer by my wrist, kissing me even deeper, his tongue sweeping my mouth. It's dark, as it always is when we're this close but I feel seen. I'm not sure if I like it.

He's seen my in most vulnerable moments. And yet, his lips seek out more of me. As if it weren't enough. As if there is more of me he wants to see, wants to explore. I punish myself for thinking this way. For arching against him, and the bulge pressing against my belly.

His hands drift down my neck, our bodies forming a rhythm they never had before. I try to tell myself I don't feel anything. The desire buzzing between us.

"Say my name," he whispers, breaking the electric silence.

Our lips clash together desperately.

"Let me know you know who's with you," He demands harshly against my lips, his hand tangled in my curls, pulling my hair back, gently, his lips fastening to my neck, messy and desperate so unlike him.

Like he wants me. But I can't be fooled not anymore. Still, I can enjoy it, just this once can't I? It'll help me get over it, get over him. For good. I don't want to be swayed anymore.

"Anita. My name?"

"Lance," I whisper. He lifts my chins and smiles softly, licking my bottom lips.

"You're so beautiful. You taste so good. I'm so honored your mine. You're my greatest treasure." He whispers.

I clench my thighs, soft pants leaving my lips despite myself, my cunt wet and dripping. My husband's hard member presses against my pussy hot and needy. I've read naughty books, but the description of ache in my body is no match for the feeling of it. It's an emptinesses, something only he can fill and I want it—god I want it. It feels like him slotting himself inside me and plundering my insides will fix all the words problems for a moment. I know it's not true. In fact, I'm sure it'll make everything worse, but that fact is a just a slight buzzing in the very background of my mind.

I need him to take me, ravage me.

Lance seems to have the same need. He juts against me, straining against his underwear, his hands beginning to wander pushing up my nightgown. The ache just buries itself deeper.

"I want you, Anita. Let me have you please. I need you, baby."

Baby. He's never called me baby. Anita. Wife. Anita Mendoza. Anita Callisto. Never anything with a hint of endearment. His hands squeeze my hips. He deftly frees himself, the head of his dick catching on my entrance, making me clench down. I gasp, pushing back on his length feeling him fill me suddenly.

It feels right.

He groaned at our coupling, burying his teeth into the juncture of my neck. His dick pounding into me, fucking every thought from my mind, for a moment I don't worry about love, or my father or divorce, it's just me and him. My husband.

My husband holds me like he craves me like he needs me more than his next breath—like I am his next breath. His lips mash against mine with need. Something begins mounting inside of my spurring my hips faster, chasing that pleasure.

Our lips tangle as we finish together a mess, writhing under the moonlight. And then it's over. We lay together and neither of say anything but it isn't cold like before. It's warm and he holds me tight. I hide my face in his neck and lick the sweat that's accumulated. He grunts, and pushes me deeper into his chest, his broad, strong chest, where his heart beats, strong and steady.

For the first time...I feel like his wife. Like his wife. And as I go to sleep I repeat a mantra to myself.

This isn't real. He doesn't love me. I am alone. I can never call for him again.

And it lulls me to sleep, the quiet dissonance of us, of this. When I wake up, I'll walk away and pretend this never happened. That he's never touched me with tenderness that he's never kissed me with passion so that I can keep my dream.

It's all I have.