Best Served Cold · Part 2

Best Served Cold · Part 2 (2/2)
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"OK, you win! Now I know what it feels like. It hurts – it hurts more than I could have known. But please don't take this any further."

"You – did – this! Say it! I want to hear you say it, God damn it!"

Stephan sat expressionless beside her. His hand moved gently along her thigh, stroking her with the tips of his broad fingers. Little by little, he pushed the hem of the dress as high as it would go, exposing a narrow expanse of bare thigh just visible beyond the edge of the table. She spread her legs an extra inch and waited for my answer. If it would put an end to this, I'd say what she wanted. I'd say anything.

"I did this," I answered, looking solemnly into her eyes.

It seemed to satisfy her. She smiled a smile I recognized, and her features softened.

"Yes, David, you did this. And now you have to pay."

She opened her legs as wide as the seat would allow. Stephan's hand wandered into the crevice between them. She watched me as he played with her, his hand hidden between tightly clenched thighs that twitched in rhythm to his every move. Her eyes left me only after she lost all control. She inhaled sharply as a brief shiver shook her body, then froze for a instant as though every muscle was preparing for what was to come. The tension melted from her as quickly as it had arrived. She slumped back in the seat, biting her lower lip to quiet the urgent whimpers that rose from her throat. Her hips bucked frantically against Stephan's hand until her muted little cries died and she lay quietly against the back of the seat.

When she opened her eyes they were drilling into me again. Yet, her voice was softer now – the rage, pain, vengeance, all of it gone.

"Now you know, David."

I was sweating again. The room narrowed and spun like a kaleidoscope.

"Now you know just a little of what I went through for the past three weeks – day after day of imagining you with her, how you kissed her – night after night of wondering whether she was a better lover, and what it was that she did for you that I couldn't – weeks of torturing myself with images of the two of you together in bed in some cheap motel, and what you said to her while you fucked her. Did you tell her you loved her, David?"

I gripped the edge of the table to steady myself. It was a question she must have wanted to ask weeks ago, a question from the heart. She caught me off-guard, still reeling from the intimacy she lavished on the man beside her.

"Linda, so help me, I didn't. I could never do that. Never! It was just – "

"I know, David. Just sex. You say it as though it was nothing more than a handshake. 'Just sex.'"

We stared at each other in silence. It was the same familiar impasse, one we had reached weeks ago. And I had walked right into it again.

Stephan cleared his throat. He had been quiet a long time, watching us with interest as he sipped the rest of his scotch. He spoke after a quick glance at his watch.

"Linda, might I suggest we -"

"No, Stephan. Let me do this."

He sat back and waited for her to go on, looking slightly amused by her evolving self-confidence. He might have owned her for a week, but now she was in control, and was determined to do this her way.

"I'm going upstairs with Stephan. He has a room here at the hotel. I want you to wait for me. All this will be over at midnight. I'll meet you back here, and we'll go home. Do this, and we'll be even. If you're not here when I get back, I'll leave you. It's the only way, David – the only way I can stay with you."

She was no longer angry, but the look she gave me guaranteed she was deadly serious. It was a final play I never could have imagined. I wanted to protest, to beg her not to go with him. I felt the contents of my stomach rise in my throat, and words refused to come.

"David, we're going to his room now. I'll let him do whatever he wants with me – anything at all. He can have me any way he likes, as many times as he likes. I'm not your wife for the next two hours, I'm his possession – just a piece of willing flesh. It's just sex, David. Just sex."

With that, after gathering the scraps of clothing still piled in front of me, they slid out of the booth and stopped to face each other. His hands were on her hips; hers caressed the lapels of his jacket. She hadn't buttoned the front of her dress, and he was staring at her breasts through the gaping opening. She looked up at him, saw his eyes on her breasts, and smiled with pure lust and surrender. His hand stroked the small of her back as they made their way across the bar, then slid lower as they turned toward the bank of elevators and disappeared from sight.

Learning that your wife has had an affair is one thing. You can try to deal with it as a past event. Somehow it seems less real that way. You might make yourself believe her when she tells you it's over. You might even convince yourself that it will never happen again, at least with the same guy. Watching the clock while she's having sex with him is a much more bitter pill. Overwhelming jealousy and nagging helplessness batter your ego, reducing it to a pathetically bruised and bleeding carcass. What's left isn't pretty.

I don't remember how much I drank. Too much. It didn't do much for the pain, and the clock crawled even slower.

Minutes after they left, another drink appeared in front of me. I didn't look up. The last thing I needed was more quality time with Chuckie.

"I saw them leave. Is there anything I can do?"

That wasn't Chuckie's voice. She was leaning over me, hands resting on the edge of the table. Her name tag was inches from my face.

"I doubt it, uh, K. C."

Just two letters, centered on the white plastic badge. Oh, well, anyone but Chuckie.

"My real name's Casey, but everyone calls me K. C."

She wasn't going to go away, so I took another longer look. A sympathetic smile beamed at me from between platinum locks of shoulder-length hair. The black halter matched her tiny spandex shorts that plunged two inches below her navel and showed every detail between her slim legs. "Diva" was written across her firm, upturned breasts, each letter made of glittering rhinestones. Black heels, a tasteful, gold belly-ring, and a narrow black collar finished the look. Small round glasses rested halfway down her nose. She peered over the top of the gold frames at me and smiled invitingly. Lord help me.

"Is there anyone here that doesn't know?" I asked, hoping for some consolation.

"Well, she was pretty loud, and Chuck loves to gossip about the customers."

"So, where is Chuck?"

"Oh, something came up. He had to go, so I'm covering for him."

She was leaning against the table, the tops of her bare thighs resting against the edge. The skin-tight black shorts had no legs at all, and even in the dim light I could see they molded her plump labia like a second skin, parting the fleshy lips with the seam that ran between them.

"Are you sure I can't do something?"

She could do something alright. She could go upstairs with me, let me tie her to the bed and fuck her until she begged for mercy.

"Well, K. C., I really don't know what you could do at this point. The night's pretty much a disaster."

"Hmmm, are you really sure? I can be a very compliant girl, if you know what I mean."

Her eyes narrowed, and she fingered the thin collar suggestively.

"And I can be a very stupid guy. I guess everyone in the place knows what I mean."

She slid in beside me, her bare thigh pressed snugly against my own. A faint whiff of coconut and cinnamon filled the booth, carried by the heat from her trim body. It made my mouth water.

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. Her breath was hot and sweet on my face.

"So, she's really doing it with that guy upstairs?"

"Well, she's doing something with him up there, and I'd bet it isn't Parcheesi."

I finished my drink in two long, slow gulps, then watched the bottom of the empty glass, hoping it might fill itself so I didn't have to look up. After a minute of awkward silence, she went on, this time with the voice of a much younger girl.

"I cheated on my boyfriend last week – right over there."

She pointed to the busy hallway leading to the kitchen.

"It was after we closed – with one of the assistant managers. I didn't mean to do it – I mean, I didn't plan it or anything. We were just kidding around, and before I knew it, we were tearing at each others' clothes. When my boyfriend came to pick me up, he found us in the hallway, screwing against the wall. He didn't even say anything. He just looked at us, turned around, and left. He won't speak to me. I never got a second chance."

"You mean like I did?"

"Is it so bad? When it's over, you'll still be together. I mean, it's not like she's in love with the guy, right? It's just sex."

"Right. 'Just'."

Now I desperately needed another drink. I guess it showed. She scooped up my empty glass and had another in its place in two minutes.

She sat with me now and then over the next two hours when she found a few free minutes between customers. Every other drink was on the house. I lost track of how many. I know she was more irresistible with each one.

By eleven-thirty the crowd dwindled to a few regulars at the bar. She plopped in beside me again, this time collapsing against me. Her head found my shoulder, teasing my cheek with thick swirls of silky hair. She still smelled delicious.

"Mmmm – I'm exhausted. You make a wonderful pillow."

Her breathing was deep and slow. I could see the outline of her nipples through the halter. Further down, her flat belly, smooth as velvet, swelled slightly with each breath as it dipped beneath the wisp of black spandex. She was everything my ego craved – and everything that had led me to my fate tonight.

"There's still time. No one would have to know," she breathed softly against my neck.

I felt her hand settle in my lap. Her fingers traced the outline of my erection, then closed in around it, squeezing in a gentle, regular rhythm.

"Besides, you need to feel better. Linda's having her fun. Why shouldn't you have some fun too? I'll do anything you want. Anything."

I pulled away and looked at her. She eyed me with sudden surprise and confusion.

"How do you know her name?"

She froze, as though I was speaking some unknown foreign language.

"How do I -?

"Her name. I never told you my wife's name."

Just as suddenly, her confusion melted into the same sultry smile.

"Oh, that. Jeez, you scared me. I thought you were freaking out or something."

"I'm not freaking out. I want to know how you know my wife's name!"

"I told you, Chuck loves to gossip, especially about his customers. He doesn't leave out many details. From what he said, your wife would have had any guy in the place running around with a tent in his pants tonight. I mean, it was pretty obvious when he came back to the bar."

She gave my cock a few more quick squeezes, smiling lasciviously.

"C'mon. Come play with me," she teased in her best little girl voice.

Why shouldn't I? My wife was with Stephan, probably enjoying all the things she'd thrown in my face, the "things we never did" together. This wasn't just revenge. She loved it. She had said so – admitted it to my face. Images came to mind that made me cringe. Would she let him come inside her? Let him come in her mouth? What could they possibly do that we hadn't already done in the our own bed?

I lowered my head into the palms of my hands. The room was spinning again, and the nausea returned in nagging waves. I'd cheat again, to get back at her for cheating, all because I cheated in the first place. And so it would go, on and on, until it destroyed us, or worse, trapped us in a living hell of deception and revenge. I was teetering on the edge of a razor – it hurt too much to stay put, but I was too paralyzed by confusion and alcohol to make a leap in either direction.

"You don't look so good. You've had an awful lot to drink tonight."

When I raised my head to answer, I noticed she had moved away from me. Now she studied me with more concern than lust. Her outfit seemed to shrink by the minute. It took very little to imagine her naked, and even less to imagine how ravenous she would be with her lips sealed eagerly around my cock. But something was wrong – or at least not right enough.

"You're right," I groaned. "Actually, I feel like I might die any minute now. So as my last act, maybe I should do the right thing for a change. I'm sorry. You're more than any man I know could resist. Except this man, on this night. All this has to stop, and stop now. I know it might look like a huge gamble, but I still love her. It's a gamble I have to take."

She took my hand a gave it a little squeeze. There was something new in the way she looked at me. At first I thought it was sympathy, but there was something else, deeper, more meaningful. Given my decision, I'd probably never know.

"Good luck. I mean that," she told me, after a thoughtful pause.

She left without another word, looking every bit as good going as she did coming.

Eleven-forty. I went to find the men's room. I needed a walk to clear my head, and some cold water on my face might be just what the doctor ordered. As I circled the bar, Linda appeared under the archway leading to the lobby. She waved sheepishly as I approached, then kissed me lightly on the cheek. Whatever she had done upstairs, there was no longer any visible evidence. Every hair was in place, her makeup was flawless, and I could see the faint outline of her bra under the dress.

Neither one of us knew quite what to say. She smiled at me warmly, a smile that told me we might survive this after all.

"Can we go now?" I begged, more eager than ever to leave all this behind.

She nodded, still smiling up at me.

"Oh, I was on my way to the rest room – if I can find it."

"They're in the lobby, just past the elevators," she offered. "I'll wait for you here."

There was no sign of Stephan. I didn't ask.

When I returned, she had vanished. After a stroll through the spacious lobby, I went back to the lounge. She was at the bar, chatting with K. C. I watched from under the archway, my guts churning like a blender. She closed her purse and thanked her with a friendly gesture, turned to leave, then noticed me waiting by the entrance. Another smile. Another kiss when she reached me.

"She's pretty," she mentioned casually as we headed for the door.

"She?" I croaked, my knees now buckling with each labored step.

"Your waitress. You forgot to pay your tab."

"Shit! I forgot to pay her? I've never done that. Christ!"

"It's ok, David. It's ok. Let's go home."

The door closed behind us as we stepped into the crisp chill of the first winter storm. She put her arm through mine and snuggled against me. Snowflakes frosted her hair, sparkling like brilliant rhinestones on black velvet. The lights and sounds of the hotel faded as we made our way through the dusting of new snow. In time the place vanished, swallowed by the darkness and the frantic dance of white that slowly filled in our tracks, hiding all traces of the narrow trail of footprints that twisted backward into the night.

"It's over, David. The details aren't important."

"But I can't stop thinking about it. A few answers might help me make sense of it all. Then maybe I could let it go."

"You'll get over it, David. If I can, you can. It was one night."

We were lying in bed. She had buried her nose in a new paperback for the past hour. I was watching an unsettling late-night movie showing the misadventures of a well-meaning schmuck caught up in a disturbing night-long chain of events in a dream-like Soho. Twenty-four hours had passed, almost to the hour.

"I wish I was as sure as you seem to be. Watching the two of you last night – I don't know – I don't know if I can get over it."

Her expression grew more serious as she listened. She closed the book and placed it on the nightstand, then rolled on her side to face me.

"David, what if I told you none of it was real?"

She stretched her legs, then drew them up in front of her pink nightshirt. I loved her legs. They were her best feature – long, slim, and smooth, revealing firm swells of delicate muscle that rose and fell beneath satin olive skin.

"It looked real enough to me."

"Did it?"

"Come on. You mean I imagined him kissing you, fondling your breasts, masturbating you in public? All that never happened?"

"I didn't say that, did I?"

"Then exactly what part of all this wasn't real, Linda? Are you telling me you didn't fuck him?"

"I'm asking you to consider that things may not always be what they seem to be. Do you remember telling me one of your fantasies? The night you took me to dinner on our last anniversary? How we came home, both a little tipsy after the bottle of wine with dinner, and exchanged fantasies before we made love?"

"I – I guess so – Christ, it that what this is about?"

"You said you thought about me having sex with another man, a stranger, a well-endowed one, if I remember correctly."

"But that was a fantasy! I told you I'd never want to live it out – that I couldn't get around the jealousy I'd feel."

"But you're living it out in your head, David. The things you saw could easily have been suggestions, innuendoes, illusions."

"What I saw was another man's hand between you legs, playing with you till you got off. You had an orgasm, in public for Christ sake!"

"Are you sure, David? It was real to you. Does that mean it actually happened – everything – just the way you remember it?"

"So, you didn't fuck him?"

"Does it really matter? Think about us, David – what our marriage had become before last night, and where we are tonight. I was going to leave you. I loved you desperately, but my confidence that you still loved me was gone. I lost faith in you, us, even myself. I didn't intend to use your fantasy to punish you, but it did plant the seed of an idea that seemed to offer what I needed to heal. I know I hurt you. I'm sorry.

"You have to decide, David. Was what you went through last night worth saving our marriage? Did you learn how agonizing infidelity can be to someone you betray, even if it is just sex? But most importantly, can two people love each other enough to forgive shared disloyalties and move on, using the past to strengthen their future?"

I was stunned. I had thought long and hard about the motive for her actions – revenge, punishment, or perhaps I had pushed her far beyond any rational response. I failed to consider that she did it for our marriage, a risky, final attempt to save us.

I didn't have words for what I felt, so I turned to her and kissed her. It was the kind of kiss that told her my decision was an easy one. She unfolded and pressed the length of her body against me, a perfect thigh thrown over my hip, her soft belly thrust tightly against my growing erection. She stopped now and then, sometimes to nibble playfully at my ear or neck, other times just to stare hopefully at me. A kind of joy filled her eyes that I had never seen.

Then, as her lips brushed my ear again, she whispered seductively, "Now, about that little fantasy or yours. Let me tell you what a bad girl I've been."

Some questions come with easy answers. Others we struggle with for a lifetime, often fooling ourselves by conjuring a solution to the unanswerable. And sometimes, well, sometimes a question is its own best answer.

Best Served Cold · Part 2 (2/2)
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