The Businessman's Tie (The Power to Please, Book 1) by Deena Ward Read Free Book Online Page B

proceeded to have sex with me. He rolled me onto my
back, pushed up my nightgown, shoved the crotch of my panties to one side, spat
in his palm, rubbed the spit on his penis, then climbed between my legs and
shoved himself inside me.
    His closed his eyes while he fucked me. It was over in a few
minutes. He came, rolled off of me, then stood up and left the room. He never
said a word to me, nor I to him.
    I lay in the bed, immobile, legs sprawled open, his semen
slowly seeping out of me onto my bunched-up panties. When the goo cooled and
became clammy, I got up and took a shower.
    I didn’t think about anything while I cleaned myself and
changed the sheets. What was there to think about? I knew why he did it. It was
because I dared to suggest, again, that he might look for a job. My bad. Guess
I had it coming. I was a bitch. A fellow deserved a little something to make
him feel better after his wife insulted his manhood, didn’t he?
    I didn’t actually believe any of that bullshit. That was his
side of things, and I knew it well. Over the next week, I asked myself, “If you
know you didn’t do anything wrong, then why did you let him do that to you?”
    I was standing in the stairwell of our apartment building,
heading home from work, when the answer finally came to me — it was easier to
bear my husband’s vile behavior than it was to try to change it, effort which
would only result in pointless argument.
    Could it be that simple? Yes. I didn’t care about him
anymore. I felt nothing, not when he talked to me and certainly not when he
touched me. The night he “chastised” me, the only thing I felt was that damned,
cold semen.
    I stood in the stairwell thinking it through, wondering how
many years I’d been numb, when Doug came jogging down the stairs. He ran the
way young men do, young men with more energy than sense. He smiled at me and
said hello in the flirtatious way he always spoke to me. I never encouraged him
... not until that day.
    I thought, Doug can make me feel something. So I encouraged
him, and instead of going home to my husband, I went upstairs with Doug.
    He was my indulgence. Even more delightful than his
adoration was the knowledge that our time together belonged to me, that my
husband couldn’t take it from me.
    I liked Doug to fuck me in positions where I could see a
door, any door. Doggy style was a favorite. Me, on the floor on my hands and
knees, with Doug pumping away at me from behind, his hands roaming over my ass
and back.
    His apartment smelled of unwashed clothes, dirty dishes and
half-eaten delivery pizzas. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care that the furniture
was a collection of stained cast-offs and that Doug undoubtedly never vacuumed
the shabby carpet that rubbed faint burns on my knees and reddened my palms.
    None of it mattered because Doug, himself, smelled of soap
and herbal shampoo, layered with the delicious scent of honest desire. On my
hands and knees, I would crane my neck to see him behind me, all clean and new,
his skin shining with health and a thin sheen of sweat, a testament to
passionate vigor.
    But mostly, I kept my sight trained on the door in front of
me. I imagined my husband kicking the door open and barging inside, seeing me
and my lover in our adulterous glory. I pictured my wastrel of a mate gawping
at me in surprise. He never suspected something like this from me. Never.
    And I would shoo him away, saying, “Go home. There’s nothing
for you here.”
    And he’d know it was true, so he’d turn around and slump out
the door, still surprised and confused but understanding there was nothing to
be gained from outrage, or even further discussion.
    Sometimes I varied the scenes, played out different
scenarios, but the gist of my reaction to his discovery was always the same. An
offhand “Fuck you.”
    I never felt guilty about my affair with Doug. I never
would.
    Now, here I was, years later, sitting in a sex club. A man
who looked liked a continental