Chapter 11 #2
I push off the glass panel and float backward, looking up at the moon as I try to clear my mind, if only for a few moments.
Just a few seconds of peace is all I want.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt any sort of peace, aside from small moments here and there.
I guess that’s not entirely true. I have felt it more, recently, when a specific person is around.
Which is disorienting on its own because I know nothing about Miles.
Not really. But something inside me just likes when he’s near.
Kind of like the way magnets are attracted to each other, pulled together by some invisible force.
That’s what it feels like to me when Miles is around.
He texted me the other day, but I didn’t answer because I knew I was coming here, and it felt wrong. Not because of Franklin, but because it felt unfair to do that to Miles, even if he is none the wiser. That alone should be enough of a sign that I need to give up on this marriage.
After our hookup, the phone call, and his fire station visit, I needed space.
I already think about him too much, and yet…
I don’t want to stop; but I feel like I should—like I’m supposed to.
I’m thinking about him now. I want to answer his text.
Hell, I just want to talk to him. I think what hurts the most about it is that I know Franklin wouldn’t care a single bit, even if I did it right under his roof.
He wouldn’t care if I did it while he was in the room. Anything to stop me from bothering him.
So, why? Why do I stick around? Why do I let him do this to me?
Franklin’s out with his friends at some black-tie fundraiser event that his firefighter husband isn’t welcome at, meaning he likely has some eye candy on his arm. Probably a pretty blonde with big tits and sharp nails he’ll beg to scrape down his back in a fancy hotel room tonight.
Franklin likes pain with his pleasure, more than one might think.
I loved giving it to him, seeing him break beneath me; turning into a puddle of nothing in the bedroom, while out in public he was the strongest, most powerful man I knew.
He’s always exuded that energy out there, for everyone to see, but I got that other part of him, and it made me feel powerful, too.
And yet here I am, swimming in his pool, while he’s somewhere else, smiling at billionaires and flirting with women he pretends to like, because he’s too much of a coward to admit he likes being fucked in the ass.
I still don’t know how he’s kept people from finding out he’s married to me, since that’s public record and all.
He works hard to keep it quiet—or at least not make a big deal about it.
I’m sure people have mentioned it over the years, but he’s good at catching things and keeping them under control.
I get out of the pool, wrap the towel around my naked waist, and grab my phone from the table before heading back inside.
I throw on sweatpants and dig through the wine fridge for something good.
Nothing sticks out, so I go for the liquor cabinet instead, grabbing the bottle of Johnnie Walker to take with me to the couch.
I use the remote to turn on the fireplace and the large screen TV that’s only used when I’m here.
TV is for the mindless, Franklin says. Who has time for that?
“Me, that’s who,” I mutter to myself.
Why does he even have the TV if he hates it so much?
I pop off the cap and take a swig. It goes down harshly, but after a few, it’ll be like juice. That’s when it gets dangerous—but what’s the worst that can happen? I’m here alone.
My phone keeps pulling my attention, sitting dark on the end table in front of me. I pick it up, opening up Miles’ text. I take another swig as I read it over and over again.
Miles:
Hey, how are you?
Simple. Thoughtful. Kind. Sweet.
Everything Franklin isn’t. I can’t remember the last time he called or texted me just to see how I’m doing, knowing my job is far more stressful than his.
I shouldn’t think that way, and for so many reasons but mostly because I don’t know Miles or what his intentions are.
Yes, I have a husband and that is something that should also stop me, but it’s hard to take this marriage seriously when Franklin doesn’t.
What’s the point? What am I fighting for? Why can’t I just let go?
I don’t want to fight for the rest of my life, and I’m starting to think that if I stay with Franklin, that’s all my life will be.
Another swig, this time it goes down smoother, the warmth settling in my belly. A couple more swigs and I’m calmer. Relaxed.
Enough to type out a text to Miles—a simple you up? But I quickly delete it and put my phone down. I force my eyes to the TV, idly sipping from the liquor bottle as I try to figure out what is on that might be a good distraction.
Franklin would have a fit if he knew I was drinking straight from the bottle.
Miles would drink it with me.
Stop doing that.
“Just stop,” I whisper to myself.
One more swig gives me the courage—if you can even call it that—to pick up my phone and send that text.
Me:
You up?
It’s almost nine here, meaning it’s almost twelve am there. He has work tomorrow, so it’s likely he’s in bed. He doesn’t seem like the type to stay up late. But I get a text back right away, which sends a small thrill through me.
Miles:
Yep.
Are you?
Wait, of course you are.
You texted me
LOL
I narrow my eyes, watching the texts flood in.
Me:
Are you drunk?
Miles:
Very muvh yes.
I chuckle and take another sip as a photo comes through. I tap on it, making it full screen, and my dick thickens immediately.
“Fuck,” I mutter, leaning back against the couch to take in the photo of Miles who looks like some sexy 90s heartthrob model in a tight sheer shirt and slacks.
He’s smirking, eyes on the phone as he snaps the photo in a bathroom mirror.
It’s a single bathroom, spacious, like he’s somewhere fancy.
Plenty of places look like that in Chicago, so he could be anywhere.
I take another mouthful of alcohol before putting the bottle down and settling my hand over my dick.
Miles:
Do you like my outfit?
Me:
Fuck yes. You dress like that often?
Miles:
Just when I go to the strip club.
Me:
You’re at a strip club?????
Miles:
My friends wrk here. They bulled me intoit.
Why don’t I like the idea of him in a strip club dressed like that?
I pull the photo up again, taking in every inch of him I can see. The slight tone in his arms, the pale color of his skin, his narrow waist but slightly curvier hips.
I think of his cock behind those slacks, and the way it looked in my hand, and how it throbbed when he came.
Me:
You made my dick hard
Miles:
Really?
Fuck that’s hoooooot
I grab it, making an outline in my sweats to take a photo to send him.
Miles:
Goog god.
Don’t do this to me
Your so hot
Me:
You think so?
Miles:
Fuck yes I do.
Me:
So… I could ask you anything right now and you’d answer honestly?
Miles: