Chapter 4
Frankie
Water streamed over my body as I stroked my throbbing cock.
God, the way I wanted her.
The temptation to touch her, get way too close had been almost irresistible today.
I knew this working together thing had been a bad idea.
My conscience prickled me.
You lied to Jillian. It had never been casual with Christabelle.
But what good would it do to tell her the truth? I argued with myself. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt my sweet wife.
And then I’d even suggested seeing Christabelle after work!
Visions of her bending over in front of me filled my mind.
I knew exactly what she was doing--trying to tempt me into breaking my wedding vows.
Precum was beading my dick, dripping down my legs.
The way she looked at me with those big fuck-me eyes, the way she could barely hide her naked lust for me. God, this was so stupid, I had to tell her to be more discreet.
It wouldn’t do for anyone else to notice.
But Christabelle—who’d run away when I had suggested marriage 10.5 years ago—hadn’t forgotten me at all. Had been lusting and pining all those years.
The tip of my cock twitched and I exploded, bracing my hand on the shower wall so I could pump every drop of cum from my dick.
When I was done I felt sick. The knowledge that I’d agreed to meet Christabelle weighed uneasily on my conscience.
It wasn’t like Jillian had forbidden it. She’d agreed to go!
There wasn’t anything wrong with catching up with an old school friend.
But there definitely was something wrong with my thoughts. . .
It wasn’t that I didn’t love my wife. I loved Jillian more than anything.
So why did my heart start to pound a little faster at the sight of Christabelle?
The way she bent down, with her sweet round ass up in the air, the way she bit her lip when she looked at me.
I wanted her. I thought I had put that tumultuous relationship behind me, but suddenly I was like an addict, wanting just a tiny hit of my ex-girlfriend.
She’s toxic, I reminded myself.
We hadn’t been right for each other at all, and Christabelle had been insanely jealous of everyone I even talked to, high-strung and temperamental, with our one Christmas together ending in her throwing a massive fit because I hadn’t bought her the kind of expensive jewelry she expected from me.
But even still. . .my god, that thrill of just ripping her clothes off after a big fight was so addictive.
I darted my eyes around the living room after I got dressed, feeling a prickle of sweat begin to break out under my collar.
Was it just my imagination or was Athena glaring at me? But Athena always glared at me, because my wife’s parrot absolutely hated me. So surely that was nothing new.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I was a grown man thinking a parrot knew the secret depravity in my heart.
But the way Athena paused preening her feathers and looked me over contemptuously. . .like she could read my mind, still made me nervous.
“I’m looking forward to talking later,” Christabelle had said. “We were so young, Frankie. Young and foolish. We’re older now.”
When I made no response, she put her manicured hand on my arm, then dragged her fingers down my bare skin, her eyes dewy and big, long lashes sweeping beautifully across her cheeks.
“Later, then.”
I glanced over at Jillian as she was putting on her shoes, but she didn’t seem bothered.
Guilt laid low in my gut.
I shouldn’t go tonight. . .
Being around Christabelle was too tempting.
There was too much of a risk that something could. . . get out of hand. Go further than I wanted.
But if I didn’t go I would always wonder.
What could have been.
I was a very happily married man.
But there had always been. . .in the back of my mind. . . that wonder.
What would have happened if I’d kept trying after our last fight? Would we have gotten back together?
Our love was passionate, epic, glorious. We made love just as hard as we fought, but after that last fight, Christabelle had left.
I had been so pissed she rejected my marriage proposal that I didn’t go after her.
And by the time I got over myself, and reached out again, it was too late.
My wild and rebellious Christabelle had left school and changed her number.
It had been for the best, I reminded myself.
Christabelle and I would never have worked long-term.
We were like oil and water. But sometimes.
. .you just wanted to mix oil and water and see what happened next.
And that’s what life had been like with her.
Glorious mad explosions mixed with furious lovemaking and then we started the cycle all over again.
I was determined to put that toxic cycle behind me when I met Jillian.
After all, I had ambitions in life.
Jillian was in all ways the opposite of Christabelle. Quiet, calm. She actually thought before she spoke. She dressed to avoid attention, her soft brown hair usually in a neat and tidy braid, her gray eyes gentle.
Instead of Christabelle’s frenetic energy, her nails that dug into my skin, Jilly was soft, relaxed, a homey warmth to her that soothed me. Coming home to her was like a warm cup of cocoa.
So why did I want to slug a shot of fireball whiskey right now?
Because even though I was very happy, there was always that thought in the back of my head.
Sometimes on those long, dull inventory days. When we had to do taxes. On a gray March day when the world was small and Mrs. Greenberg said her peppermint schnapps latte wasn’t up to snuff. . .
I wondered what life would be like with Christabelle instead.