Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eva Wallace throws open the double doors of her house, wearing a black dress, her dark hair piled on her head. “It’s the Richies! I’m so glad you could both come!” My boss’s wife yells over an upbeat song that was popular several years ago. She’s your typical middle-aged white socialite in diamond earrings and a professionally brightened smile, but she is also genuinely kind.
I watch as she and Lydia exchange air kisses, which is great because I need a second. A moment ago, I was ready to hightail it home without stepping foot inside this party. Something had seemed to shift between Lydia and me, and I just needed to get her in the car, back home, and naked in our bed. Until she ended it before I could blink.
Eva turns from my wife and folds me in a too-affectionate embrace. I keep my arms at my sides, but over her shoulder, I notice Lydia watching my discomfort, hiding a smile. She goes through these motions with zero effort, but she knows I fucking hate this stuff.
“Lydia, I love your dress. You two are the cutest couple,” Eva says over the music and chatter. “The catering staff have everything—champagne, hors d’oeuvres. Come on in and make yourselves at home!”
“Thanks, it’s so great to be here.” Lydia smiles, handing over the wrapped gift. I forgot to ask what it was, but the charmed look on Eva’s face makes me sincerely grateful she made the effort.
Eva waves to someone coming up the walk behind us and Lydia takes my hand, pulling me through the front door. We make our way into the great room, my wife greeting my coworkers and their significant others like she’s actually excited to see them again. Maybe she is. That, or she deserves an Oscar for her effort. She remembers names I struggle with, asks them about kids, vacations, and illnesses that weren’t even on my radar, and every one of them lights up when they see her. We’ve been struggling so much with each other at home, I’d nearly forgotten how fantastic she is with other people. I manage some minimum discourse, but everyone’s so happy to talk to Lydia, I mostly stand back and let them.
“You’re the one who owns the doggie daycare, aren’t you?” A woman from HR says, draining her champagne flute. Dog owners especially love talking to my wife. “I wish your place was closer. I need a more convenient daycare on my way to and from work.”
“Actually, we’re opening a new location pretty close to the Vesper office,” Lydia says.
“Are you really?” The woman’s eyebrows pop up. “When?”
Lydia bites her lip. I expect her to start gushing about the upcoming launch. Instead, she looks uncertain. “Still waiting on a firm date from my contractor, but we’re hoping to have our grand opening by the end of June or maybe July.”
July? I try to catch her eye, but she looks away. Last I heard, the new branch was supposed to be underway by spring. There was some kind of end in sight. July is months away.
“Another business? Will that make three now?” Carl Wallace joins the conversation, greeting Lydia with a friendly hug. I straighten, smoothing my hair into place. My boss is a big Black man just starting to gray at the temples, with sharp eyes and a warm, booming voice. My wife beams and leans into the hug. And that’s when I remember he and Eva have their wheaten terrier groomed at Ooh La Pooch. No wonder Lydia was so willing to come tonight. “Your wife’s productivity puts us all to shame, Anton.”
I shrug, putting on a practiced smile. “She either has to keep growing the business or turn people away. I’m just going to watch her take over the world.”
Lydia meets my eyes as everyone chuckles. She’s heard me say some rendition of this line before. It’s my go-to endorsement of her as a business owner, but some layer of bitterness might have slipped into my tone.
“I’d love to know more about this dog stuff. It sounds so fun,” a woman says, coming up behind Carl. I swallow when I see it’s Myra Alvarez, owner of the accounts I’m hoping to be put in charge of.
“Lydia, this is my friend Myra, one of our clients and a very good friend.” Carl smiles broadly. “Myra, this is Lydia Richie, Anton’s wife, the multi-entrepreneur.”
“I didn’t realize Anton was married.” Myra glances at me and winks, turning back to Lydia. “Your husband is such a charmer. And so knowledgeable. Now, tell me about your favorite dog breeds. I’m considering getting a new pooch.”
I stand by, watching Lydia hit it off with my potential client while I try to think of something to say that isn’t about finance. They discuss dog temperament, security versus companionship, and are just getting into a back-and-forth about breed size when Eva comes over, spurring a lively discussion about whether hypoallergenic dogs are a real thing. I listen for a while, grateful for the way Lydia shines in the spotlight, but when it becomes clear no one is in a hurry to discuss accounts, I excuse myself to find a drink.
Caterers are wandering around with trays of champagne, but my head is starting to throb so I roam toward the back of the house, looking for a plain bottle of water. Eventually, I stumble upon Carl and Eva’s enormous kitchen. It’s the kind that looks like it was designed for a professional chef, but judging by the way everything sparkles like it’s brand new, I suspect they mostly order takeout.
The only drinks in the fridge are sodas and champagne, so I reach for the pantry door, confident I’ve seen Eva carrying around Vitamin Water or something like it before. But when I pull it open, I’m startled to find a couple inside—a woman with light brown skin in a short yellow dress and a white guy with his hand snaked under the hem, gripping her ass. They’re locked at the lips, and he issues a low groan as her hand twists in his hair.
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Sorry, excuse me.”
I go to close the door, my face heating a little even as my eyes linger where they’re joined. Until the guy notices me and says my name in a familiar faint British accent. “Anton?”
I hesitate, glancing back into the space full of cereal and canned goods. My friend Henry Hill untangles himself from the woman I now recognize as Annabelle Wallace, Carl and Eva’s daughter, who is interning with her dad this year. She’s super cute, but super young , barely out of college. I’ve known Henry long enough that it doesn’t surprise me to see him with her, though. He’s a lot like my brother.
“Henry.” I nod to them like we’ve run into each other on the street, not tucked away next to a sack of potatoes. “Annabelle.”
“Hey, Anton,” she says with a giggle, her fingers drifting inside Henry’s suit jacket.
“I . . . didn’t realize you two knew each other,” I say.
“We were matched up for singles this morning on the tennis court.” Henry grins at Annabelle, who looks like she wants to nibble his ear. “Two sets in, she’d crushed me, and I found myself invited to a party.”
I stifle a laugh as he smooths his clothes and leads Annabelle out of the pantry. Henry likes to network, and often has fun with it. He isn’t directly in finance, but hooking up with Annabelle Wallace is probably more strategic than he makes it sound. Still, it’s hard not to notice the way their hands never seem to leave each other. Even out in the kitchen, he’s stroking the inside of her elbow while she keeps toying with his hair. Both of them seem ready to dive back into each other. I can’t remember if Lydia and I ever used to act this way.
“Where’s your wife?” Henry asks, and I freeze for a second, wondering if he can tell the state of my thoughts just by looking at my face. “I wanted to talk to her about my sister’s dog.”
This relaxes me a little, though the dog talk is unexpected. Henry comes off as a bit of a snob with his accent, designer suits, and impeccable hair. I’m pretty sure he’s too neat and meticulous to ever own a pet. But we were roommates in college, and I happen to know under the flawless surface, he’s a decent guy.
“Uh, she’s out there.” I wave in the general direction of the rest of the house.
“I thought you looked miserable.” Henry chuckles, knowing all too well social events are not my scene. “So, you’ve abandoned her to do your schmoozing for you?”
I shrug. “Don’t know what you mean. I’m the life of the party.”
He rolls his eyes. “Listen, I need her help. Or my sister does. Her puppy is ruining my life.”
“Send it to daycare,” I say, promoting the Pooches on autopilot. “Lydia’s opening up a new place close to your office.”
“Another one already?” Henry’s brows shoot up. “Your wife is on fire.”
“Yeah, she is,” I mutter, spotting a case of water bottles and ducking back into the pantry. As I wrestle one free of the plastic, I see Annabelle reach for Henry outside the door, pulling him to her lips. My hands lose coordination as he cups her breast, and she presses her leg between his.
When I finally step out with the water, she pulls away with a gasp. “Let’s get out of here,” she whispers, tugging on Henry’s arm. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to my dad on the way out. Then let’s go to your place. Nice to see you, Anton!”
Henry winks at me as she leads him into the hall, and I wave. But it’s like their passion lingers in the air, and I’m hit with a sudden, heady desire for my wife. To touch her skin, feel her curves, stoke a fire between us. That can’t be something only other couples get to have.
Clutching the water, I head back to the great room, my pulse urging me on. There’s a new hire trying to impress a girl from IT in the corner. Carl and Eva are smiling at the center of the room, arms around each other as Henry charms them and their daughter. And then I spot Lydia, looking like a perfect hourglass in that sexy blue dress. I swallow hard. Will she let me peel it off tonight? Yank down the zipper and toss it to the floor? I start toward her until someone places a hand on my arm.
“Anton,” says Myra Alvarez. “Carl and I were just talking about you. He couldn’t stop praising how innovative your account strategies have been. I’m looking forward to working together.”
Pivoting my thoughts from undressing my wife back to finance feels like trying to stop a speeding train, but I meet Myra’s deep brown eyes and manage a smile. “I—I have some thoughts already on how to improve your portfolio. Maybe we can sit down and go over them next week.”
“That sounds marvelous.” She follows my gaze to Lydia across the room with a warm smile. “I remember when I used to watch my wife just the way you’re looking at yours.”
I snap my eyes back to hers, my face heated, but she just laughs.
“It’s obvious you and Lydia have a special bond as well.”
I frown. Did Lydia say something to make her think our passion was mutual? Or does she see something I’ve been missing? The mere thought shortens my breath.
“Of course, that was before the kids, our careers, an international move, and middle age. It’s hard to keep romance alive twenty years in, but our relationship is strong. We manage.”
This makes me pause. Do Lydia and I have a bond like that? I used to think so, but we can’t even manage to take a weekend away together. It’s hard to imagine where we’ll be in twenty years.
I swallow hard. “What, ah, what would you say is your secret?”
“Excellent sex.” Myra sips her champagne, eyes twinkling. “And we never speak about work in our bed.”
I straighten, unprepared for such a frank answer, but as I think about what she said, my stomach tightens.
Together, we watch Lydia excuse herself from her conversation and disappear down a hall. Myra turns to me and pats my cheek. “You two go enjoy each other. I’ll set up an appointment about my boring money next week.”
I hesitate, but she steps away with that instruction, and somehow I’m certain of what I need to do, if totally unsure how to proceed. I catch up to Lydia outside the open door of what must be Carl Wallace’s study, judging by the heavy-looking furniture and bookshelves. She turns when she hears my footsteps, and her face lights up, sending a surge of affection through me. Suddenly, I’m confident. We both feel this. It’s always been there. What we have has to be special.
“Anton! I was just coming to find you,” she says, and her tone is so warm, I decide to make a move.
Rather than reply with words, I reach for her, pulling her into the quiet study as I press my lips to hers. She’s clearly surprised, but as I push her against the back of the closed door, she opens her lips to mine, reaching up to pull me close. I shut my eyes, allowing myself to relish the moment, breathing in her vanilla scent. My hands drift down her waist, over her hips and ass wrapped up like a present in this dress, until my fingers slip beneath the hem.
She jerks slightly when I make contact with her skin. “We can’t do that here,” she says with a nervous giggle.
“Why not?” I mutter, dipping down to lay kisses along her neckline. “There’s a lock on the door.”
“It’s your boss’s house,” she says in a playful but slightly higher voice.
“Then let’s go home.” I breathe into her neck, pressing evidence of my growing arousal against her hip. “We don’t even have to do that—let’s get a hotel right here in Castle Rock.”
She doesn’t reply right away, pulling me back to her lips, sliding her hand into my hair. I take it as a sign that she’s considering, that she can’t deny she’s as turned on as me. I slip my hand farther up inside her dress, tracing the edge of her panties.
But then she twists her hips away, and my hand is forced out from under her skirt. She places her own hands gently but firmly on my chest. “We can’t get a hotel. We have to get home to Heartthrob.”
I stand there staring at her, her sweet taste lingering like a ghost on my tongue.
She must read my expression because she quickly says, “Let’s plan something, though. A getaway where I can leave him with Tomás.”
“Like a weekend at a hot springs?” I can’t help it. My voice is sharp as a knife.
She opens her mouth, then has the humility to frown.
I exhale. “I can’t keep doing this, Lydia.”
“Doing what?” she asks, smoothing her dress, looking everywhere but at me.
I grab her hand and bring it to where my hard-on presses painfully inside my pants. “I need you.”
For a second, she stares at me, her hand lingering on my cock. And I’m so desperate this is almost enough to make me come. But then she jerks away like she touched a hot stove .
“I—I need to go.”
“Lydia—”
I reach for her, but she’s out the door so fast I barely say her name before the latch clicks.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I slump into a deep leather chair to adjust my pants. Myra was obviously wrong about us. I might be overflowing with lust for my wife, but she is clearly not interested in me.
On my boss’s desk, there’s a photo of his family, his wife and daughter smiling at his side. I stare at this and think about the photo of Lydia and me—the one I cropped her out of to use online. And then, deep in the pocket of my pants, my phone vibrates. I pull it out and glance at it, just to make sure it isn’t Seth with some update about Mom. But when I see the screen, my mouth goes dry.
You have 5 unread messages on Unmatched
I thought I’d turned off notifications. I glance at the door, listening for footsteps or voices. Then I tap the screen to open the app.
Five new messages from four ready-to-fuck women. At least one of them appears to be a bot, with some cut-and-paste note about cannabis sent twice. The others seem real, but the messages are all the sort of generic stuff you see in porn ads: I’m hot tonight. Let’s fuck at my place. Can you make me cum? I click on their pictures one by one, and they do look beautiful, but nothing really stands out and makes me want to reply.
I click back to the inbox, scrolling to the message exchange with LonelyGirl8. It’s not like we had a super in-depth conversation, but she at least felt like a real person. One willing to do things Lydia would never dream of—starting with getting into bed with me.
Just reading through the thread brings my cock back to life. I click her profile, re-reading her stats and turn-ons, then enlarge the picture to admire those big, glorious tits again. Tits I was invited to not only touch, but do all manner of things to. I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to recall why I chickened out.
Then my gaze falls to the gold ring on my left hand.
I think of what Myra said about keeping romance alive over the years. But what if it was dead to begin with? I love Lydia, and I know she cares about me, but can we go on like this? Playing the happy, successful couple at work and at parties, but never in the bedroom? What would we be to each other in a decade?
Roommates? Friends?
I guess she might be asexual—but what does that mean for our marriage if I most definitely am not?
I get up, pacing out a circuit of the room. If we go the next twenty years without any sex, I’m not sure I’ll still want to be friends. Let alone share a home. Or a bed. But what if Unmatched presents an outlet? A solution to make it tolerable? Without her having to submit herself to unwanted sex just for my sake and without me having to feel bitter or finish myself off in the shower. What if I had someone to turn to for the one thing Lydia can’t give me? Someone with a similar need. Who doesn’t want to change their whole life either, but just sort of...add to it? On the side.
When I think of the possibility, the future seems a little less bleak. Maybe without all the sexual tension, Lydia and I might even have fun like we used to. Not in bed, but other places, doing other things. We could go to Rockies games, out on dates. Maybe she’d even be willing to go camping if there was no expectation of sex with me. It seems unconventional, but maybe not really. People have had lovers outside of marriages for centuries. And I’m not looking for love— I love Lydia —I really just need sex.
I hold my breath for the entire time it takes to type my message and hit send.
MountainMan3
I’ve been dreaming of your tits. If you’re still interested, I’d love to meet.