Rage

Pay for things in cash. Don't keep receipts. Account for your whereabouts with half-truths. Give your lies an element of truth and they will be easier to maintain.

In her time as a private investigator, Simone had seen the same repertoire used time and time again, ad nauseam. Cheating husbands and cheating wives spinning webs of deceit and misdirections in an effort to, what? Feel alive again? Feel whole? Feel anything? What a joke. Her favorite part was when the cheater would say, "I never wanted to hurt you." Often enough, Simone had gotten close enough to hear the visceral hatred, contempt, and scorn these people had for the one they left at home. The worst one for her was indifference. No hatred. No love. Their spouse is just...there.

How do you reconcile that with watching someone with their partner, perhaps on a phone call spouting measures of love and desire and devotion. And the faithful ones, they believe it. Or they lie to themselves because the alternative means they're unloved...or unlovable.

Simone recalled a case where she was following the wife. She sat across the room from the woman and her lover and watched the woman pick her phone up and look at the screen. She rolled her eyes and showed the screen to the man. They laughed. It was her husband. The wife pressed a finger to her lips, instructing the man to stay quiet. The man moved his chair right next to hers. As the wife sweetly lied about what she was doing and who she was with, Simone watched the lover's hand disappear under the woman's dress. Her hand immediately moved to push his away, looking around the restaurant in case someone was watching. Someone was.

Simone fought the urge to look away. Her clients don't pay her to be modest. She was paid to be thorough.

The wife wasn't as chatty now, her "Honey, this" and "Honey, that" reduced to Mm-hmms and one word responses. Simone watched the wife's lover, the man literally invading the space between a wife and her husband, wedging himself between them, not unlike how we was currently wedging himself between her thighs. The wife closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, smiled, and Simone read the words, "I love you" on her lips before she ended the call. No guilt on her face. No remorse on his. She watched as he withdrew his hand from between her legs and brought the fingers to his mouth while the wife laughed about the "buffoon not knowing a thing." They laughed. Simone cringed.

That day, Simone ran her thumb over the base of her ring finger, feeling the cold metal band that encircled her soft tan flesh. Today that ring was gone, but her thumb reached for the same spot all the same. The sensation remained foreign to her and she wondered if she'd ever get used to it.

She resisted the urge to look down at the bare finger, the light band of skin still there a testament to how recently she wore the symbol of love, honor, and obedience. She didn't come here for self-pity. No, tonight she had a different mission, a more personal one.

"Looking for someone?"

The voice came from behind her unexpectedly. She didn't like people sneaking up on her. This guy was lucky her elbow didn't find its way into his solar plexus but he was bold. She could appreciate that. It was a different approach from the men seeking an introduction through the bartender by sending over a drink. It was also a definite improvement over those using that liquid courage to strike up a conversation with her. She turned in her seat and found herself looking in to the hollow of a strikingly muscular neck. Lifting her gaze, passing the way past 5 o'clock shadow on a chiseled jaw, her eyes connected with a pair of the lightest brown eyes she had ever seen. Set in deep olive skin and crowned with dark sable locks, Simone's train of thought jumped the track. The stranger lifted his hand in front of her, palm up and outstretched, and without hesitation Simone slipped her hand into his.

His head descended as his fingers closed around hers. She savored both the softness of his lips as well as the bristle of his stubble as he placed a kiss just between the index and middle knuckles. Savoring the warmth of his breath on her skin as he pulled away, she could not recall the last time someone kissed her hand. The slightest spot of his saliva remained, cooling in the air between them that grew more electrified by the second. She imagined the wetness between her knuckles mirroring the wetness growing between her thighs. He closed his free hand over hers and she understood one thing very clearly. Now that he had her literally in the palms of his hands, she would be hard pressed to get away.

A thought that never crossed her mind.

His name was Philip. Within 20 minutes, they shared their first kiss. She lied and told him she was a school teacher. Her hand landed on his thigh and squeezed, traveling up towards his crotch and then down again towards his knee.

Mergers and acquisitions, he mentioned, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, tracing his fingers along her neck, across her collarbone, and along the fabric of her form fitting red dress. Simone's breath caught in her throat as his roaming finger gently grazed the aching bud, pressing against the fabric of her dress, screaming for attention. Attention he apparently was only too willing to provide. An image of the same warmth and bristle she felt on her fingers given to her breasts assaulted her and a smile spread across her face.

He mentioned an apartment his company keeps being just around the corner.

She paused and weighed her next move carefully. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she reached for Philip's own aching, she assumed, bulge just to make sure she wouldn't be disappointed once they got back to his place. There would be no problems there.

They both closed their tabs and, arm in arm, walked out into the night.

His building was barely a five minute walk away. Walking in the dead of night, alongside a stranger, past dark corners and abandoned alleyways, it was every woman's worst nightmare. And it might have felt like the longest five minutes of her life had Simone not had a history in personal security to grant her some peace of mind. Not surprisingly, people generally don't take the news that their loved one is unfaithful very well. Even when they were the ones that hired her to find evidence of said infidelity. The unfaithful also tend to not take the news that they have been followed, photographed, and videotaped very gracefully. Simone has had to subdue her fair share of enraged people. Mr. Philip Lonelyhearts here didn't look like anyone she couldn't handle.

But common sense was nipping at her heels. To avoid talking herself out of a one-night stand, she encouraged Philips attention again. He could keep that nagging little voice quiet. She bumped him with her hip and looked at him playfully. Immediately his arms wound around her body and pressed her backwards towards the nearest building. Hands cushioning the impact, his weight bearing down on her, common sense took a back seat to pure unadulterated passion.

"So many opportunities to have you while we were walking, take you into any alley and have my wicked way with you," he whispered against her mouth. His lips parted and she followed his lead. The passion was strong and she savored every pass of his tongue against hers and her tongue exploring his. He broke the kiss and continued, "And trust me, the thought crossed my mind one-thousand times over." His hand slid down her back and rested them where her ass just began to rise.

Reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, she breathed against his ear. "Why didn't you?" A flick of the earlobe with her tongue sent a ripple through his body that made her almost giddy.

The hands continued down, over her taut butt, and paused while the fingers began to tug the fabric up higher and higher, exposing her skin inch by inch until the cleft of her rear was revealed.

"Two reasons," he whispered. "One, I think you're beautiful." She smiled as he paused. One hand held the fabric while the other grabbed low and hard enough to spread her cheeks open, almost to the point of discomfort. She made no effort to stop him. The longest of his fingers grazed the wetness that had been collecting below since they first kissed in the bar.

"If I had known you were this excited, we wouldn't have made it a single block." She watched as he brought those same fingers to his lips, savoring the flavor of every caress, kiss, and fantasy that had assaulted Simone's imagination since first hearing his voice behind her. "But as I was saying, you are too beautiful and deserve better than an alleyway."

Breathless she whispered, "How much farther?"

He smiled and said, "Reason number two, look up. We're just a short elevator ride away from a claw-footed bathtub and a king-sized bed."

He released her dress and pulled himself away. For Simone, it was the longest elevator ride she had ever taken.

He unlocked the door to the apartment and stepped aside, bowing in exaggerated fashion to allow her inside first. After following inside, he secured the locks and turned to greet his guest once more. She threw her body against his and he fell back against the door, lips crushed by her need for him. Supporting her weight in his arms he still made it seem effortless to get his feet below him and lift her completely off the floor, bringing her legs up and around his hips. He carried her to the living room and rested her on the back of his beautiful black couch. The fabric of his pants were strained to their limit and he prayed that she help him find freedom. Thankfully, as he worked to remove his shirt, she diligently worked to undo his belt and buttons.

Simone released the button and fastener and slowly slipped the zipper down. Gently letting the waistband of the pants go and fall around his ankles, she marveled at his size as well as his choice of undergarments...or lack thereof.

As he let the shirt fall to the ground as well, she remarked, "You're awfully brave to walk around with something like that and not even a pair of briefs?"

He chuckled and pulled her lips towards him, pressing the head of most ardent-looking member dangerously close to the dripping folds of flesh between her legs. "You're one to talk. Basically a sheer dress and a pair of heels?" He shook his head in mock remonstration even as he reached behind her neck to pull the strings holding her dress up. The fabric fell from her torso freely, but he helped it along where he could. The moment her breasts were exposed, his mouth latched to it as though the sweetest nectar flowed through it. He back arched in response and the arms around her waist pulled her closer to the edge and closer to him. They touched again, skin to skin, the pressure of his hardened flesh once again reminding her of the dangerous, bareback proximity of a union they both desired.

But in the same thought, the pressure was gone. His lips were on hers for the briefest second before traveling downwards again, pecking her chin, the hollow of her neck, moving around to her left breast. He left a trail of wet and needful kisses on almost every inch of her skin, particularly where the torso begins to rise and form her magnificent peaks. A sound that reminded Simone of a growl escaped his lips as he nibbled her hip. He looked up into her heavy lidded eyes.

"I could worship your body for days."

Between his physical prowess and his innate ability thus far to always say the right thing, Simone was lost. The moment his heated breath touched her mound she was ready to release anything that anchored her to this physical world, surrendering, floating further away with every stroke of his tongue. As such, she almost lost her balance, precariously seated the way she was and her Don Juan no longer supporting her body.

He felt it and stood up, suggesting they try something else.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, his cock once again rubbed and bumped against all the right places. A voice in Simone's mind reminded her it wouldn't be right but it grew weaker and weaker with every flick of his tongue on her body. Every nibble. Every inch where they connected skin to skin swept her further away from the responsible, accountable Simone she was all too familiar with. What's a few more inches between new friends? she joked to herself.

His voice asked her to trust him as he laid her farther and farther back, making sure not to let her move too quickly but expecting her to feel both disoriented and thrilled at this unorthodox position. Her head and shoulders now rested on the seat cushions while her hips remained positioned on the back of the couch above her. She felt ruthlessly exposed, particularly when he slid her knees into the crux of his elbows. He could finally have his wicked way with her.

But she saw his head descend and his mouth resumed precisely where it had left off. A sharp intake of breath accompanied the initial sensation of his tongue stroking a completely different set of lips. Her hands instinctively went to her breasts, eyes disappearing behind lids that closed in utter rapture and surrender.

He began with a single finger to massage her lips, followed by a second finger encouraging her juices to spread. She anticipated his fingers to press inside her but she was mistaken. Instead one finger slid to the left of her opening and the other to the right, continuing their tandem massage. It was a method she had never experienced before but it thrilled her body in a way she had only fantasized about before today. His left arm snaked around her right thigh, resting his hand on her pubis mound, thumb pointed down. While sorting manipulating her with his fingers, he proceeded to apply kisses to every inch of this juncture. He began where the inner thigh was already slick with her excitement and moved his mouth everywhere...without touching her clitoris. Simone felt engorged. "Stimulated" could no longer describe her state of being. Her clit, he lips, and every inch inside her felt swollen. It ached, literally begging to be filled. Whether by his tongue, his fingers or cock, she didn't care. She wanted it all.

He inhaled deeply. "You smell divine." Words floated past her consciousness. Somewhere in her mind she might have thought having her head below her heart for a prolonged period of time wouldn't be the best idea. She felt his thumb press into the flesh just about her slit as he gently pulled the flesh back towards her. This was when his mouth descended.

10 seconds of almost surgical precision, swirling heat and wetness around an ever hardening nub. He stopped.

"You taste like heaven."

20 seconds of reckless lapping that all but cleaned her from taint to hood. He stopped.

Still massaging with his right hand, he nudged her exposed pearl with his nose. The same two fingers slid together, meeting again at the renewed moisture gathering at her opening.

Simone could only think about how badly she needed to be filled. If she had felt empty before tonight, this man's prowess highlighted what was missing tenfold. She needed him to take the emptiness away. Fill her. She didn't want to feel empty anymore.

Any other day she might have cascaded into tears at that thought but her mind was assaulted by the sudden invasion of two rather thick fingers that began to aggressively stoked the upper wall inside her. The moans she managed to keep behind pressed lips escaped and her nails raked the upholstery. The surgeon had returned, giving her clitoris all the attention it could ever ask for.

In this position, Simone's feet could brace against nothing and his oral onslaught was relentless. He meant to break her, to leave her a mindless, quivering mess of a woman. A shell. A satiated shell, but a shattered one at that.

The familiar pressure began, a heat radiating out from the very center of her being. Her moans grew louder, interspersed with semi-conscious pleas to not stop. Please, don't stop. God, don't stop. And it came, washing over her in waves that she felt from her chest, through her spine, all the way to the tips of her toes. It washed over him as well, splashing his chin and collecting in the palm of his hand as he continues to finger her body.

Still wracked her body, every pulse of the orgasm continued to keep rational thought at bay. And she never wanted it to end. In a sweeping motion she barely registered, she was upright and seated at the edge of the couch again. A kiss wetter than any she'd had before invaded her reverie and she tasted herself for the first time in what seemed like forever. At her core, she knew this was the very essence of her body and the joy it experiences when connecting with another. She felt the fingers leave her but they were soon replaced by something new. Something thicker and filled with a need that more than matched her own. She smiles at the feeling of being filled, stretched, repeatedly and with desire she had not felt in months. Her legs wrapped around his body tightly, giving tacit approval that he should use her to the fullest degree.

The waves of orgasmic bliss that surged through her body spiked with every thrust of his lust. She heard his breath quicken and she knew he would join her there soon. His grip on her hips suddenly tightened and he buried himself inside her to the hilt. He spent himself and clinging to his form, she felt every pulse. She imagined his seed collecting inside her...

Her blood ran cold. Her breath shook with realization. What have I done...

She was startled when he kissed her neck. She continued to cling to him, not out of passion, but out of fear because the moment they separated, what had transpired thus far only in her mind would become a reality. If Schroedinger's fucking cat was stupid enough to eat the radioactive agent in the box, then she was the equivalent of that fucking cat. Until he pulled out, she could fool herself into thinking he slipped a condom on while he was eating her pussy. Until he pulled out, she could tell herself she didn't have unprotected sex with a man she'd met barely two hours ago. Until he pulled out, her honor could remain intact.

He whispered in her ear that they still had all night and placed another kiss on her forehead. He curved a finger under her chin to lift her face to his and saw a face paler than any alabaster statue he'd seen. "What's wrong?"

Her mouth opened but she didn't know whether she would cry, scream, or punch him if she tried to speak. She pushed him back and was sick at the sound of his sliding out of her. She noticed with increasing regret that the previous feeling of emptiness had returned and with a vengeance. She finally decided on the path she would take. Lowering herself from the couch, she leveled him with a glare that spoke rage. Incandescent rage.

"You didn't use a condom." The accusation was ice cold. All the passion from before, gone or channeled into her newest objective: shift blame.

She saw him visibly stiffen at her words. He had no immediate reply. Then, "Nothing had been discussed beforehand. Even when I poked you in the beginning, you didn't mention anything. And we finally started fucking, you didn't stop me so I thought you were okay with it."

She flinched at the emphasis he gave fucking and her body shook from the effort it was taking to keep herself from clawing his eyes out. You didn't... You didn't... You... You... You... Tears pricked her eyes. Not from pleasure. Not from guilt. He was blaming her. She should have stopped him. She was the only one there with any responsibility. And if there was any truth to his words, it was inaccessible to Simone.

"You asshole," she hissed. Straightening herself, she pulled the dress back up and tied it around her neck, feeling rage and shame in equal measure in every movement.