Tapas

He drew a long breath and gazed at the photo of the two of them on his desk. Their wedding day. Had he known even then how things would be? Was there something speculative in her eyes, something eager or even daring? He looked at the face, so familiar now. He had begun to lose the habit of actually looking at her, of seeing her. Until recently, of course. Now he couldn't help looking at her, gazing at her, trying to fathom her. It was like being with someone new, he thought wryly, having your wife take a lover.

His cock was straining to burst forth again but he ignored it. She hadn't come in the balcony, she'd finally told him, although she maybe had while rubbing against the man on the dance floor. She couldn't remember for sure, it was a blur.

They hadn't exchanged numbers or even names. The man had slumped back, spent, and she had slipped away to the ladies room to wash up. She didn't think she was the first woman to wash a stranger's come off her hands in that restroom. She'd arranged herself in the mirror, then gone home to her husband. He knew the rest.

There was a buzz from his cell phone and a simultaneous chirp from his computer. An incoming text. From her.

He opened the message app on his computer.

Hey, she had written, then added a smiley face with a kiss.

He grinned and clicked open the emoji palette, sent her back a heart.

So tired, she wrote.

Yeah, he agreed. Me too. Early to bed tonight.

Mmm. Could be fun.

He chuckled, then searched his emojis and sent her an eggplant. She replied with a peach and then a face with a surprised expression.

what about dinner? she wrote.

we could go to Sangria.

Mmm, tapas. yes. perfect. I have spin tonight, meet you there after?

Sure, eight?

Perfect. gtg. Then another kiss.

He sat there staring at the screen for a time then picked up the wedding photo. It all felt so normal, the mildly risky messages, the plan for a dinner date. A man and his wife eating tapas and drinking sangria, then going home to make love and fall asleep in each other's arms.

The door behind him slid open. It was Nate, his new officemate. Quickly he put the photo down on his desk and slid it backward, but Nate had noticed. One eyebrow went up.

"Hey," Nate said. He put his laptop down on his desk then came over and, uninvited, picked up the wedding photo. "Nice," he said. "How long you been married?"

"Eight years." Not for the first time he wished that Nate would just stay on his side of the office.

"Nice," Nate said again. "Who would have guessed you would have such a hot-looking wife?" He cackled to show he was joking and set the photo down on the desk. His eyes slid across the screen, taking in the eggplant and peach, then he winked and sat down at his own desk. The laptop opened and the keyboard clicked.

Shithead, he thought. He minimized the message window and looked over at the photo without picking it up. His chest felt tight. The bubble of normalcy had popped. She did look hot, he thought. But Nate didn't know the half of it.

--

She looked even hotter when she got to the tapas bar that night. He had claimed their table and ordered a carafe of sangria and a bowl of mixed olives and they had just arrived at the table when he saw her crossing the restaurant floor. He stood up and kissed her, resting a hand on her hip and feeling the familiar dizzy warmth she aroused in him. She was wearing a new dress, one he'd never seen, bright red with thin straps. It hugged her upper body and her waist, then flared out in a twirly skirt. The bareness of her neck and shoulders exerted an almost magnetic attraction on him and he lingered against her, one hand tracing up her back.

She kissed him then leaned back to look at him. "Hey," she said softly.

"Hey," he agreed.

"Do I get something to eat or are you just going to ravish me here in the middle of the restaurant?" She fluttered her eyelashes.

He released her. "You look good enough to eat," he told her.

"That's fine," she told him primly. "And I might take you up on it later. But I just had my exercise class and I'm absolutely starving. Oh, olives. Perfect. And I want octopus. And meatballs." She pulled back her chair and picked up a menu. "You want ham croquettes?" She looked at him with shining eyes and a twitch on her lips. "Look at this - eggplant with honey."

He grinned. "Sounds like just what we want," he told her.

They ordered food, much too much food, and it arrived as soon as it was ready, tiny plates of savory goodness that they shared and washed down with goblets of deep red sangria. He didn't speak much, but drank her in with the wine, her face and her hair and her body, the gold teardrops that gleamed in the lobes of her ears. He cradled her hand in his and occasionally lifted it to his lips, drawing a smile from her.

"Am I eating too much of the food?" she asked.

He leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. "Just the right amount," he told her.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up.

"You kids should get a room," the man said, grinning. It was... Nate? His officemate? But...

He darted a glance at his wife. Her mouth had fallen open in utter shock.

"Oh hey," he said. "Nate. My wife." It was lame. "My officemate."

"Oh," she said. She still looked shaken and he couldn't parse the look she flashed him. It almost looked suspicious. "Nice to meet you." She held out her hand.

"Pleasure's mine," Nate said. "I'm just hanging out at the bar waiting for a table and saw you two lovebirds over here and thought I'd say hi." Her hand was still resting in Nate's.

"Long wait?" he asked.

"No worries," Nate said. "So long as the whisky supply holds out." He gave a bark of laughter.

Still she didn't take her hand back. What was going on? He shot a glance at her and she looked back, a look of what was definitely amusement on her face. Her lips twitched.

"Why don't you join us?" she asked. Her hand moved gently in Nate's.

Whaaat? He did a double-take. She met his gaze and fluttered her eyelashes.

Nate was looking at her, his eyes taking in the glow of her bare shoulders and the swell of her breasts under the red fabric. "Oh, I couldn't do that," he said without conviction. "Interrupt your dinner out?"

It's already interrupted, he thought savagely.

"Don't be silly," she said. "We ordered way too much food." She finally disengaged her hand but only to point at the table with its burden of plates and then to pat the seat of the empty chair next to her.

Nate met her gaze. His face wore what looked like a smirk. "If you're sure," he said slowly. His tongue came out and wandered across his lips.

"Of course," she said brightly. "Tapas are meant to be shared."

Nate beamed. He shook his glass, rattling the ice cubes. "That'd be great," he said. "Let me get a refill and I'll be right back." He picked up the empty sangria carafe. "And I'll fill yours up as well."

She smiled up at Nate and he disappeared into the crowd hovering around the bar. She turned to her husband.

"Well," she said. "How did you find out? That's a really weird coincidence."

His brain was spinning. "What coincidence?"

She stared at him. "Well, that your officemate is the man... the one I met last night."

His throat tightened. "The man," he whispered. "The one you..."

"I thought you knew," she said. "I thought this was all your plan. To... continue things." She paused. "Wasn't it?"

"I didn't know," he mumbled. "He must have recognized you from the photo."

"What photo?"

"I have your photo on my desk. Our wedding picture."

Her hand came up to her throat. "And he followed you here?"

"I bet he saw our messages on my screen," he said. "Setting this up."

"But he couldn't... oh my God." She shook her head. "I thought you knew, that you wanted..." She trailed off.

He smiled ruefully. "Not me," he said.

"But what will we do?" she asked.

"Well," he said. "What do you want to do?"

Their eyes met. "I don't want to hurt you," she said softly after a moment.

But Nate's a jerk, he wanted to shout. "It's up to you," he mumbled instead.

Her hand reached across the table and squeezed his. She leaned across and kissed him. His lips throbbed and her tongue darted into his mouth. Her hand slipped under the table and gripped him. "You're hard," she whispered.

It was the old disconnect. No matter what he wanted, his cock had ideas of its own. His hips pushed forward and she smiled at him.

"I love you," she said.

And then Nate was back, drinks in his hands and a grin on his face.

--

By the time they left the restaurant, he was definitely drunk. His feet were only reluctantly obeying their instructions and there was a roar in his ears that drowned out a lot of what was happening around him.

But some things got through the fog. They had ordered more food to share but he wasn't hungry. As the food and drink disappeared, things got looser. His wife's hand rested on Nate's arm for a while, then in his hand and finally vanished under the table. At one point she had scooped a tiny meatball off Nate's plate and popped it in her mouth. Then, eyes shining with mischief, she had followed it up by dragging her finger through the tomato sauce on his plate and licking it off, slowly and deliberately, tongue lapping on lips with unmistakable eroticism.

When he had got up to visit the john and turned back to look at them, they were locked together in a kiss and Nate had a hand on her breast.

And now, outside, he was vaguely aware they were walking the wrong way. His wife had her arm in his, leading him forward, but her other arm was wrapped around Nate's waist.

"It's not far," Nate was saying. Then they were walking up strange stairs and Nate was unlocking a door.

He was the last one in, and by the time he had closed the door the other two were locked in an embrace. His wife was making little contented noises as she rubbed her body against Nate's. Her hand was inside his waistband.

Nate reached around her and started to fiddle with the zipper on her dress but she stopped him. She turned her head and met her husband's eyes.

"Can you help me out?" she asked softly. "Unzipping?"

He nodded mutely and edged forward. His hands explored her shoulders and he kissed the back of her neck. The drunkenness seemed to have left him. Nate's hands were gripping her ass. The zipper slid down slowly. She was breathing hard now, pressing her body forward against Nate's, The zipper reached the base of her spine and stopped. He tipped the straps off her shoulders and the dress fell, trapped between her and Nate. He frowned and pushed down on the material, kneeling to pull it away from between them. She lifted her feet so he could pull it away, then he got up and laid it down on the sofa. She moved her face away from Nate's and blew him a kiss.

"Now my bra," she whispered.

He stood up and moved back behind her. His fingers were awkward and it took a minute to unhook the red bra but soon it too was hanging from her shoulders. He freed it gently, down one arm and then the other, and put it with the dress. When he turned back she was crouched in front of Nate, unbuckling his belt. His shirt was already unbuttoned. When had that happened? But no time to wonder, in a minute the pants were open and sliding down. She lowered her mouth to the cock and Nate held onto her shoulders, rocking. A moan escaped his mouth. She kissed and sucked him, all the while pushing down on his pants. When he stepped out of them she stood up and leaned forward into his arms. Nate was naked, she was wearing only a pair of red panties. She turned her head and caught her husband's eye. He knew what to do. He moved forward.

But instead of just pulling off her panties he thrust himself forward, pressing against her back. His cock was pushing against his pants, driving between her ass cheeks. His hands roamed down her sides, then around to her front. Nate's cock was wedged against her belly. He pushed past it, trying to ignore its heft and heat and thrust his hand into her panties. His finger slid between the lips of her cunt, feeling how wet and open she was, then found her clit.

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, feeling the heat rising from her body. His free hand touched her shoulders, her back, her breast, her hip. Soft, smooth, tender flesh. Small sounds escaped from her as he stroked her. He felt as close to her as he ever had. Vaguely he was aware of her hands on Nate's cock, of her lips and tongue busy against Nate's mouth.

"Jesus," she moaned. She shuddered and collapsed against Nate, her arms flung around his neck to support her weight. Once more she convulsed, then she reached into her panties and pulled his hand away. "God," she said. She turned her head and looked into his eyes. "So good," she said. "But I need... more."

"Yes," he said. More.

"Could you... there are some condoms in my purse." Her gaze was serious. How far would he go? she was asking him. His heart beating furiously, he found her purse on the sofa and the strip of three condoms. He started to detach one but she stopped him.

"Just bring them over," she said. "We'll need them."

God, he thought.

"Do you want to put one on Nate?" she asked.

"No," he said immediately.

"That's okay," she told him. She took the condoms from him and knelt again. Again Nate's cock entered her mouth and again she swirled and pressed with her tongue and lips. Nate grunted and held onto her shoulders, his hips rocking.

"Now," Nate growled.

She took her mouth off his cock with a small pop, then tore open a condom wrapper and deftly unrolled it down the length of his shaft. Then she stood up. She draped her arms around Nate's neck again and pressed herself against him. The sheathed cock looked ghostly against the glow of her belly. She turned her head to look at him, her husband.

"I'm almost ready," she told him. "But not quite. Can you help me one last time?"

He took a step forward and knelt. His hands shaking, he drew her panties over her ass and down the smooth skin of her legs. She stepped out of the panties and leaned forward, her mouth seeking Nate's. One of Nate's hands traced down her belly and cupped her mound, fingers probing and caressing. She gasped.

He swallowed. It was time to go. He didn't want to see any more, didn't want to be brought into it any more. The door clicked shut behind him.

--

He started walking home, not trusting himself to drive and not wanting to deal with a chatty driver. It was a fine evening and a burble of voices drifted on the breeze from the entertainment district a block or two over.

He took a deep breath and for an instant imagined that he smelled her again on the night air, the floral sweetness of her shampoo and the briny tang of her sex. He thought about how it had felt, having her shudder in his arms while his fingers caressed her cunt but while she herself was lost to him, holding another man's cock. He shivered. His cock was still, or again, hard. It had felt awful, he decided, shameful and degrading. But also thrilling beyond anything else they had done together. He reached into his pocket and touched his rod. What now?

Well, first things first. Go home and jack off. He wasn't even going to pretend to save it up for her. He needed this. And who knew when she'd be home?

And what was he going to do about Nate? Keep sharing an office with the guy who had fucked (was fucking? would continue to fuck?) his wife? How would that feel? Not good, he decided. There would be a smirk every time Nate saw the wedding photo or when a text from her showed up on his screen.

They were probably fucking by now. No, he decided, they were certainly fucking by now. He touched himself again through his pocket and again thought about how it had felt, her body shaking with pleasure in his arms with her hand on another man's cock. She had that other cock inside her now. Her legs were splayed apart to admit him from above, or else holding her up against a wall as he ploughed into her from behind and fondled her with his hands. Who knew? One thing he knew is that she lived for variety.

There was a young couple dawdling ahead of him and he had to slow down. They took up the whole width of the sidewalk, obviously lost in their private world. The girl's arm was around the man's waist, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. She leaned her head towards the man, resting it on his shoulder. They slowed down even further and then stopped to share a kiss.

Jesus, he thought. He sped up, swerved onto the grass and passed them but they didn't notice him.

He had to stop at the corner to wait for the light. He heard a shriek behind him and looked back. The girl was leaning against a wall, the man burrowing into her neck with his face, his arms around her waist. She laughed then he lifted his face and they kissed again.

He averted his gaze, glancing instead at the houses and apartment buildings that lined the street. So many locked doors, so many darkened windows. People behind them, no doubt, doing the things that people do in the dark.

Then the light changed and he crossed the street, walking fast. He was suddenly impatient to be home, even if it was only to be alone with his thoughts of her. She'd come home at some point and he wanted to be there when she did.