Worth The Wait

"Oh shit," he murmured.

"What?" questioned Tom Ammerman, who was one of the three co-workers in the room. "What are you guys seeing that we're not?"

"Look at the way they kissed there, Tom," Mr. Turner explained gently. "No, it wasn't demonstrative as he didn't stick his tongue down her throat, but she's got her arms gently on his forearms, and that kiss is as familiar as the one you probably gave your wife this morning. They are way too familiar with each other not to be having some sort of fling."

"Oh shit," Tom said in little more than a whisper. "That's exactly the kind of kiss I give my wife in the morning when I leave for work."

The room got silent as all six of the men in the office suddenly got reflective.

"I'm going to need to take the rest of the day off, Mr. Turner," I finally said to shatter the quiet.

"I understand, Trick. You've got a lot of days banked. Don't do anything stupid, son."

Before I left, Mr. Turner gave me a business card of the private investigator sometimes used by the firm for background checks on potential employees.

"He's not cheap, but he's the best... and very discreet."

I was a shell of myself as I walked out of the office in a daze. I saw the looks of pity on Mr. Turner's face and that of my co-workers. In the span of a few short weeks, I went from the most happily-married man in the world, to a suspicious man, to a devastated man. How much of it had been a sham? Did she just marry me because she couldn't have him? Could there have been others before? I was literally sick to my stomach when I left the building. I was angry, hurt and confused. What did I do wrong to deserve this?

I called the company PI on my way home and set an appointment for the very next day. No time like the present when you're having your heart ripped out. I then drove home and hit my extensive liquor cabinet, pulling out my bottle of Jameson's Black Barrel. Traci came in about 6, and by that time I had about a third of a bottle of the Irish whiskey down. She came in smiling and bouncy, triumphant from their big fund-raiser kickoff, but one look at me told her something was wrong. I was sitting in my favorite La-Z-Boy, reclined back, and she came and draped herself across my body, putting her face next to mine, and gave me a soft peck on the lips — the exact same thing she had done to her fucking boss a few hours earlier. HER FUCKING BOSS! A comfortable, familiar little kiss, a kiss that until today told me that she was mine, all mine; now apparently nothing but a hollow gesture. It took all my self-restraint not to shove her off my lap and throw up.

"Want to talk about it?" she whispered to me. "Want to go upstairs and see if I can make it better?"

"Nah, I'll just sit here and drown my sorrows alone. Don't want to ruin your day," I responded. "I'm guessing by the way you came in that today was a big PR success for you guys."

"You didn't get to see it, then?" she inquired. "It was a great day for us. Here, let me get my tablet and show you the video."

"Maybe later. I've got a serious problem I need to work out."

We didn't have sex that night, nor for the next week. Traci made a token gesture of initiation on the third night, but that was about it. That's when I realized that my loving wife was holding back on me, and had been for some time. In the past, we initiated about equally, but for about the last year, if I didn't initiate, I didn't get. She kept me satisfied and unaware there was any kind of problem by always responding to my wants, but apparently she was more than happy to not have to initiate with me now that she had a lover.

Not that I had any doubts, but two weeks later the PI had more than enough evidence to prove my cheating theory was indeed fact. He had photos and videos of five different encounters, including one with Traci bent over his desk in his office... in the middle of a workday judging by the time stamp. That one appeared to come from the company's own internal security system, which means that Dickhead knew he was filming, while I'm guessing Traci didn't. I didn't ask how the investigator got that video; I knew we could never use it in court, but it was just one more dagger to my heart.

I took Traci out to a nice Italian restaurant with a lot of ambiance Saturday night. While we were eating, I told her I would be out of town from Monday to Friday for a trip to New York. I noted that since she had been spending a lot of time with Dennis O'Brien lately, maybe she could come with me to New York and we could make the trip a mini-vacation to reconnect.

Traci's head came up from her plate at that point, but she looked more panicked than surprised at my statement. She looked like she was going to say something, but then thought better of it and dropped her eyes back to her own plate.

"I can't just pick up and leave Dennis with no warning," she said. "Outside of being charming and turning on the lights in the morning, I'm not sure he'd be able to run the place without me if I didn't have everything set up for him.

"Yes, I have been spending a lot of time at the office, Trick, but I don't think I've been neglecting you, have I? Yes, I guess I've gotten closer to Dennis over the years, but you certainly don't have to worry about him. He's my boss; you're the love of my life. You're the only man I love, and I better be the only woman you love."

Considering the information I already had, I knew Traci was feeding me a line of shit, so I just gave it right back to her, putting on what I hoped was my best smile.

"Maybe we should just get a dessert to go and we can eat it in bed later tonight," I said.

She nodded. "Among other things," she stage-whispered back to me.

The line between love and lust gets blurred sometimes in life, and that night was one of them for me. I had loved this woman so completely for 24 years, and I knew that while I was nuclear pissed at her at the moment, I would always love her somewhat. I just couldn't turn that off. If this was to be our last time making love, I wanted to give her a night of pleasure she wouldn't soon forget, even when she was lying in the arms of another man.

We never did get to dessert. I was a man possessed, as well as a man on a mission. I started off rubbing body oil all over her upper torso, then rubbed and played with her boobs until she was panting hard. I then ventured my hand down her body to the promised land, and alternated between soft and hard and slow and fast. I would give her just enough time to breath after a big orgasm, and then switch rhythm and location. A dozen orgasms later, I could sense she was starting to get tired, but instead of letting up I crawled down the bed and put my face between her legs. If she wasn't screaming a blue streak before I started using my tongue, she most certainly was within a minute or two of my starting my oral assault. She even passed out once for about 30 seconds, and looked totally disoriented upon waking up with her legs draped over my shoulders and her pussy pressed against my face. I gave her more pain than I have ever inflicted before as punishment, and I also gave her more pleasure than ever before, again partially as punishment. Beat that, Dennis fucking O'Brien!

Traci was actually too sore to have sex on Sunday night, so I came a bucket down her throat as a going away present. Monday morning as I was getting ready to leave, I got my traditional peck on the lips going away kiss, and I held my temper as I headed out the door.

I went to the grocery store and the liquor store to lay in supplies for hiding out in one of the seedier motels in town while I was supposedly on my trip. I knew I wouldn't be seen by anybody who would report anything to Traci being on this end of town. And even though I had technically taken vacation time for the week, I actually got quite a bit of work done being holed up for Monday and Tuesday.

I guess with me out of town, the amorous duo didn't have to sneak in any quickies, and my PI had nothing to report. On Wednesday, however, they both left the office early and showed up within minutes of each other at a swanky, somewhat exclusive Irish pub on the north side of town. After dinner they drove over to Dennis's house in separate vehicles. At least she had the good sense not to fuck him in our marital bed.

My PI alerted me when the gymnastics began, and I knew that he was recording as well. He gave me a final call at about 2 AM, saying that it looked like she would be spending the night with Mr. Wonderful. I set my alarm for 5, and by 7, I was parked in the middle of Dennis O'Brien's driveway, as apparently he had Traci pull in to the open spot in his garage. I was halfway through my morning paper and my second donut when the garage door went up at 7:30. I suppose I could have been a complete asshole, but I tapped my horn as Traci started to back up, not anticipating anyone to be in the driveway. She jerked the car to a stop, and I saw Dennis slowly disentangling himself from the front seat of his car.

I was watching both of them from the front seat of my car. Traci's eyes about bugged out of her head when she saw me arising from my car in the driveway.

"Tell me again that it's only me you love!" I yelled to her.

Asswipe didn't look happy as he approached, but then he made the biggest mistake of his life when he told me I couldn't talk to my wife in that tone of voice. I charged at him, lowered my shoulder right before contact and then drove that shoulder upwards and kept my legs moving as I dumped him on his back with me on top with a picture-perfect tackle. I'm pretty sure I heard a rib crack right before he made a big "oomph" noise.

I kind of growled when I got off of his prone body. Traci looked at me like I'd lost my mind, then ran over to Dennis as I slowly walked back to my car.

"You might want to call 9-1-1 and not move him too much so that broken rib doesn't puncture a lung," I spat at my soon-to-be ex-wife.

I saw her mouth move, but no sound came out. Her paramour was making plenty of noise, highlighted by the occasional whimper. I got in my car and drove back to the apartment at which I was staying.

The police showed up at my apartment about an hour later, and I was handcuffed and taken to jail for assault on a dickbreath. Seems that O'Brien wasn't too happy with the pain his cracked rib was causing.

I used my one phone call not to alert my lawyer, but to call a reporter friend at the biggest newspaper in the city. He found my arrest interesting, and within two hours of my phone call I was again a free man. Huh. Who knew?

An hour after I got back to my apartment, Traci showed up at my door.

"We need to talk, Trick," she said in the biggest understatement I had heard in years.

I opened the door all the way and gestured her inside.

"Why? Just tell me why?" I whispered.

"I'm not really sure. I still love you, Trick, I really do. It's just that Dennis and I had a history and..."

"So you still love him, even after all those years with me?" I cried. "Did you ever really love me? Was I just a poor replacement for him? What about the kids?

"Just couldn't keep your legs closed, could you?"

Emotions ranging from rage to bewilderment were racing through my brain. She will never know how close I came to punching her in the face right then.

She looked at me with pity in her eyes. I knew we were done. And I knew that one cracked rib for asshole wasn't enough.

"I'll take care of the filing. Get yourself a lawyer and we can at least act like adults," I said. "Also, make sure that fuckhead doesn't cross my path. I won't be as nice next time."

Our week-long presentation in New York was a huge success, and 529 Orthopedics threw a blowout gathering in the upstairs party room at our hotel on Saturday night. Any doctor worth his or her salt from any hospital in the city, a bunch of hospital administrators and the top echelon from 529 were in attendance. I was wondering what one of the city's most noted heart surgeons was doing here when she walked in.

Heads turned as Dr. Angela Talarico strode into the room dressed to kill in a low-cut black dress and 4-inch stilettos. Her light brown hair was curled at the ends that hung down a little past her shoulders. Her trademark large glasses had thinner frames than the last time I saw her. I know some heads turned because some in the crowd knew this was the Dr. Angela Talarico, but most of the heads turned because this beautiful, sexy, 50-year-old walked in and owned the room.

My chest tightened as I watched her look around, spot me and then purposefully head my way. I suppose it could have been because I hadn't dated too much since my divorce four years before, or it could have been because this was Angela. I was engaged in conversation with a small group when I spotted her walking in, and I quickly made my apologies and headed straight toward her.

I gave her a crooked smile and then we embraced. We exchanged a peck on the lips. The room got strangely silent.

"Bella (beautiful)," I whispered in Italian, knowing she would remember the language she took in high school.

She gave me a 10,000-watt smile. Suddenly, I noticed the buzzing of conversations going on all around the room.

"I hope you don't mind me crashing your ortho party, Nicholas," she said coquettishly.

"Never," I responded. "I'm so glad you stopped by."

I directed her over to the bar, where I got each of us a Tanqueray and tonic. At my request, she filled me in on the life of one of NYC's top heart surgeons. I noticed she still wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

"Tell me there's still no Mr. Talarico in the picture?" I finally asked.

She hesitated. She cleared her throat. She looked guilty.

"I don't have time for a ... Mr. Talarico ... if that's what I wanted, which I think not," she said.

"I've had a few boyfriends since my divorce, but nothing serious. You know how I am."

"Sadly, I do. You always let this overrule this," I said as I first tapped her head, then her chest above those large boobs. "When are you going to let your heart have its way?"

"I did once, remember? That didn't work out too well for me."

"Wrong guy. Shit happens. Get over it," I said.

"Like you've gotten over your wife, although I have to admit 24 years is a lot longer commitment than my six."

I glared at her in anger for a second, and wondered how she even knew about my divorce, but then I realized this was Angela. We were always perfectly honest with each other... well, almost always.

She studied my face for a long moment. I looked deep into her eyes and I was pretty sure I saw what I was looking for.

"You look beautiful, you know," I said as we sipped our drinks. "You made quite the entrance."

"I'm sure I did. Dr. Angela Talarico always makes quite the entrance. Right about now there are no less than a dozen other doctors and administrators wondering what the f... hell I'm doing here."

"I'm glad you came. Let me introduce you to someone I consider important."

With Angela on my arm, I made the rounds until I found Ralph Turner. He was one of the few people I had told about Angela.

"So this is the beautiful Dr. Angela Talarico. It truly is an honor," Mr. Turner said in his most courtly manner.

Angela actually blushed. It was not something she did often. Somehow she knew what he meant to me.

It turned into a wonderful evening. And then it turned into a wonderful night. Angela didn't hesitate when I proposed heading to my room after the party. We were both naked in minutes, but before I let her get into bed, I stood her up, stepped back and gave her a not-so-subtle appraisal. She smiled apprehensively at me, but I just stepped in and gently ran my fingertips over her skin from top to bottom, in spots closing my eyes and just letting my fingers tell me what they were feeling. When I got to her pussy, I ran my first two fingers gently down her vaginal lips, feeling her moisture and then making her shudder. I sank to my knees and ran the flat of my tongue from her opening all the way to the top of her sex. She kind of squealed and her knees buckled a bit, causing her to put her hands on my shoulders.

I then stood up, wrapped my arms around her and gave her my best kiss. She melted into me, and I gently laid her down on the bed. Surprisingly, we both had a lot more stamina than I would have expected for a pair of 50-year-olds, and including a little rest break we were at it for over two hours. She screamed, she shrieked, she made unintelligible noises while I ate her pussy like a starving man, then I climbed up and made slow passionate love to her. I eventually drifted off wrapped around her while wondering how this woman had been single all these years.

We made love early in the morning before I sent her home in a cab and headed to the airport with my 529 crew. It was a short flight home, but there was enough time for Mr. Turner to sit down next to me and ask me how I could possibly let Angela go.

"For an awfully smart guy, Trick, you are one dumbass," he said. "Marry that woman. Marry that woman soon. Marry that woman tomorrow. You know I'm right."

He looked me right in the eye, got up and went back to his seat.

I knew he was right. The question is, could I ever convince Angela?

Two weeks later, I was on the doorstep of the home owned by Pasquale "Pat" and Lorraine Talarico, Angela's parents. I had never officially been introduced to them, although I was always aware of them. I knew they were incredibly important to Angela and to the person Angela had become. They were tough taskmasters, and I knew they were the force that drove Angela to be as great as she could be.

I also remembered getting the feeling from Angela that they were not impressed with me.

That had been decades ago, and I was hoping that I could use them as allies as I attempted to win their daughter's love and commitment. Angela's heart was a prize worth winning, and at 50, I was going all in. I walked away from the challenge once, but not a second time.

I spent Friday evening and Saturday afternoon talking with Angela's parents, explaining how I felt about their daughter and why I felt I could make her happy for the rest of our lives. I put everything out there -- even my marriage and divorce from Traci. I know I surprised her parents when we started talking financials, because I made about five times as much as the esteemed Dr. Talarico.

"Just from talking a bunch of languages?" her father asked.

"Just from talking a bunch of languages to a bunch of company executives throughout the world, in a field that's only going to continue to grow," I responded assuredly, but humbly, I hoped.

Then we got down to a tougher subject: cracking the nut that was their daughter.

"If you know her well, then you know that she's intense and very committed to her patients. How will you get her to consider herself first?" asked her father.

"That'll be my problem. Just assure me you're on my side," I said.

Angela's mother jumped off the chair she was sitting on and practically smothered me in a hug. While I was trying to breathe, Pat grabbed my hand and wished me a "buona fortuna." I assumed that meant I had their blessing.

I made a date with Angela for two weeks out, and I scheduled a long weekend off with Ralph.

I told her to dress up to the nines, and I showed up at Angela's house on that Friday night carrying a wrist corsage. I then escorted her down to the limousine I had rented, and we traveled out to East Meadow in Long Island to Borelli's, my favorite Italian restaurant. Borelli's was still old-fashioned enough that I could request a waiter who spoke Italian, and he was to only speak Italian at our table the entire night. Being Italian and having taken the language in school, Angela could speak and understand some of what was being said, but the waiter and I were moving too fast for her to keep up well, so I wound up ordering for her and in general being the go-between. We even laid it on real thick when the manager came out and greeted me in Italian like I was his long-lost brother.