Where is she going with this?
“I just want to spend some time with a decent human being,” she adds. “My life sucks. It would be nice to have a bright spot in it.”
She puts her hand on my knee. I purposely pick it up and lift it off.
“Okay,” she says quickly. “I won’t touch you. And you don’t have to touch me. Is it okay if we touch ourselves, though?”
That was unexpected, and the rush of adrenaline that courses through my veins is shameful. The very thought of masturbating in this truck while someone watches and masturbates at the same time is a turn-on like I’ve never felt before. And I wouldn’t be touching her. So that means I’m not cheating on Corinne.
She digs through her purse and pulls out a condom. “Put this on.”
“Um,” I start to say, but she holds up her hand.
“Trust me, we’re not having sex, and I’m not going to touch you.”
Curiosity is getting the best of me, and I seriously consider it.
“Just do it, Jude. I promise. I’m not going to touch you. But if you touch yourself while I watch, that’s not wrong, is it?”
I’m quiet as I turn the condom over and over in my hand.
“Right?” she pushes.
I’m silent.
“Look,” she says, and her voice is very small, very quiet. “I want you, Jude. I do. But I respect your marriage vows, so I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But I’m here. Your wife isn’t. Please. Let’s just... It’s not wrong.”
She isn’t wrong. She’s here and Corinne isn’t, nor does Corinne seem to want to be.
“I’m here, Jude,” she murmurs. “I’m here because I want to be here with you. Touching yourself isn’t wrong. I want to watch you. I want to pretend that your hands are on me. Can we please do that? Please?”
“Uh. Maybe.” I’m wavering. The moonlight glints on the red lace of her bra, and the swell of her breasts is creamy soft. I want to touch it, but I don’t. No touching.
“Please?” She reaches over and lifts my hand, placing it on my dick. “Touch yourself for me. If you won’t let me touch you, at least let me pretend.”
I can’t help it. My testosterone kicks in, and I’m doing this.
“Now what?” I ask when I’m big and stiff. She smiles.
“Put the condom on.”
I do.
“Keep playing with yourself, and watch me while I watch you. It’s basically porn, Jude. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
She strips off her shirt and pants and slides her hand through the side of her underwear. I play with myself and she watches, her eyes hungry. I stroke myself and she watches, her tongue sliding along her lips. I get harder and harder, and she breathes heavier and heavier. Her eyes are heavy-lidded as we fog up the windows.
“Jude, I want to watch you cum,” she whispers, and her voice is husky with want. She arches her back and closes her eyes. “Jesus, that’s good.” She moans as she orgasms, and she says my name as she cums, and it’s my undoing.
I spurt into the condom. I’m silent, and I’m still.
What the fuck did I just do?
After a minute, I slide the condom off.
“Don’t tie it,” Zoe says quickly, taking it from my hand.
“What?” I’m confused.
She holds the full condom, eyeing it.
“It’s still warm,” she observes.
And then she drinks it.
She fucking drinks my cum.
She licks her lips when it’s gone and then throws the empty condom out the window.
“See? I told you we didn’t have to touch each other. So we haven’t done anything wrong.”
She smiles victoriously. “I’ll see you soon.” Without another word, she gets out and closes the door behind her.
At a stoplight on my way home, I check my texts. There are a couple from Corinne, wondering where I am, and two missed phone calls. I feel instantly guilty. I’m very seldom out of reach when it comes to Corinne.
And then a text from Zoe comes in.
You are delicious.
Call me in the morning?
I don’t know what to say. All I can think of is Zoe playing with herself in my truck and then drinking my cum. I hate myself for it.
I don’t answer for another two stoplights.
But on the third, even though I hate myself for it, I do.
Ok.
21
Seven days, ten hours until Halloween
Corinne
My house is dark when I get home, and Jude’s car isn’t in the garage.
What the hell? He’s never out this late.
The first thing I think of, the first thing I always think of, is the worst. What if he’s lying in a ditch somewhere? What if there was an accident? That’s the product of being an ER doctor. I see terrible things all the time. But those things are rare. Those are the exceptions.
The likelihood of something being wrong...it’s slim. I mentally calm myself. Surely nothing is wrong with Jude. He’s fine.
I text him, and there’s still no answer.
I let Artie out, then pet her when she comes back in.
“Where’s Daddy, girl?”
She stares at me blankly, her white muzzle nudging me. I pet her again.
“I’m going to lie down while I wait. I have the plague.”
She stares at me before she lies down by the back door, and I collapse into my bed. Every cell in my body feels sick and the room spins. My forehead is so sweaty, my hands are so clammy. I’m in bed for only a few minutes before I have to lunge to the bathroom and retch my guts up.
“Fuck.” I wipe my mouth and lie on the cool tiles, my cheek pressed to the stone.
The walls spin, and it feels like the worst hangover in the world, and I fall asleep on the bathroom floor. I only know that because the next thing I know, Jude is waking me up.
I know it’s the middle of the night because the bathroom door is open and there’s no light coming in from the bedroom windows.
“Corinne?” Jude is alarmed, and I don’t blame him. It’s not every day you find your wife sprawled on the bathroom floor like a dead person.
“Ju!” I breathe, and I can feel the sick on my breath. “You’re okay.”
“Of course I’m okay,” he confirms. “I’m just running late.”
“I have the flu,” I tell him weakly as I sit up. The room spins. “You should probably sleep in the guest room tonight. I don’t want you to get it.”
“Let’s get you to bed,” he suggests, and he helps me up. His hands are cool against my skin, and I lean into him.
He flinches.
I pause, staring at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he insists. “Why?”
He seems detached. But I’m probably crazy. He just doesn’t want to catch the flu. I’m at the edge of death, after all.
He guides me to the edge of the bed.
“Sit,” he instructs. He grabs my nightgown from my dresser and strips off my scrubs. I lift my arms and stand, then obligingly slide my nightgown over my head. As I do, I catch a whiff of something...different. Almost feminine.
I stick my nose back in Jude’s shirt. I smell it again. It’s faint, but it’s there.
“What?” He looks at me, curious.
“You smell like perfume.”
Is it my imagination that he looks terrified?
But then he’s shaking his head, and he’s normal, and he’s calm. “I hugged a client earlier, Co. And also, I’m using a different deodorant.”
Oh. Relief passes through me in a wave. Of course. What the hell is wrong with me? He helps me into bed, and nothing is wrong.
“Thank you,” I murmur as my head hits the cool pillow. Jude pulls the covers up to my chin.
“Do you need anything?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He presses his mouth to my forehead, and his lips are cool. “You don’t have a fever. You’ve probably just worn yourself out finally. I’ll get some ice water and put it on the nightstand. If you need anything else, just shout.”
I nod and close my eyes. But then open them.
“Wait!”
Jude pauses at the door. “Yeah?”
“Why were you running late? I never get home before you.”
He hesitates, and there’s something on his face again, something that niggles at me, and then it’s gone, the same look he had before.
“I had dinner with a colleague. I told you about it last week.”
I don’t remember that at all.
“You did?” I ask groggily.
He nods. “Yeah. You don’t pay attention to me much anymore, Co.”