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Part 18
The Rusty Nail was a second home by now, the sticky floor and the low hum of weekend desperation a familiar comfort. Dawn, perched on her usual stool, spun the ice in her glass. She seldom found what she was looking for, the thrill of the hunt often more satisfying than the capture. But tonight was different.
His name was Alexandros. He was all sun-bleached hair and a lean, tanned frame that spoke of saltwater and Aegean winds. His gaze, when it found hers, had just one thing to say. I see you. Simple, but clear. He didn’t bother with small talk, just slid onto the stool beside her and offered a devastating smile. “You look like you are waiting for a storm,” he said, his accent warm, reminiscent of islands and the sea.
Dawn felt an electric flicker in her stomach. Yes. “Maybe I am,” she said, turning fully to him. “Maybe you’re it.”
They were kissing within minutes, right there at the bar. His hand was rough and warm on her jaw, his tongue tasting of ouzo and promise. Her fingers dug into the hard muscle of his shoulder. This one, she thought. This one is coming home.
The walk to the apartment was all tangled hands and stolen kisses against almost every building they passed. He was all confidence, his arm possessive around her shoulders, his hand slipping under her shirt to palm her breast, his thumb caressing her through the lace of her bra. She arched into his touch, a sigh escaping her lips. Ben will see this. He’ll see how he touches me.
Ben was reading on the sofa when they stumbled through the door. He looked up, his book lowering slowly. His eyes took in the scene: Dawn, flushed and disheveled, wrapped in the arms of a stunning stranger whose hand was still possessively cupping her breast.
“Ben, this is Alexandros,” Dawn said, her voice a little breathless. “Alexandros, this is my roommate, Ben.”
The word roommate hung in the air, a deliberate cruelty. Alexandros gave a curt, dismissive nod, his attention already back on Dawn. “A pleasure,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck, his fingers giving her nipple a firm pinch that made her gasp. Ben’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his knuckles white where he gripped his book.
“We’ll be in my room,” Dawn announced, leading Alexandros by the hand toward the door directly off the living room. She paused, glancing back at Ben. “Don’t disturb us.”
The guest room was filled with her things, her scent, her clothes in the closet, designated for this very purpose. The door clicked shut, and Alexandros’s mouth was on hers again, hot and demanding. He peeled her clothes off with practiced ease, his own following shortly after. His body was a marvel, toned and golden in the low light. He laid her back on the bed, his mouth exploring every inch of her with a tourist’s curiosity.
He entered her with a single, deep thrust that stole her breath. So full. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper, meeting every one of his powerful strokes. The headboard began a rhythmic tap-tap-tap against the wall, a beat she knew Ben could hear in the living room. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her. He’s listening. He knows.
Alexandros was a skilled lover, switching positions with grace. He took her from behind, his hands gripping her hips, his pace relentless. “You are incredible,” he growled into her ear, his breath hot. “So tight.”
But it was when he pressed against her other entrance, slick with her own wetness and his, that she tensed. “Yes,” she breathed, the word a mix of fear and desire. He pushed in slowly, the stretch a blinding, white-hot pain that quickly morphed into an overwhelming fullness. He built a steady, punishing rhythm, and Dawn clawed at the sheets, her cries muffled by the pillow. It was too much, a sensation that teetered on the edge of unbearable.
“Stop,” she finally gasped, the word ragged. “Please, Alexandros, stop.”
He stilled immediately, withdrawing. “Thelo na sou haro,” he whispered, kissing her shoulder. “I want to please you.”
She rolled over, taking his thick length in her hand. “Let me.” She guided him to her mouth, taking him deep, her tongue swirling around the head before she slid down his shaft. He groaned, his hands tangling in her hair as she worked him, her mouth perfect and warm. She lost herself in the rhythm, in the salt-and-skin taste of him, in the primal sounds tearing from his throat. She brought him to the edge, then backed off, again and again, until he was begging in a language she didn’t understand.
When he finally came, it was with a cry, his release pulsing into her mouth. She swallowed every drop, looking up at him through her lashes.
They collapsed together, spent and slick with sweat, and fell asleep entangled in the foreign scent of him.
Sunlight streamed through the blinds. Alexandros stirred first, pulling on his boxers. He padded out into the living room and found Ben in the small kitchen, meticulously scrambling eggs. Ben looked up, his expression neutral.
Dawn emerged a moment later, wearing nothing but one of Ben’s old t-shirts. It barely covered her. She went straight to Alexandros, sliding her arms around his waist and stretching up for a deep, morning kiss. “Kalimera,” she whispered.
“Kalimera, kardia mou,” he replied, his hands resting on her hips.
She glanced over at Ben at the stove. “Those smell amazing. Can you make some for Alexandros and me, too?”
“Of course,” Ben said, his voice quiet but even. He cracked four more eggs into the bowl.
They sat at the table, Dawn and the Greek tourist, while Ben served them. Alexandros fed her a piece of toast, his fingers lingering on her lips. She kissed his fingertips, then leaned over to capture his mouth again, one hand resting on his bare thigh under the table. Ben stood by the counter, watching them eat, watching his wife make out with another man at their breakfast table.
Finally, Alexandros rose, glancing at the clock with a faint furrow in his brow. “I should go,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “I have plans, but… before I leave for Greece tomorrow – could I see you again?” His eyes searched hers, a flicker of hope in their depths.
Dawn leaned into him, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “Of course,” she murmured, her voice smooth and deliberate. She kissed him then, her mouth soft but insistent, a promise etched into the brush of her lips against his. “Text me.”
He nodded, his hand lingering on her waist as if reluctant to let go. “Elpizo na se do avrio,” he said, his voice low and intimate. I hope to see you tomorrow. With one last, lingering look, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
The apartment was suddenly too quiet, his absence leaving a charged silence in its wake. Dawn stayed where she was, her body still humming with the memory of him, her gaze drifting toward Ben, who stood by the counter, his expression unreadable but his knuckles white as he gripped the edge.
Ben stared at the empty doorway. Then, a sound escaped him. A soft chuckle. It grew, bubbling up into a full, genuine laugh that shook his shoulders. Dawn looked at him, a smile tugging at her own lips.
“What?” she asked, her head tilted.
He just shook his head, laughing harder, tears brimming in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he managed to get out. “I just… I don’t know.”
She started laughing then too, a bright, free sound that filled the apartment. They came together in the middle of the living room, their laughter mingling as he pulled her into a tight embrace. Still giggling, he took her by the hand and led her to their bedroom, his fingers laced through hers with a promise. The air between them felt lighter now, charged with something tender yet unspoken.
They fell onto the bed, a tangle of limbs, both still fully clothed. Ben lay on top of her, his weight familiar and comforting, his body pressing into hers in a way that felt almost grounding. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, everything else faded – Alexandros, the laughter, the tension. It was just the two of them, as it always had been.
His lips found hers in a kiss that started soft, almost chaste, but quickly deepened. Her hands slid up his back, pulling him closer, while his fingers traced the line of her jaw, then slipped down to caress her neck. Slowly, tentatively, his hand moved lower, brushing over the fabric of her shirt until it rested on her breast. It was the first time he’d even tried touching her like this since Javier – the first time he’d dared – and she let out a soft, shuddering breath for a couple of seconds, before shooing his hand away. She looked at him with a mischievous smile and shook her head slightly. “Nope,” she said, her smile growing, “you don’t get to do that.” She kissed him then, deeply, moving his hand to her lower back instead.
Dawn’s own hand wandered lower, settling over the firm bulge in his jeans. She pressed her palm against him, feeling the heat even through the fabric. He groaned softly into her mouth, his hips grinding against her hand instinctively, seeking more friction. They moved together like that, kissing deeply, their bodies rocking in a slow rhythm that spoke of years of shared experience.
When they finally broke apart, breathing hard, she cupped his face in her hands, her eyes searching his. “I love you,” she whispered, the words thick with emotion.
He rested his forehead against hers, his chest rising and falling in time with hers. “I love you too,” he murmured back, his voice steady but heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, letting the silence and the closeness say what words couldn’t.
Part 19
The Texas sun was brutal as Ben tried to concentrate on his textbook, the words blurring into meaningless shapes on the page. The apartment was silent, Dawn’s absence clear all around him. Each tick of the clock was a hammer strike against his concentration, a reminder that she was out there with him. With Alexandros. The image of the man from yesterday morning – the sun-bleached hair, the confident smile he’d flashed at Ben, the roommate – was seared into the back of his eyelids.
His phone buzzed on the table, jerking him from his thoughts. Dawn’s name flashed on the screen. He snatched it up. “Dawn?”
“Hey, you.” Her voice was breathy, a little rushed, and he could hear street noise in the background. “We’re running so late. His flight’s in three hours and we’re still across town. Look, I know it’s a huge ask, but any chance you could be a total lifesaver and drive us to the airport? We’ll pay for gas, of course.”
A cold knot tightened in his stomach. Drive them. Be their chauffeur. “Dawn…” he started, the protest dying in his throat. He could never deny her. This was his role. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.”
“You’re the absolute best! We’ll be outside The Rusty Nail in ten. Thank you, Ben. Really.” The line went dead.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled his beat-up sedan to the curb. They were already there, leaning against the brick wall of the bar. Alexandros had his arm slung over Dawn’s shoulders, his head bent low as he whispered something that made her laugh, a bright, sparkling sound that felt like a shard of glass in Ben’s heart. She looked up, saw the car, and waved, her smile not dimming in the slightest.
They piled into the backseat together, with a shared energy that made the car feel suddenly small. The scent of Dawn’s perfume mixed with the faint, salty smell of Alexandros’s skin.
“Thanks for this, man,” Alexandros said, his voice a low, pleasant rumble. “Traffic is a nightmare. Really appreciate you helping me out.”
“It’s no problem,” Ben muttered, focusing intently on merging into traffic. He kept his eyes glued to the road, but the sounds from the backseat were a form of torture more exquisite than any he could have imagined.
It started subtly. A soft sigh. The rustle of clothing. Then he heard it – the unmistakable sound of a deep, open-mouthed kiss. He chanced a glance in the rearview mirror. Dawn was half in Alexandros’s lap, her fingers tangled in his hair, their mouths locked together in a passionate struggle. Alexandros’s large hand was splayed on her thigh, his thumb stroking circles high up on her leg, creeping under the hem of her shorts.
Ben’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. A desperate heat coiled in his groin, his own traitorous body responding to the scene unfolding behind him. He was hard, painfully so, confined within his jeans. Every soft moan from Dawn was a direct strike to his soul, every grunt from Alexandros a mark of his conquest.
The drive was an eternity of sensual audio and stolen glances through the rearview mirror. The slick slide of tongues, the sharp intake of breath, the soft, pleading whispers he couldn’t quite make out. He heard the distinct sound of a zipper being lowered, followed by Dawn’s giggle. “Shhh, not so loud. The driver…” she whispered, but there was no real caution in her tone. It was a performance, and he was her audience.
He focused on the road, on the yellow lines stretching into the distance, on anything but the image of what her hand might be doing in the shadowy back seat of his car.
They arrived at the departures curb. The passionate noises ceased, replaced by the rustle of hurried exit. Alexandros climbed out, pulling his backpack from the seat. He leaned back into the car, his face flushed, his lips swollen. “Thanks again, friend. I’ll remember this favor.” He said it without a trace of irony, without a hint of knowing that the man driving him was tasting the ash of his own life.
Dawn slid out after him. “I’m just going to walk him to security. I won’t be long,” she said, her voice a little husky. She didn’t look at Ben. Her focus was entirely on the man walking away from them.
Ben watched them until they disappeared into the crowd, a beautiful, connected pair. Then he was alone. The car was filled with their lingering presence, the scent of sex and sunscreen and goodbye. He sat there for an hour. Then two. The sun set, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple that he didn’t see. The interior light of the car became his entire world, a silent, suffocating box.
Finally, the passenger door opened. Dawn slipped inside, bringing with her a wave of cool night air and the familiar scent of her. But underneath it was him. The musk of Alexandros’s skin, the faint hint of airport coffee, and something else. Something primal.
She turned to him, her face soft in the dim light. She didn’t speak. She simply leaned across the center console, her hand cupping the back of his neck, and pulled him into a kiss.
Her tongue plunged into his mouth without hesitation. It was possessive, claiming. And then he tasted it. The distinct, bitter-salty tang that was unmistakable. Alexandros. His essence. His spend. She had swallowed for him, and now she was sharing the proof with her husband, transferring the taste of another man’s climax onto Ben’s tongue.
A choked sound, half-sob, half-moan, escaped his throat. His hands came up to grip her shoulders, not to push her away, but to hold on, to anchor himself in the tidal wave of humiliation and blinding arousal that coursed through him. He kissed her back, devouring the evidence of her infidelity, making it his own.
When she finally pulled away, her eyes glittering. She smiled, a tender, almost pitying smile. She took his right hand from her shoulder, lacing her fingers tightly with his, and brought it down, pressing his palm firmly against the hard bulge straining against his zipper.
“Take us home, Ben,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
He could only nod, putting the car in drive with his left hand, his right hand trapped in hers, resting on the painful, throbbing evidence of his love. The highway lights streaked past, blurred by the unshed tears in his eyes and the overwhelming need she had so expertly stoked. He drove, her hand in his, the taste of another man still on his mind.