I feel guilty all day. I shouldn’t. I haven’t done anything wrong, but I do.
By the time I get home, I’m so fucking tired of feeling alternately horny and sad that I can barely stand up straight. All I want to do is get inside, crawl into bed, and pull the covers over my head for the next week.
“Hi, daddy,” the boys yell at the top of their tongues as soon as I step into the door. Instead of walking into my peaceful home, that greeting is like hitting a brick wall of kid energy, and it depletes my already-drained internal battery by half.
“Hey, boys. How was your day?”
I don’t really hear what they say next because the twins have a terrible habit of speaking at the same time. It was cute when they were doing baby talk, and most of their words were just the same syllable on repeat, but now there are stories they want me to hear and process and remember. It’s hard when I’m not exhausted, but practically impossible right now. I can barely tell their voices apart. The most I can do is nod and smile and make meaningful eye contact with each of them in turn, waiting until they get bored of me and turn back to their video games.
I’m yawning by the time they set me free.
My feet are dragging on the carpet as I move slowly up the stairs.
I find Nadia in our bedroom, pacing in circles. She’s thrown her suit jacket across the bench at the foot of our bed. Her shirt is half-unbuttoned, exposing the red lace of her bra in the middle of her chest. Her skirt is a puddle in the middle of the floor as if she’s just unzipped it, let it fall down her legs, and then kept pacing, refusing to let it disrupt her stride. Knowing her, she probably has.
“If they want that rate, they’re going to have to buy more stock than that. My client grows the best weed in three counties. You know it. We know it. Let’s not waste time pretending their product isn’t worth it.
If your client wants my client to cater his employee retreat and divert product from our regular dispensaries, we’re going to need an order worth our time. I’ll wait.”
Nadia presses the mute button on her phone and smiles at me. “Hi, honey.” She rushes into my arms and brushes her mouth against my cheek before moving away.
It’s not really a kiss, and I’m not mad about it. We’ve been together fifteen years; these things happen. She’s on a business call. Still, I’ve spent all day thinking about her and Jourdan. There are things I want to tell her. Things I want to confess, even though I’m not sure if confess is the right way to describe this.
I need to tell Nadia that barely an hour went by without me remembering Jourdan on my lap, her tongue around that straw and slipping between my lips, and those last few words Jourdan whispered to me, the ones meant for Nadia. I want to confess that instead of walking to the corner store a block away from the school and getting my regular deli sandwich for lunch, I spent my entire lunch period in the faculty bathroom, beating off as quietly as I could manage, imagining how Nadia would respond to me telling her about Jourdan’s hard, wet nipple looking right at me.
My entire day has been preoccupied by thoughts of Jourdan and Nadia, and I feel like I’ve run a marathon. But I’m still so goddamn horny. That’s why I push Nadia gently to the bed and fall to my knees. This isn’t the first time I’ve gone down on her while she was on a business call, and it won’t be the last. But it is the first time I’ve pulled her panties down her legs and buried my face inside her pussy while thinking about someone else.
“I’m here,” Nadia gasps with my tongue deep inside her.
I tease her opening and spread her lips apart. I circle her clit. I taste her in greedy swipes, and she drenches my beard in return.
I hear her conversation, but I don’t focus on her words because it’s none of my business. Her pussy is.
And Nadia, ever the professional, carries on as if she’s not squirming against my chin and spreading her thighs as wide as they’ll go for me. Knowing Nadia, she has her thumb poised over the mute button while biting her lips to keep the whimpering moan from her voice.
The nice thing for me to do would be to take it easy on her, to give her breaks, teasing puffs of breath against her mound to give her just enough to keep her hot but leave her room to speak. But I don’t want to be nice. Nadia wasn’t nice to me this morning when she’d sighed and moaned while Jourdan was teasing me in broad daylight. Hell, it was Nadia who sent me to meet Jourdan alone, even though we were supposed to be in this together.
So fuck being nice.
I push two fingers into her clenching hole, and she grunts out loud, using it to cut the other person off before launching into a counteroffer.
I spear my fingers into her in hard strokes. I don’t give her time to stretch and let me in because I enjoy her squirming around the invasion of two and then three digits while I lap at her clit. I smile against her pussy as her back arches, and she cries out, “Oh, fuck.”
I look up her body, still eating her as she scrambles to double-check that her phone was, in fact, muted before unmuting and putting the call on speakerphone.
Risky.
“Okay, Nadia, what’s the unit price?” the person on the other end of the line asks.
She shudders when I suck her clit into my mouth. It takes her a few seconds to get herself together.
“Nadia?”
“I’m here,” she says. Her voice sounds breathy to me, weak, shuddering, so close to coming apart on my mouth that she can barely speak. But no one knows her like me, so he probably can’t hear it.
Would Jourdan?
“Fifty dollars per unit. We won’t go lower.” She presses the mute button again with one hand, and her other cradles the back of my head, pulling me in closer. “Right there,” she moans.
I unzip my pants to pull my dick free.
From here, it’s all instinct. I could suck and finger Nadia to orgasm while I jack myself off in my sleep. But the remembered sweet, caffeine-y taste of Jourdan on my tongue has been lingering all day. I can taste the remnants of her while my wife’s thighs clench around my ears and her pussy spasms on my tongue. I can feel the memory of Jourdan squirming in my lap as I stroke myself to an embarrassingly fast release. I can even hear her bubbly giggle and see her playful wink as I sink to the floor with a wet mouth and sticky hands, my wife panting like she’s run a marathon on the bed.
“Can we call you back tomorrow with a formal offer?” the unknown man asks Nadia.
“Nine a.m. sharp, or you can explain to your client how the deal fell apart,” she says before hanging up.
“Can we order pizza for dinner?” the boys yell from the bottom of the stairs.
Normally, we’d scold them for yelling, but tonight, Nadia’s already on the app for our favorite pizza spot. “Veggie,” she calls.
“Pepperoni,” they whine back.
“Veggie and chicken,” I correct. “Have you two cleaned your room?” I put some bass in my voice, but it’s all an act. I couldn’t peel myself up from the floor to discipline them in this moment if I were Superman, but they don’t know that.
Nadia and I exhale in relief at the sound of them scurrying away from the stairs just in case we press the issue and change our minds about dinner.
“Ordered,” Nadia says with a sigh. “I like her.”
“I like her too.”