Page 42 of Trashy Affair Duet

Simple words, yet the images they conjure are X-rated. In my mind’s eye, I see her naked and straddling my lap, lowering herself onto my cock as her luscious hair falls in sheets around my face.

Me: Fucking hell, Jules. You’ve got me so damn hard.

Jules: I wish I was with you right now.

Me: What would you do if you were?

Jules: Things that would make it very difficult to look you in the eye at work.

Me: You’re killing me. I hope you realize that.

Jules: I didn’t, but it’s a powerful notion. Does it torture you to know I’d put my mouth on you?

My unfaithful cock is about to get off on this conversation alone.

Me: Hell yes.

Jules: I’m not very good at it, but I’d want to be with you.

Two seconds later, she sends an embarrassed emoji, followed by another message.

Jules: I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m saying these things!

Me: Don’t ever be sorry. Your honesty means the world to me. I love how you speak your mind.

Jules: That’s what you do to me. You make me feel safe enough to spill my guts, even embarrassing shit.

Me: What makes you think you’re not good at it?

Jules: My ex said I sucked, and not in a good way.

Me: I’m calling bullshit. Just looking at you gets me hard. What kind of man says something like that to his girlfriend? He didn’t deserve you.

I swallow past a lump of guilt before adding what I don’t want to admit, but I think she needs to hear it. Or I need to say it. Either way, it’s the absolute truth.

Me: I don’t deserve you either, even if I were free to be with you.

Because what kind of man marries one woman and ends up lusting after another? The circumstances don’t mean shit. All I’m accomplishing is widening the ravine created by Monica’s deceit, not to mention playing with Jules’ heart.

Me: I don’t want you to get hurt.

Jules: Too late. But I did it to myself. I was wasted when I fucked up in Oklahoma, but I was sober when I walked into your office for the first time. I knew better, and I still took the job.

My breath catches in my lungs. Dread thuds to the bottom of my gut. I’m stuck in a marriage that’s crashed and burned, sleeping alone in the guest bedroom, and now I’ve got the hard-on from hell due to a woman I can’t have. This is insanity.

Me: We’re heading for trouble, aren’t we.

No question in that—just a pure statement of fact.

Jules: Yeah.

Me: I had no business texting you tonight. The blame is on me, Jules. If you want to pretend this conversation never happened, I understand. We’ll never speak of it again.

Jules: It would be the wise thing to do, wouldn’t it?

Me: Probably.

Hell, there’s no “probably” about it. I messed up big time, from the very first message I sent. No, from the instant I gave in yesterday and asked her to go for a walk with me. My phone is utterly still, the absence of her texts tossing me back into unbearable loneliness.

Suck it up, man.

I’m halfway to setting my cell on the nightstand when it vibrates in my palm.

Jules: Goodnight. Maybe I’ll see you in my dreams.

“Goodnight,” I whisper, choosing not to say goodbye via text. If I had my way, we’d never say goodbye at all.

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