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“Okay then, let’s be quick.”
The escapade reminded her of stealing candy from a drugstore, pilfering baguettes of bread from French markets and other acts of petty larceny she and Ian perpetrated across France and Italy when they swept through those charming countrysides. She was just twenty at the time. Now, in the same spirit, they walked the street beyond Jocelyn’s office, grabbed a cab one block down and arrived at the French restaurant just in time to hustle up the stairs to Ian’s apartment.
“Jacques will bring us lunch, we’ll eat up here.”
A day with potent air, succulent with the aromas of spring and just warm enough for open windows, they made love in the bed in the breeze, with curtains fluttering and something so delectable about the atmosphere Jocelyn could feel the taste of it on her tongue, yet there was no flavor to recognize except the flavor of springtime.
Dissolving into his body, hers was atop his. The feel of his hand’s caress from her breasts down her slim waist, to the cushy rounds of her ass brought musical sounds of pleasure to her lips. For a while, as he marveled at her satin skin, his lips joined with hers, and she forgot who she was with. Just sex, just passion, one body or another didn’t matter with such pleasure. Feeling Ian’s prick surge within her dropping its seed deep, she rocked with him, allowing what had begun in her office to burst free.
When the last of the subtle seizure disappeared, Jocelyn sat back on his groin with his dwindling cock still inside her. Looking out the window to old apartments and the street a story below, she breathed deep the freedom. A last hurrah, perhaps the encore to the last hurrah. She’d enjoy the rogue for a half hour more then go home to the stability of her darling Reg. Perhaps she just needed Ian to get her through the ending of this personal era.
Before Jocelyn left the cagey Ian, he begged for just one last glance at her perfect derriere, and took the chance to lay three strokes of a bamboo cane on her flesh before she could stop him.
“What are you doing, you ass!” she screamed, bolting away from the bed where she exposed rear.
“A reminder, darling.”
“No, I can’t, no more!”
“Ah, guilt, what a motivator,” Ian chimed in happily.
Furious, Jocelyn ordered him out of the apartment, even though it was not her own, and dressed by herself. Though she was not at all pleased with him, she gave him a kiss at the doorway of the restaurant, and half her stunning smile.
The next two days she heard nothing from Ian Pennywhistle and assumed that he was gone from her life again, a memory that would slowly fade into nothing.
Chapter Six
Reggie sat in the midst of his study at home pouring over the disaster before him, dispassionate, as was typical on the outside, though the fury was building within.
When he heard the knock on the door he looked up. “Yes.”
“Reg? You’re here?”
“I am,” he said no more, though his response was enough invitation for Jocelyn to move inside the room. Even for Reggie, who was sometimes given to ruminating in the dark, the mood seemed particularly grim.
“Wouldn’t you like a little more light?” she asked, as she was about to turn on the floor lamp beside his desk.
“No,” he replied, emphatically enough for her to quake a little nervously. Her concern increased when she looked toward his desk and spied what was there. Though it took some time for the truth to register, once she made out Ian’s face and hers in several black and white photographs, the raw emotion overwhelmed her. She sank into the chair in front of him.
“You had me followed?” she asked, awestruck. She trembled everywhere, her head feeling a sharp throbbing.
Reggie looked at the array of pictures before him, a perfectly manicured hand moving aimlessly from one to the next. Jocelyn watched, mesmerized.
“I guess I don’t trust you anymore,” he finally replied, the statement half speculation. He looked up at her, his face a blank.
“And I guess I’ve given you reason not to,” Jocelyn replied, looking down at the pictures again. How could he possibly be so civil? She could feel from him an intense emotion gurgling internally, but it remained well below his surface calm. Then, too, why wouldn’t he be civil? After all, this was Reggie.
“You’re not angry?” she wondered aloud.
“Oh, there’s no doubt I’m angry,” he replied. “But this treads so deep, anger’s not going to solve anything. You’ve lied about your past and about our present. You’ve been one woman in bed with me and another woman with another man. Whatever’s going on with you, Jocelyn, whether it’s business or something else, we obviously haven’t been able to handle it between us.” Reggie might have winced in pain, but if he did the expression was subtle. Pushing the pictures back in the envelope, he paused for a moment staring at the one on the top. It was a close-up from outside Ian’s hotel room window two days before, Jocelyn with her head back, and a winsome smile on her face, her naked breasts looking as though they were bouncing with the curtains that danced in the wind.
Jocelyn cringed seeing this intimacy she hadn’t shared with the man she loved.
“Just when I thought there might be a breakthrough with your business problems,” he said, “this happens and I’m stunned.” He handed her the envelope and rose from his seat. “What happens from now on is up to you.”
Impeccably honest, as forthright as the day is long, blunt but sincere. What more could she ask of a wounded husband? And yet, his cool reserve climbed inside her like winter reborn in spring.
“I think I must need some time away,” she said, when she heard him reach the far door and felt a draft of air on her ankles as he opened it.
