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You got that right. You heard me. Look at my face. I’m fucking serious. I am never going to lay a hand on Jocelyn Anders. Ever again.
I slap my hand down on the bar, and immediately draw the looks of the bartender. But fuck it. I’m getting out of my seat and getting out of the bar, anyways.
It’s close to 9 pm by the time I get off the uptown 6 and walk the one block from the train to my dad’s townhouse. Most Mayors of New York City move into Gracie Mansion, the dwelling reserved for the person who wins the office. But my dad, Michael Anders, is different. First off, his townhouse that he owns on his own is much larger than Gracie Mansion. So it never made any sense for him to move. Secondly, the amount of money he makes on interest in one month from his inherited holdings is more than the annual salary of the position—so he basically only accepted $1 as a token salary four years ago.
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I gotta hand it to the guy. He knew how to play the people and the media. Both events went down with great fucking fanfare and people looked at him as this benevolent leader. I think that's the image he was going for. And more than that, they looked at the fact that he wasn’t getting paid as a way to reinforce in their heads that he already had enough money that he wouldn't be swayed by any special interests.
That’s the kind of cunning mastermind I’m going up against if I keep fucking his wife.
But I don’t need to worry about that because I’m never doing something like that again.
I walk inside into the lobby of the townhouse and see Jocelyn walking up to meet me. She’s gotten home and she’s wearing a black skirt that comes five inches above her knees, showing off her fucking gorgeous legs. She’s got a silk blouse that's maybe one size too small, hugging her stomach and tits like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. To top it off, she’s got these pearl necklaces and when I see them, the only thing that goes through my fucking head is how much I’d love to cum on her neck and give her another fucking kind of pearl necklace.
Jesus motherfucking Christ. My cock has started twitching as she walks over. She looks at me.
“Hi, Lance,” she says, clearing her throat a bit.
“Where’s dad?” I ask, looking her into the eyes. She meets my stare.
Fuck, with as fast as my hearts beating, with the fact that my fucking cock seems to have it’s own heartbeat, how is it that I’m not just staring Jocelyn in the eyes, but meeting her stare and not looking away.
“Your father’s in the living room,” she says, gesturing her head back. “I wanted to talk to you.”
I’m silent. I’m not sure what the hell there is left to say.
Jocelyn takes a step closer to me.
All I have to remember to do is not move from my pledge. I’m not going to lay a hand on my dad’s wife. This is sick. It’s wrong.
But she most likely never took a pledge like that. She places her hand on my arm as she takes a step closer. I can smell her perfume.
“Lance, what happened today,” she says and pauses. Of course we were going to talk about this. There’s pretty much nothing else to fucking talk about. I just fucking met this woman. It’s like the only memory we have together. “What happened today was a mistake and can never happen again.”
Wait a second.
Did she just say what I think she did?
“What do you mean?” I ask. Shit. That didn't come out right. I just need to nod my fucking head and then go upstairs.
“Lance, I’m married to your father,” Jocelyn says. “And it’s a marriage I need to protect because other people are counting on me.”
I never knew this. Is she telling me that she was forced to marry dad?
“It’s just that, I hadn’t had sex in over six months,” Jocelyn says and looks into my eyes as if imagining just a few hours ago. “I think we both got a little carried away.”
Oh, thank the Lord. She’s not going to make things difficult. This is going to be okay. Hopefully, we’ll be able to file this away and never have to think about it again. We can move on and not let this affect us.
Then why does it feel like she just punched me in the gut? I mean, I’m supposed to be feeling relieved right? Why does a part of me feel terrible?
But Jocelyn takes my silence for consent. She smiles.
“I’m glad we got this sorted,” she says and smiles even more. “I just wanted to make sure we talked about it, before it got…weird.”
Well guess what, Jocelyn. It’s already fucking weird. There’s no way it can get weirder.
After a moment, Jocelyn looks at her watch.
