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~Faith~
I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve cleaned the house, which, without any pets or kids running around, is never truly dirty anyway. I made a few calls for work, being told on several occasions to, in no uncertain terms, “fuck off” and stop harassing them or they’ll call the authorities.
My job stresses me out, even though it only occupies a quarter of my day. I’m lucky to have it since I don’t get out much and have no desire to. I’m a homebody, not someone who cares to be out in the world, interacting with people for any length of time.
I prefer to make runs to the supermarket and other pit stops that require little of me and then retreat home to unwind. Some people just weren’t cut out for the humbuggery of the real world.
If I had it my way, I would relocate to a tropical island, lay on the beach all day, soak up some sun, and catch up on my reading.
That sounds like a fantastic life, but with the old ball and chain holding me back, I’ll never have that chance. Good thing I have Cal on the job. With him, I’ll be free to do as I please, when I please. The very thought of never having to answer to anyone again gives me goose bumps.
A check of the clock tells me that I have little more than an hour to myself before Glenn gets home. While I know there are several days left for this to go down, Cal never specified one, so I’m left anticipating when. Will tonight be the night? Instead of Glenn arriving home from work, will the police instead show up at my door to tell me the tragic news?
I go upstairs to scrub out the master bath’s tub and work on my performance. Cuing tears is harder than one might realize, and it gives me a new appreciation for actors who can do it on cue. Once the bath cleared of the chalky blue powder, I flip the plug and run the hot water, sitting along the side while it fills and I watch the steam rise through misty eyes that quickly clear.
There is nothing better than a nice, hot soak in the tub. It’s my one true luxury since Glenn doesn’t afford me much beyond the basic necessities. “What would you do with nice things?” he once asked when I said I’d like to buy some new clothes. Apparently, my lack of a social life meant that the clothes I wore when we moved in together after we got married were good enough.
The resentment grew. It’s hard not to feel a kind of hatred for someone when they continuously find ways to belittle you.
I strip out of my clothes and step into the tub, taking my time because the water is hot enough to burn. My toes protest, as does the rest of my skin as I sink in inch by slow inch. Once I’m totally submerged, I ease back and rest my head on the edge of the tub and close my eyes.
The house is quiet. A perfect silence that is only shattered by the occasional cars or emergency sirens on the neighboring main street.
That’s something else a life spent seaside would eliminate. The idea of it only grows more appealing the longer I have to imagine it. Glenn’s death is a freedom I’ve never known or known to want. Now, I crave it.
Cal. As much as I don’t want to have to rely on another person, especially another man, I’m glad I found him. From the moment we started talking, I trusted him. He’s a consummate professional, which is evident by the way he carries himself and his no-nonsense approach. He’s direct without being rude. The confidence is more than appealing.
Thoughts of Glenn’s death take a back seat as I recall Cal’s tall, lean, sexy form. Dark, curly hair shadowing carved features and eyes so deeply onyx as to be endless.
A girl could get lost in eyes like that.
I didn’t intend to do any such thing though. Once I am through with this dead-end marriage, I don’t plan to make the same mistake again. Between living with my mother throughout childhood and jumping straight into a controlling marriage, I’m going to stay happily single and in complete control of my own life.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t entertain a fantasy or two.
Cal’s handsome face doesn’t leave my mind’s eye as my hand slips beneath the water and finds its way down my body to the apex of my thighs. I’ve never had an orgasm that I didn’t bring about by myself, so the process isn’t foreign. Glenn just doesn’t know how to take care of a woman. He’s a one-trick pony, and this girl requires more than a lackadaisical wham bam thank you, ma’am.
Running my fingers through the slick heat pouring out despite the water’s barrier, I draw a line back up and flick the little bean that’s grown hard and swollen with thoughts of my sexy hitman. Just the thought of him out there, so strong and capable and dangerous, does something to me that shouldn’t be okay but that I can’t deny makes me weak and hungry for a taste.
My finger moves against the tiny bud and my legs tense as I feel the rush of pleasure spread out like spilled ink beneath my skin and impregnate my muscles. Water laps at the edges of the tub loudly, and I have to concentrate harder on the object of my current obsession. Last week, it was Tom Hardy. This week, it’s Cal Whateverhisnameis.
I imagine all of the things I want Cal to do to me and all of the things I want to do to him, most of which I would never dream of doing for my own husband. The fantasy cranks my gears, and I come hard enough to make my body quake. My mouth opens on a silent scream that I bite back for propriety’s sake. That’s me, the woman who never steps a toe out of line or does anything that anyone would deem uncouth or unacceptable, whether in public or private.
Wouldn’t they be shocked to find out what I’m up to these days.
When I hear the telltale rattle of Glenn’s car coming, I drain the bath and step out onto the terry cloth rug. I dry off with a matching towel, both as white as hotel linens because Glenn thinks they make things seem more “posh,” and then I step up to the vanity to smooth lotion on my reddened skin. I’m standing in front of the mirror, as naked as the day I was born, and combing the tangles from my hair when Glenn appears in the doorway.
What hair he has left is greasy with sweat, and he carries a stale odor with him, no doubt from the merchandise he stocks at the supermarket. I’m immediately turned off—not that I’d ever been turned on in the first place—but he has that hungry look in his eyes.
I don’t respond physically, but to appear natural and not raise suspicion, I smile in the mirror at his reflection. “Hey. How was work?”
He takes my question as an invitation and pushes off the doorframe, walking up behind me and running dirty, calloused hands down my sides.
I shiver from his touch, but not for the reasons he thinks.
He smirks as he bends to place a kiss on my shoulder. His hands wander as he speaks. “Work was work. I’m glad to be home. And even gladder to see you.” He hums appreciatively as his thick, stubby fingers find the wetness between my thighs. Again, not having known that I just got myself off, he takes this as confirmation that I want the same thing he does.
“You’re in rare form tonight. Have a good day?” he asks, almost growls, as he leans down and kisses the top of one shoulder.
