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Rudy and I walk every evening around this neighborhood, leaving the house at seven on the dot, smiling and waving at the neighbors, performing all of the rituals, the internal checklist ever at the forefront and always followed to the letter.
Cars go in the garage at nine p.m. every night. Bushes are trimmed twice a month. The grass is cut every five days, and no weed is permitted to live anywhere near our land.
We follow convention precisely because we're defying it, too.
Yesterday, though, has shaken convention. First, because we missed our walk, going to the dog obedience class instead.
And second, all I can think about is Cam.
My dreams last night were fevered and rough, sweaty and passionate, his face between my legs, his fingers in me, his body rising up to fill me with his cock and his heart.
When shock and need forced me out of my dreams, sitting up breathless, barely able to hold back a scream of frustration that Cam wasn’t really licking me to the moon, that his hands weren’t caressing my nipples, that his fingers weren’t digging into my ass, pulling me closer to his face – ah, that was hard.
So was he.
In my dreams.
Now I walk around, wet and pulsing, distracted and unholy.
Yes – unholy.
Never before have I wanted a man so desperately.
Never before have I felt so unclean.
Never before have I been forced to suppress feelings like this.
Because these feelings are not just embarrassing.
They are lethal.
As Rudy and I walk the dog each time, we are within proximity of another neighbor. Rudy’s hand weaves its way around my waist, clenching tight at the spot where my ribs separate from my hip bone. His warmth sends shivers through me. We are husband and wife, after all.
Or, at least, that’s what everyone is supposed to think.
I want Cam’s hand on my hip. I want Cam’s warmth against my body. I want Cam’s scent racing through my nostrils to my brain.
I want Cam.
Desperately.
The air is crisp tonight, early morning rain clearing the pollen. Bright granite curbs clip the boundaries between asphalt and grass with an even line that helps me to stay balanced inside. My heart beats as Rudy’s hand moves just enough to the south to make my blood quicken.
No, I tell myself. Not here. Not now. Not like this.
He’ll ruin everything.
And of all the times...
A rumble of thunder forces us to look up at the sky. We’re on the other side of the cul-de-sac now. The Johnsons, sitting on their front porch, sip something clear with ice and a mint leaf in it. They wave, Mrs. Johnson’s big caramel eyes meeting mine before combing over my outfit.
“Better get inside before it rains, Paige!” she shouts, giving us a friendly wave.
I’ve never given her permission to shorten my given name, Paigelynn, but the neighborhood has taken it and applied it to me. That’s fine. I have learned to let go of the unimportant, and if anyone is unimportant, it is someone who shortens my name without my permission.
Cam would never do that.
“Paigelynn and I are fine. We’ll jog home.” Rudy’s hand on my hip squeezes. “Besides, Val,” he winks at her, “if she gets a little wet it’ll be a nice show.”
