A night's reckoning

After I read Dom's note, which he had slid under my front door, I thanked him for it. I then silenced him on my phone; I would still receive messages from him, but I wouldn't be notified.

Shortly after, I texted Vic, inviting him over. Moments later, my phone vibrated with his reply.

"Hey, did you eat anything yet?" Vic's message appeared on the screen.

"Does a banana count?" I typed back a hint of hopeful inquiry in my question.

His immediate response was a firm, unequivocal "No." Another text followed almost immediately. "I'll be over in about an hour. Want to hit the grocery store first. Can I just use the key I still have to let myself in?"

"Yes, you can," I replied.

With that settled, I got up from the couch and started a quick clean of the main areas of the house: the kitchen, living room, downstairs bathroom, and cleaned my bathroom. As I cleaned, I lit a few sandalwood scented candles. I then moved to my bedroom, stripped my bed, and put on fresh bedding before heading to the shower. After showering, I dressed in short shorts and an old but comfortable shirt. I padded downstairs just as Vic let himself in.

He walked in, laden with grocery bags, which he heaved onto the kitchen counter. Then, he wrapped me in his arms, kissed me softly, and murmured, "Hola, mi amor." I kissed him back, returning his greeting.

"Was I being too forward?" he asked, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"No," I assured him, shaking my head.

We began to unpack the groceries, a comfortable rhythm settling between us. Soon, Vic took over the kitchen, preparing both chicken marsala and chicken piccata. I opened the wine we'd be drinking, while he used the cooking wine for his culinary creations.

As we worked and ate, our conversation naturally turned to why I'd invited him over. I brought up Dom's tattoo, the one declaring me his "everything." Then, I recounted his casual joke about covering it up "when" we broke up, and how deeply that comment had stung. Even his subsequent clarification, that he truly hoped we'd last a very long time and he wouldn't actually cover it up, hadn't erased the hurt. I admitted that despite only being in a relationship with him for six weeks, the remark had wounded me profoundly.

Vic listened intently, nodding. "That was a poor joke, and his comments would hurt anyone," he said, his voice gentle. "If someone said something similar to me, I'd be hurt too." He took a sip of the red wine he'd brought, then leaned in to kiss me. "What do you want?" he asked softly.

I sighed, looking away for a moment. "I don't know what I want. I'm still so hurt by what Dom said."

"Am I spending the night?" he asked, his gaze steady.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"Since you just kicked Dom out of your house without actually ending the relationship, it would probably be best if you let him know I'm over and spending the night," Vic suggested.

I glared at him, a sharp look.

He held up a hand, a serious expression on his face. "Look, I'm stuck between the wife and the woman I'd rather be with, and I hate where I am. I just think honesty would be best with you and Dom, so if you two did decide to stay together, nothing was being hidden."

I grunted, a sound of reluctant agreement, and went to the living room to grab my phone. There was no response from Dom from when I thanked him for the note and I understood why. Deciding a phone call would be best, I expected to go straight to voicemail, but Dom picked up.

"What's up?" he asked, his voice sounding cautious.

"I invited a friend over for dinner," I explained, "and due to the amount of wine we've both been drinking, he's spending the night."

"Is it Vic?" he asked, a hint of recognition in his tone. Dom had always known about Vic.

"Yes, it's Vic," I confirmed.

"What do you want?" Dom asked again, his voice softer this time.

"I don't want to hurt anymore," I said. "The last relationship I was in, with Randy, I ended it because I was hurt, and I don't want to go through that again."

Dom sighed. "I'm so sorry for hurting you," he said. "I want to show you how much you really mean to me."

"If I mean something to you," I countered, "I want actions of you wanting to be with me instead of forever marking your body so early in a relationship."

He sighed again, a long, drawn-out sound. "You're right," he conceded. Then, his voice dropped to a soft whisper. "Are you going to have sex with Vic?"

"I want to," I admitted, "but I don't know where we stand."

"I have an idea," Dom said, "but I want your input first. I would like you to have an open mind.”

“Okay," I said.

"Let's break up for just tonight," he suggested, his voice firm. "That way, if you want to have sex with Vic, you can without feeling guilty. And in a few days, we can meet on neutral ground and discuss where we go from there."

"Are you going to screw anyone in the next few days?" I asked, a sharp edge to my voice.

"No," he replied instantly. "There's only one person I want to make love with, but I've hurt her."

"I understand," I said, my voice quiet, before ending the call. I set my phone down on the coffee table, the weight of the conversation settling over me, but it was quickly overshadowed by Vic's presence.

Vic was already in the living room, having quietly moved from the kitchen. He didn’t even make it past the threshold before he was on me — kissing me hard, one hand cupping the back of my neck, the other grabbing my hip like he owned it. We didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. His mouth told me everything. I pulled at his shirt, he pulled mine over my head, and I backed us toward the couch until we both stumbled down into it.

Round one started right there, with me on top, grinding against his jeans until he groaned and unzipped them, his dick thick and hot in his hand as he pushed my panties aside. He didn’t wait. He didn’t ask. He slid inside me slow, stretching me, filling me, making me gasp — and then he held still, buried deep, his eyes locked on mine like he wanted to memorize every second. I rode him hard, slow, then hard again. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me, his dick stroking deep. When I came, I screamed in pleasure and collapsed against his chest, and he kept moving beneath me until he followed with a shudder, pulling me down and holding me there as he pulsed inside me.

We barely made it to the bedroom before round two started. He caught me in the hallway, spun me against the wall, and kissed me again — slower this time, but deeper. When we reached the bed, he stripped me bare, laid me out, and knelt between my thighs like I was the only thing he’d ever wanted. He ate my pussy until I came again, moaning into his mouth, and then he slid his dick back in and fucked me slow. Deep. Rhythm so steady it wrecked me. He whispered my name when he came this time, low and reverent, his forehead pressed to mine, our bodies locked tight.

Round three was messier. I’d fallen asleep for maybe ten minutes when I felt him hard against my thigh. I reached for him, stroked him, and before I knew it, he was kissing down my stomach and spreading my legs again. He entered me from the side, curling behind me, one arm under my neck, the other between my thighs. He fucked me slow like that, lazy and thick, his dick stretching me open until I whimpered. We both came together, shaking, breathless.

We finally showered after that — together, but not to get clean. Round four happened in the steam, with me pressed against the tile, one leg hooked around his hip, his hand gripping the back of my neck as he pushed inside me again. The water hit my back while his dick drove into me, slow at first, then faster, rougher. I came with a broken cry, body shaking under him, and he held me steady while he finished inside me again, coming in me with a groan that echoed off the walls.

After towels and water and laughter, we finally made it to the bed. The sheets were cool. My body was not. Round five was slower. Tender. I was on my back, legs spread, his body heavy over mine. He kissed me for a long time before sliding inside. We both gasped. He fucked me like he wanted to stay inside me forever — deep strokes, hips grinding, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. When I came, I clung to him. When he came, he held still, buried all the way, his breath warm against my throat. We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

But at some point in the night, I stirred to the pressure of his hand on my thigh, the slow nudge of his dick against my entrance — already hard, already wet from everything we’d done. He didn’t speak. Just pushed forward and filled me again. Round six began in the dark, on my side. He spooned me close, one hand under my neck, the other gripping my waist. His dick slid in smooth, thick and slow, and I gasped into the pillow as he started to move. It was dreamlike — lazy, intimate, his breath in my hair as he stroked in and out of my soaked pussy. I came quietly, shaking under the weight of him, and he came a minute later, body curled tight around mine, moaning low into my skin.

I thought we were done. But round seven began when I rolled over, and he kissed me awake. His hand slid between my legs, fingers stroking gently, already getting me wet again. When he slid inside this time, I was on my back, legs wrapped around his waist, my heels digging into him as he fucked me slow and deep. He stayed pressed against me, our chests flush, his hands tangled in my hair as he whispered my name and thrust harder, deeper. I screamed in pleasure, hips lifting into him. He groaned when he followed, kissing me as he came in me again.

We dozed again, briefly. Skin sticky, limbs tangled. Round eight started with laughter — him kissing my neck, teasing me about how many times I could take him. I pushed him onto my back and climbed on top, but he flipped me easily, pinning my wrists above my head and sliding back into me in one hard stroke.

“Still want more?” he growled.

I moaned. “Yes.”

He fucked me harder this time, hips slapping, dick thick and deep and relentless. I came again, screaming in pleasure, body arching under his, and he didn’t let up until he came with a groan, jerking inside me, still holding me down.

We were breathless. Shaking. But not done. Round nine was slower again. He kissed me soft, touched me everywhere. I rolled to my stomach and looked back at him, and he slid in from behind, hands on my hips, dick thick and hard as ever. He moved slow. Deliberate. Stretching me open again, every stroke a deep pulse that left me breathless. When he came, he bent low over my back, groaning, hips grinding until he came in me again.

I was wrecked. But I still wanted him.

Round ten was the last. I rolled onto my back, spread my legs, and looked up at him. “Again,” I whispered.

His eyes darkened. “You’re insatiable.”

He lowered himself over me, kissed me slow, and slid back in — thick, smooth, deep. I gasped, legs wrapping around him, arms pulling him close. This one was different — tender, aching. He moved slow, hips rolling, dick stroking deep with each thrust. I held him tight as he fucked me, my body raw and oversensitive and wanting more.

When I came, I screamed in pleasure as did he came when he came, buried deep inside me, and kissed me like it was the last time. Then we lay tangled in silence, skin to skin, breath slowing together. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Eventually, we got up to shower and brush our teeth. He stripped the bed as I went downstairs to make coffee."Should I start the first set?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Soap's in, and the buttons are set. Just hit start." He did.

As we were drinking our coffees, his boss called. "You're late, Vic," I heard the voice through the phone.

"Something important came up last night," Vic said, his tone firm. "I'll be at work in the next thirty minutes." He hung up, kissed me, and thanked me for a great night. "I don't expect you to say or do anything about this," he added, his gaze soft, "but I just wanted you to know." He then left.

I smiled, got ready for work, and headed in.