I walked into an old Italian bakery that was nothing more than a narrow hallway cut into a brick building. After I left the meeting, thoughts of Evan consumed my mind. He had asked me to meet him here, but the restaurant was hardly glamorous. I wasn’t sure if this was a date to which I shouldn’t be “dating” anyone as a married woman. As I walked in, smells of pastries and fresh-baked breads filled the air. I looked around and spotted Evan who sat near the back wall. He boldly stared at me. I walked straight over and sat down. He motioned to the gal behind the counter and within seconds a cappuccino was placed in front of me along with a basket of mini-muffins.
“I love cappuccino … how did you know? How do you always know?”
“Try the mini-muffins – best in the world in my opinion,” he said.
I obliged and gently plucked a blueberry mini-muffin from the straw basket. I took the flakey tiny cake, sliced it in two, buttered it, and took a bite. My eyes grew large. It was buttery, rich, and nearly melted on my tongue.
“Wow! I’ve never tasted …”
“I’ve been to Italy many times. You think these taste amazing.”
“Yes, I’ve traveled the world – Italy, Greece, France, Vietnam and South America. Danced with the natives in Carnival in Trinidad. But I’ve never met anyone like you,” he said with a calm smile.
The minute he said those words, a flash of the two of us on a pristine white blanket on a large chaise-lounge-type bed came to my mind. I was wearing a white silk robe, and he was naked. Our bodies were entangled in a passionate embrace. I could almost feel his hands all over my body, gently massaging me up and down my back, and then softly resting on and caressing my hips. We were kissing with such intense fervor, but also sweet lust and passion for each other. The fantasy was so real as if it had already happened. I looked him straight in the eyes, and we gazed at each other for the longest time until I finally spoke.
“I … I just want you to know I don’t normally do this,” I said and felt a wave of guilt and confusion wash over me.
Evan was plainly amused and said, “This? What is ‘this’?”
Heat and embarrassment came over me. I could feel my face turn red, and I looked down. “This …”
Evan leaned forward and stared at me. I couldn’t help it – the desire to kiss him seized and took hold of me. What was wrong with me? I didn’t cheat. I was a good wife and mother, and this man wanted to be my business partner. It didn’t seem prudent or wise to even allow the desires to touch my soul and plague me this way. I stared into those intense eyes, and I reached out and touched the top of his forearm in what, for me, was a daring gesture. I ran my fingers up and down his inner forearms and felt his tight, lean muscles. I dared to stroke his arm hair in the most sensual way. We sat like that in silence with our arms locked together like a two-strand braid as I stroked his fine, blonde hairs. Then I leaned all the way forward so I could smell him – sweet, musky, almost sweaty. I took in his scent, and the desire became more powerful in an almost shocking surge that wet my panties. I wanted to know. I wanted to know what his lips felt like. I felt his warm breath on my cheeks, and I tightened my thighs as more heat turned into moisture and dripping wetness. The desire came over me like a forbidden urge that I knew all I had to do was just do it – move forward an inch, touch his lips to mine, kiss him.
And then I heard the faint, familiar whisper, “Do it.”
An invisible soul gave me permission. I kept my eyes on his. And ever so slowly centimeter-by-centimeter I moved forward close enough, beside his left ear, and let my lips slowly, softly drag along his cheeks close enough to his mouth and stopped. We both breathed heavily. It would only take one more move. He didn’t stir. He was quiet and waiting. I was now beyond any discernable point of return. In a swift decision I released myself. My lips slowly enfolded his supple lips, and the embers began to smolder, heat up, ignite, and burn. I sucked in air, and then I sighed and fully gave in. I abandoned everything that cried to stop and allowed the wanton craving for his sex to come over me in building waves. The kiss turned from a soft peck to an all-out passionate French kiss with two tongues gently licking and touching – and wanting. I lifted my hands and touched each of his cheeks, and the swell of lust overwhelmed me. The yearning to straddle him and wrap my long legs around his chair and grind my hips into him was so strong that I ached for him. And then just as swiftly I pulled back, out of breath, and startled by my own action. I looked down and touched my lips that still felt as if his were on mine.
“I knew it would be good,” he said quietly.
“Shit,” I whispered with my hand on my mouth.
“We’re not finished yet.”
I looked up and my eyes fluttered, “Finished?”
“I want to make love to you. To know the sins of your body.”
“I can’t do that,” I said. “I’m married.”
“We’ll take it slow, don’t worry.”
“What? Um, shit!” I cursed again. “What have I done?”
“Opened the box.”
I stared at him long and hard. Now what was I going to do? The thought of returning to Paul’s arms and bed revolted me to the core. I sat in silence a while longer and contemplated that kiss. Evan kept eating the min-muffins and gazing at me with such an unflinching stare. He held no shame in what we had done. I felt a push-pull between guilt, remorse, and a nagging desire to reach back across that table and kiss him, touch him, smell him.
“This is just the beginning,” he interrupted my thoughts.
“Us,” he replied as if he couldn’t have scripted it better.
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