Guy nodded, smiling. "Then we have something in common, I see," he said quietly. He moved closer to her, letting his large meaty thigh touch her own slender one. She didn't move away, but kept sipping her drink, her mind momentarily on pause.
Guy turned away from her, joining in the conversations around him, seeming completely at ease. His thigh still touched hers, and almost against her will, Tracy felt herself responding to him. What was going on with her? When he brought her a third drink, she didn't even bother to question herself any longer. He suddenly seemed witty and urbane, and she threw back her head as she laughed at his jokes. She was drunk and happy, her face flushed with alcohol and her eyes bright with possibility.
By 6:30 the party was pretty much over. It was drizzling outside, and the idea of waiting for the bus in the rain held no appeal to Tracy. When Guy offered to give her a ride home, she accepted, not letting herself think past just getting to the car.
On the ride home Tracy became suddenly shy. She was still drunk, but now more aware of herself, and the fact that they were alone in the car together. Not that he would try anything, surely. They worked together, after all. Guy didn't say anything, but focused on the road; she knew he'd put away a few himself.
"We should have lunch sometime," he said casually. "Discuss our, um, shared interests." He didn't look at her as he spoke, eyes still on the road, fingers clenching the steering wheel, and she realized he was as nervous as she was. That assured her somehow, and she felt a little calmer, smiling at him.
"We should."
When Kyle got home thirty minutes after Tracy, she didn't ask him where he'd been. He had takeout Chinese with him, which would have ruined her plans if she'd actually made him the nice dinner she'd been thinking of earlier, but she hadn't made him a thing. He didn't notice, acting pleased with himself that he had provided the sustenance for the evening. He set it out, opening each little carton and announcing the contents within.
"Rough day?" Tracy remarked with elaborate casualness.
Kyle loosened his tie and sighed a loud histrionic sigh. "Man, that staff meeting took forever. Those guys just love their meetings. Through the whole thing, I was thinking about you and getting home."
She didn't call him on it; didn't say a thing. Her usual response to such a statement would have been to throw her arms around him, and feel grateful that he had missed her – but he was lying, and she knew it. How many other times had he lied to her these past few months? Maybe it was this, not the online forays, that finally decreased his sex drive. He was 'getting it' elsewhere.
The odd thing was, instead of feeling devastated, a part of her was quietly relieved. She was angry, she had to admit, and felt betrayed, but also relieved. Because wasn't she, in fact, just as guilty? She may not have actually fucked anyone, but her thoughts and behaviors were just as damning as his actions. Not that she even knew for sure what he was doing.
Maybe he just needed time alone. Becoming a doctor was a big deal. Maybe he was feeling the responsibility too keenly. Maybe he spent those afternoons in a park somewhere, weighing his responsibilities.
Yeah, right. She knew that was crap, but she didn't want to know the truth right now; not specifically. Knowledge might be power, but for now, she chose to remain in the dark, though the ignorance felt less than blissful.
Tracy didn't get online that evening, and neither did Kyle. They watched TV for a while, then read their books, listening to Kyle's music. "Your tastes are just too 'teenager bubble gum' for me," he'd explained to her years ago, and her records and CDs had gradually been moved aside to make place for his more important works of Mendelssohn and Beethoven. Tonight, Mahler's Sixth was regaling them from Kyle's expensive stereo system, and as it ended, Tracy thought the three hammer blows in the final movement of the "Tragic" seemed fitting.
They went to bed early, and Tracy was surprised when Kyle wanted to have sex. In her mind, he'd been fucking some little nurse from the hospital all afternoon and would be too spent to want Tracy as well. Kyle was hard as ever, as he pressed his large erection against her back, arms encircling her, grabbing at her round breasts.
Tracy stiffened, angry with him for the lies, angry with herself for her own, and for her inability to talk to Kyle about it. They really didn't communicate at all. Had they ever? Kyle pressed between her buttocks, trying to force her legs apart so he could stick his cock in her and come.
No kisses, no nuzzles to her neck. No loving words or whispers in the dark. How long had it been like this? They were connected only at the groin, and where his fingers roughly twisted her nipples to attention.
He removed a hand from her breast for a moment, and she heard him spitting on it, to lubricate his cock. The gesture sickened her and she pulled away from him murmuring, "I'm really tired, Kyle."
"That's ok, babe. You don't have to do a thing. Just spread those legs of yours and relax." He slipped his now wet fingers between her legs, his erection still pressed against her back, and briefly massaged her clit before moving down to her opening. She felt dry as a bone, but he didn't seem to notice or mind. A moment later, his cock was at her entrance, and he pressed it against her, entering her from behind.
"Kyle, I don't want to."
"Shh," he stopped her words with a hand on her mouth, and Tracy stilled. She knew it was useless to argue; he would get what he wanted; he always did. His hand on her mouth aroused her, against her will. It fit neatly into her fantasy of being raped. As usual, she would get through this one by fantasizing about being 'taken'. Wasn't that what he did, really? Take her against her will, over and over again? But somehow it wasn't sexy – because it wasn't fantasy. What he did, was plain rutting. And she was his come bucket.
Yeech. The image repulsed her and the tentative mood she tried to create was lost. She felt the pain of ripping flesh as he pushed his thick hard cock into her unwilling orifice. She cried out a little, which he confused for desire. "Yes, baby, yes. You know you want it." He pushed harder, and she moved a little to try to better accommodate him. His hand had dropped from her mouth, and she wished he would put it back. She dared to whisper it.
"Cover my mouth again."
No response, as he writhed against her, his long thin body heating rapidly against her. "Kyle, cover my mouth again. That was sexy."
"What? What are you talking about? What's sexy about that?" She didn't respond, and he didn't pursue it, getting lost again in his own gyrations inside her. Then she remembered Paul's words this morning.
"When you get home tonight, you can come. And even if you orgasm with Kyle, I want you to think of me. Think of me, and in your head, ask for my permission. Say, 'Paul, can I come?' And imagine that I am saying yes. Rremember that you belong to me, and then come like the slut I know you are."
She saw Paul's image in her mind, the dark eyes, the enigmatic expression, and something in her softened. Kyle's cock thrusting in her didn't hurt so much now, and she barely heard his grunting in her ear.
Licking her own fingers, she shifted so she could touch her pussy, and began to rub herself in time with Kyle's thrusts. Confused images of herself this morning, panties down, legs spread, of Paul's photograph, of Guy's large thigh pressed against hers, and her usual fantasies of a faceless man holding her down and raping her, filled Tracy's mind and body, loosening her to the point of orgasm.
She barely noticed as Kyle came inside her, moaning a primal grunt as he shot his seed into her. Her own hand was busy as she finger fucked herself to orgasm, unaware that Kyle had slipped out of her and rolled away from her, leaving her back covered with his sweat and her pussy gooey with his come.