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Authors: Brenda Joyce
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clasped her buttocks and pulled her against a raging hard-on. He returned her kiss wildly, frantically.
They pulled apart. “Shit,” Vince said. “What are you doing to me?”
On the roof the guys whistled and stamped.
“I need you,” Belinda said. “Badly, Vince. Badly.”
He could hardly breathe. “You haven’t called. I haven’theard from you all week—Christ, Belinda, it’s been five days!”
“It’s been an awful week,” she said, sliding her fingers into the mat of hair on his chest. “It’s almost noon. There’s a motel five minutes from here. Meet me there.” She didn’t wait for his answer. She turned and started back to her car. She heard him exhale loudly.
He was at the motel at five minutes after twelve—exactly fifteen minutes later. Belinda opened the door, wearing nothing but her tank top, which just covered her hips and left an enticing amount of pubic hair revealed. Vince took one look and grabbed her, pushing her backward onto the bed.
He held her head in his two thick, calloused hands and kissed her again and again. Then he knelt, running his hands down over her breasts, to her waist, her hips. He spread her thighs wide apart. He groaned, raising her and lowering his head.
His breath was soft and warm, his tongue sliding slickly over and between the folds of swollen pink flesh, searching.
“Vince,” she moaned.
He reared up and thrust into her powerfully. They clung together and thrust and pumped and pushed and panted.
Afterward they lay together, regaining breath, drenched with sweat. Vince raised his head. “What time is it?”
Belinda looked at her Rolex. “Twelve-twenty.”
He pulled off her top and began sucking her breasts. They made love again, starting slowly, leisurely, until Vince’s pace became frantic. He always made love to her as if there would be no tomorrow.
“I love you,” he rasped as he came violently inside her.
Vince was a regular Romeo when he was between her legs. Men were like that. Spouting Shakespeare.
“When will I see you again? Tomorrow night?”
“I’m going to a party tomorrow night,” Belinda said truthfully. Vince had learned about the Outrage sale when itwas being negotiated. “It’s a North-Star party. Maybe Saturday.”
“Shit,” Vince said. “I could never get away from Mary on a Saturday.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Belinda said, standing and smoothing down her white skirt. She hadn’t forgotten, and she felt a bit rotten. “Well, after the weekend.”
“I never see you,” Vince said, his jaw ticking.
“I’m not the one who’s married.”
“You’re right.” He turned away. “Maybe I’ll have to do something about that.”
Belinda was aghast. “Don’t do anything rash, Vince!”
“I’m sick of sneaking around,” Vince said. “Mary disgusts me. Things can’t go on like this. Maybe I should just tell Mary—”
“No!” Belinda sat down hard on the bed. “Vince.” She stopped and sighed. What could she say? She had always been up-front. Hadn’t she made it clear that it was just sex—and that’s all it would ever be?
“You’re not even jealous,” he said. “You don’t even care that I spend five nights a week with another woman.”
Belinda didn’t know what to say, so she checked her face in the mirror.
Vince rubbed his jaw. “What about that party? Can I take you to it?”
Belinda wasn’t a liar. Yet she didn’t want to hurt Vince. She had never even considered him as her date, and for a moment she felt guilty. Adam Gordon had immediately come to her mind the instant she had learned of the North-Star party. But then she reminded herself that Vince was married, and their time together was stolen, literally. “A friend is taking me, Vince. I’m sorry. But I assumed you’d never be able to leave Mary on a Friday night.”
Vince moved away, clearly hurt. Feeling like a heel, Belinda wrapped him in her arms from behind—a sympathy hug. When he turned back to her to kiss her, she
They pulled apart. “Shit,” Vince said. “What are you doing to me?”
On the roof the guys whistled and stamped.
“I need you,” Belinda said. “Badly, Vince. Badly.”
He could hardly breathe. “You haven’t called. I haven’theard from you all week—Christ, Belinda, it’s been five days!”
“It’s been an awful week,” she said, sliding her fingers into the mat of hair on his chest. “It’s almost noon. There’s a motel five minutes from here. Meet me there.” She didn’t wait for his answer. She turned and started back to her car. She heard him exhale loudly.
He was at the motel at five minutes after twelve—exactly fifteen minutes later. Belinda opened the door, wearing nothing but her tank top, which just covered her hips and left an enticing amount of pubic hair revealed. Vince took one look and grabbed her, pushing her backward onto the bed.
He held her head in his two thick, calloused hands and kissed her again and again. Then he knelt, running his hands down over her breasts, to her waist, her hips. He spread her thighs wide apart. He groaned, raising her and lowering his head.
His breath was soft and warm, his tongue sliding slickly over and between the folds of swollen pink flesh, searching.
“Vince,” she moaned.
He reared up and thrust into her powerfully. They clung together and thrust and pumped and pushed and panted.
Afterward they lay together, regaining breath, drenched with sweat. Vince raised his head. “What time is it?”
Belinda looked at her Rolex. “Twelve-twenty.”
He pulled off her top and began sucking her breasts. They made love again, starting slowly, leisurely, until Vince’s pace became frantic. He always made love to her as if there would be no tomorrow.
“I love you,” he rasped as he came violently inside her.
Vince was a regular Romeo when he was between her legs. Men were like that. Spouting Shakespeare.
“When will I see you again? Tomorrow night?”
“I’m going to a party tomorrow night,” Belinda said truthfully. Vince had learned about the Outrage sale when itwas being negotiated. “It’s a North-Star party. Maybe Saturday.”
“Shit,” Vince said. “I could never get away from Mary on a Saturday.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Belinda said, standing and smoothing down her white skirt. She hadn’t forgotten, and she felt a bit rotten. “Well, after the weekend.”
“I never see you,” Vince said, his jaw ticking.
“I’m not the one who’s married.”
“You’re right.” He turned away. “Maybe I’ll have to do something about that.”
Belinda was aghast. “Don’t do anything rash, Vince!”
“I’m sick of sneaking around,” Vince said. “Mary disgusts me. Things can’t go on like this. Maybe I should just tell Mary—”
“No!” Belinda sat down hard on the bed. “Vince.” She stopped and sighed. What could she say? She had always been up-front. Hadn’t she made it clear that it was just sex—and that’s all it would ever be?
“You’re not even jealous,” he said. “You don’t even care that I spend five nights a week with another woman.”
Belinda didn’t know what to say, so she checked her face in the mirror.
Vince rubbed his jaw. “What about that party? Can I take you to it?”
Belinda wasn’t a liar. Yet she didn’t want to hurt Vince. She had never even considered him as her date, and for a moment she felt guilty. Adam Gordon had immediately come to her mind the instant she had learned of the North-Star party. But then she reminded herself that Vince was married, and their time together was stolen, literally. “A friend is taking me, Vince. I’m sorry. But I assumed you’d never be able to leave Mary on a Friday night.”
Vince moved away, clearly hurt. Feeling like a heel, Belinda wrapped him in her arms from behind—a sympathy hug. When he turned back to her to kiss her, she
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