The Affair

Chapter 16.2

Cigarette smoke stings his eye as it dangles from his lips. His thumbs move across the phone screen, tapping his response to his wife. She's well enough in Colorado, caught up with family visits and her sister's needs, all while keeping on eye on Zoe. He hits send before pocketing his phone.

She'll be busy all day. Good.

His cigarette runs its course, so he smashes it into a tray. Behind him, the doors open and shut, the little patter of feet following.

"Owwow! Hot!" Fallon whines, hopping from foot to foot.

He catches a glimpse of her as she rushes back inside, only to emerge a moment later in flip flops.

"Damn..." The word jumps from his tongue before his brain can catch it.

Back on the patio, Fallon looks at her feet, making sure they're safe from the scorching wood. She straightens, shoulders back, tossing her hair back with a smile. Her skin glows pale in the sun, nearly bare all over. She trots over, and he watches her breasts bounce.

"Sooo? You like?" she asks, anxious on her toes. She turns for him, happy to show herself off. A pearl white thong bikini. Skinny straps tie behind neck and back, two more riding high and knotting on her hips.

Hunger hits him like a truck. He steps over, hands already out to claim his prize. They feel her waist, sliding up and rubbing the first sheen of sweat forming.

"I do... You look amazing," he says, cock shameless against his trunks.

She giggles. "Oh? Hello!" she chirps, squeezing him below. Something better distracts her. "Whoa! The ocean!"

She trots over to the edge, feet lifting as she leans over the rail to peer out. He indulges the view. It doesn't last long. She hops down and he plops down onto lawn chair. The impulse strikes him—he checks his work email, just in case.

Fallon notices and huffs. The chair groans as she straddles him, the plastic bands stretching under their weight.

"Mr. Reiner, you promised. You said no working while we're here..."

His fingers carry on, typing in haste. "I said that?" he jokes.

She pouts, crossing her arms. He hits send and sets his phone away.

"Done. That's the only one. Today," he says.

"Good."

She dips lower. Their lips meet with a gently touch, tongues timid and idyl for now. His hands slide down her back, chasing the curve as it rounds into her ass. He slaps one cheek, then the other. Her hips buck into him, tracing her own touch against the stiffness behind his shorts.

The friction starts to spark—that warm tickle as she grinds along his length. She purrs into his neck, keeping rhythm, nails curling against his jaw like a cat kneading.

A lack of blood prompts a baser instinct. He braces her, rising off the chair with her in his arms. She gasps—a sexy little squeal as she holds him by the neck.

He turns her, easing her down onto the chair. He's in control now, hovered between splayed legs, covering her in shadow. She succumbs without pressure. She reaches below for him, palm cupping him through his trunks, rubbing.

He looks over to the house next door, having a clear view of that patio. "What if someone's looking?" he asks, eyes back on her.

Her bottom lip tucks, eyes half-lidded but meeting him head on. She says nothing, just shrugs her shoulders.

"You are dangerous..." he rasps.

Their lips press in tender connection, opening together, tongue tips touching. The plastic bands of the lawn chair push red divots into his forearm as he perches over her. His other hand reaches down, finding the underside of her leg, grazing until he touches the nylon swim bottom. Her breath shudders into his ear. He likes the sound.