First, Finally, and Forever

Just a Little Bit

She was folding the kid's clothes into their oversized suitcase when he appeared in the doorway, casually leaning, arms crossed. She turned her back to him to grab more clothes and steeled herself.

"Headed out today then?"

"Yeah, we need to get the kids home. Early night, etc." she replied, not looking up, not even wanting to glance his way. Her resolve was worn to a nub. Her husband was at the pool with the kids. She was bone tired, but the idea of a hair messing, clothing-rumpling kiss felt tempting, especially with him.

She wanted it. Which was freaking her out, and scary, just a little bit.

He slid into the room to lean against the wall, his hands in his pockets. What she could see under her eyelashes made her falter. He was wearing that blue shirt she liked, as always, slightly rumpled.

Do not make eye contact... Do not even, she told herself.

Just as she thought it, she did look up, and sheer physical attraction caught her. She wanted to run her hand up his chest, feel the warm maleness of him under his shirt, slide up around the back of his neck, feel the ends of his hair prickle her fingers. Forbidden fruit, all that nonsense. She wanted to taste the beer he'd had at lunch on his tongue, and feel his lips on hers, test the softness, see how they met hers.

She blinked and gritted her teeth behind a tired half-smile.

He was full-on smiling, the years of eye crinkles adding to his charm. Damn that charm! It had distracted her so much during the seminar that she hadn't retained a thing, sitting beside him, forgetfully yet purposely bumping knees and elbows.

"We're likely leaving tomorrow. Give B the day off. Won't hurt him." He said. "K wants to stay on and see some of the city, since we hardly travel here anymore."

She nodded. Her chest felt like it was caving in. Both of them married, both of them flirting with the "what if". It was heady.

She had not been misreading his cues, she had not been immune to the casual hand brushes, the eye contact that would linger just a fraction too long. The comfortable joking and insinuations. The worst part was she liked it. She craved it. Was she drawn to him because he paid attention to her in a way her husband never did anymore? 

Or was it something more?

How could you take that step to find out when the stakes were so high? She let out a breath, ran her hands backwards through her hair, tugging her head forward.

"You ok?" He asked, smile suddenly leaving.

"Yes. Just tired. It was great to have the kids along, but mixing a convention with a vacation wears on the mom part of my job."

They both chuckled at that and she stopped in her tracks. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. She had to know. She had to put it to rest and damn the possibility. She looked at him, looked to the door, and stepped the half-dozen steps it took to get there. She purposely closed it and locked it. N hadn't taken the key. There would be no surprises.

When she turned around, his hands were out of his pockets and he was no longer casually leaning on the wall. Everything about him looked tense, anticipatory. He took a step towards her then stopped and cleared his throat nervously. Their eyes met in that way where you have laser focus and intent is clear. Which was all she needed.

"This is happening, isn't it?" he whispered, never taking his eyes away from hers.

She launched herself at him just as he launched himself at her. They met in a crash of bodies, frenzy of lips finding one another, sharp intakes of breath as the sensations took hold. He ran his hands over her back, down to her ass, up again to her nape, trying to take her all in, absorb her. She obliged and pressed herself inwards, melding herself into him. They fell against the wall, then onto the bed, half-folded clothes spewing down the side, landing on the floor.

His fingers were in the waistband of her jeans, hers under his shirt when they slowed and parted just enough to see one another.

"Holy Shit." He breathed.

"No kidding."

He slowly sat up, and they moved to sit beside one another, willing their breath back into calmness. What should she say? She had her answer now. If she wanted, she could.

Did she want him? Did she want to go down that path of infidelity? Risk her children, her home, her marriage? And now what? They worked together.

"What does this mean, exactly?" he finally asked, breaking the silence.

"I-" She started, then faltered, lacing her fingers together in her lap. "I have no fucking clue. But I needed to know."

"Me too."

He grabbed one of her hands, lacing it into his. He examined the fit, then lifted them to his mouth and kissed the back of her knuckles one by one, so gently she felt a wave of warmth wash over her as she watched his lips. He raised his eyes up and she caught them, seeing that he was just as frayed as she was over this. It stopped her heart.

"I want to taste you, M. I've wanted to lay you out and run my hands over you until I have every curve memorized. You fascinate me." he blurted, his voice giving out into gravel. "There are times at work that I want to throw you up against the wall and-"

She took a sharp intake of breath, realizing that she had a mirror of those fantasies in her mind, playing on a loop some days. But she also wanted more. She wanted to lie beside him and talk about ridiculous things, nothings, everythings. She wanted to hear his thoughts of life. They'd had so many conversations at work about all these things before, but never with a chance to have it raw and unfiltered.

She wanted the emotion with the intimacy, not just sex because it was what you were supposed to do with your spouse. She had been going through the motions for so long she had forgotten how obliteratingly overwhelming emotion factored into intimate, sensual touch. In making love.

"Jesus, E." She looked away, blinking at the burst of emotion. "I-"

He let go of her hand and got up. "We've crossed a line. I never thought I would cross it, but I did, and we can't go back. But I fucking wanted to. And I will again, if you let me. If not, that is ok too."

"I want it too." She whispered and got up, putting her hands on his chest, flat out, splaying her fingers across. "With every fibre in my body, I want it."

He bent in, teasing her lips with his, and she let him. She lowered the shield and simply let the adrenaline spike up and down her spine, forgetting the price. She nipped his lower lip, playing, and heard him take in a sharp, deliciously aroused breath. He pushed her back onto the bed, growling from somewhere inside him, pushing her hands up over her head, holding them while he rested on her hips. Her body instinctively bucked up against him, throwing one leg over his hip. As they moved, she felt the edge of a pair of toddler –sized jeans just at her fingertips.

Reality was cold and icy when it was attached to your physical senses.

"We can't. Not... here..." she panted as his teeth grazed her neck. "Not... Safe."

He fell onto her, nodding, muffled in the comforter underneath them, then let go of her hands. They automatically went to his head, and then his back, and then as he lifted himself off of her, to his face. She hoped he understood. She searched him for agreement.

"Ok... Ok." He said, grimacing. "We'll have to figure out something."

She let him out of the room a few moments later, stunned by what had happened, out of breath like she'd been running. She was energized, giddy, and flitted around the room picking things up and putting them down again, trying desperately to organize her thoughts and calm her pulse down. She wanted to call a friend and squeal girlishly about it, but realized she couldn't tell anyone.

Had she just cheated on her husband? Well, in simple black and white terms, yes. Had she felt like a cheater? Did she feel dirty, or wrong, or horrible about herself?

No, she hadn't...

Which was freaking her out, and scary, just a little bit.