High Risk

Chapter 2-3

Beth didn’t think she could take much more. She hadn’t brought him home for chitchat. And the longer they delayed here, on the couch, the closer Mark would be to coming home. And that would truly be the end of the world.

The scenario for other encounters was never like this one. Usually, it went like this: the men she hooked up with tended to have her up against the door of their apartments or motel rooms within seconds of closing them. There was seldom any talk, other than a guttural moan, admonition, or encouragement. It was always a race to see who could get undressed first.

And that’s the way Beth liked it. No time for thinking. No time for guilt. Just raw lust. If you talked to them, they became people.

This one, for all his macho good looks, was beginning to be a disappointment. Beth liked a man who knew how to take charge (perhaps removing some of her responsibility). She didn’t want to be the one to make all the moves. And that feeling caused her passion to wilt, just a little.

Wasn’t she beautiful enough?

Didn’t he want her?

When she had got Abbott his Sam Adams, she’d poured her own glass of Pinot Grigio. She took a sip of the wine now, held it in her mouth for a second, then leaned close to him, pressing her lips to his and attempting to transfer some of the liquid into his mouth.

Most of it ran down their chins as he spat it out. Beth recoiled. “What did you do that for?”

Abbott’s blue eyes flashed as he stared at her. If she didn’t know better, she would think his frown one of disgust.

“I just wasn’t expecting that. I guess I…” His voice trailed off and he looked out the window, then back at her. “I guess I’m really not into s**t like that. You know?”

Had she made a mistake? Beth took him in once more: the heavy dark eyebrows and lashes throwing into sharp relief the pale blue eyes, the thick mane of black curls, the dark stubble on his chin. Maybe to give up just now would be the real mistake. “Well, then, maybe you’d be into something like this.” Beth stood, turned toward him, then sat on his lap, straddling him, her face inches from his. She grinned, glad she had removed her thong panties in the kitchen. If this didn’t work…

She leaned in and kissed him. He held his lips firm, though, refusing to part them to admit her flickering tongue.

He doesn’t want you. He doesn’t like you.

The thought made her push all the harder at his unyielding lips.

Maybe he’s just a bad kisser. Embarrassment and shame produced friction that caused Beth’s face to grow hot. Hot enough for a line of sweat to break out at her hairline.

She pressed her breasts against his chest, squeezing against him, feeling nauseous and disgusted with herself, but unable to stop.

She moved down her hand, desperate for the erection she hoped to find trapped in his jeans. His softness, however, disappointed her. Maybe he was gay, she tried telling herself, while another part countered: he just doesn’t find you attractive. Or maybe he’s just nervous, having a little performance anxiety. Well, she knew how to take care of nervous men, make them forget their anxieties. Nervousness could actually add something if handled right.

She reached for his zipper.

* * * *

Abbott would be damned if he’d let the slut go further. She’d already tried sticking his filthy tongue in her mouth. God knows where it had been. And now, before they were barely acquainted, she was groping for his d**k.

No surprise there, but it still sickened him.

Just like all the rest…

He jerked so her hand came off his fly. She panted, and he could smell her. Disgusting. Unclean.

“Cut it out,” he said, much more sharply than he intended.

Her hand went back to the zipper, but he moved it away.

“Please,” she whispered, “Let me take care of you. It’s okay. Don’t be scared.” She unbuttoned her vest and let her breasts fall out, then pressed them against him. She rubbed up and down, like a filthy goddamned cat.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll suck you.” She tugged again at his zipper.

* * * *

Beth didn’t care how nervous he was. She had to have him. She needed to tug down his jeans and mount him, right here on the couch.

He would get hard for her.

He would want her.

Just like all the others. She was dizzy, her thighs wet. Everything around her was melting, disappearing.

* * * *

No more! Abbott scowled as she finally managed to get down his zipper. He stood violently, mustering all his strength. Beth tumbled to the floor, her head hitting the coffee table, shoulder banging with a thud against the hardwood floor.

She winced. “What’s wrong with you?” She scrambled to her feet, rubbing her shoulder. Her eyes were wild. Her hair was in disarray. Her mouth looked bruised, the lipstick smeared.

“There’s nothin’ wrong with me.” Abbott finally gave vent to his fury; it boiled out of him, no longer confinable. “I’m not the w***e here.”

“What?” Beth struggled to button her vest.

“I’m not the piece of trash screwing around behind my husband’s back while he’s out tryin’ to make a living for her.”

“Shut up. You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” Beth scooted away. “I want you to get out. Now.”

Abbott knew he had finally seized control. He was pleased with the terror he finally saw on her face. Her fear rose up and he could smell it, like some overripe, too-sweet flower.

He was ready to assume his position as teacher. He sat back down, sipped his beer. Calm at last. “I haven’t finished my beer yet.”

“Get out. Please.” He saw the damp in her eyes.

“Hey. That’s no way to talk to an invited guest, now is it?” Abbott grinned. He lifted his legs and placed them on the coffee table.

* * * *

Beth rubbed her eyes, trying to stop her hands from trembling. She backed away from him, shoulder throbbing.

Now…now…after all this…he finally returned her gaze, even smiled.

But there was nothing attractive in that smile, even that face. Not anymore.

“Please. Please….just go. You’re scaring me.”

* * * *

Abbott wanted to laugh. Scaring her? This b***h brings home a stranger to f**k. You think she’d have a little more guts.

“Listen, Beth—my mother always told me when you invite company, you let them decide when it’s time to leave.”

“You can’t stay.” Her voice was hoarse. “You have to leave. Or I’m calling the police.” She started toward a cordless phone on a side table.

Abbott barked a short laugh. His lips curled into a sneer. “Oh, go ahead, Beth, give ‘em a ring. I’d like to tell them my side of the story, too. And I bet hubby will also be curious about both sides of this little afternoon delight. Don’t you think? So you go ahead.” He smiled wide. “Make that call.”

A small spasm passed through her jaw. “You son of a bitch.”

Abbott grinned. “Gotcha.”

Beth shook her head. “No. No, you don’t. Mark wouldn’t believe a word of it. Neither would the cops. I’m calling.” She turned and headed toward the phone.

But he was quicker. He ripped the base out of the wall and flung the headset to the floor, stomping on it with his boot. The charcoal-gray plastic cracked. “You silly b***h. Don’t you know it’s rude to talk on the phone when you have company? Where are your manners, Beth?”

He liked the fear he saw. Fear. Finally the little tramp was learning some respect. Eventually, she would be grateful for this day and having met him.

* * * *

“Look,” she pleaded. “My husband might be home soon. He comes home during the day sometimes. He has an office here…in the back. Really, you’d better go.”

The mantle clock told her that Mark would not be home for at least another few hours, at 4:30. But Abbott didn’t have to know that.

And what if he didn’t leave? What if Mark came home, finding them together? How would she explain?

It wouldn’t look like a forced situation, not with a beer bottle and a wineglass on the coffee table, her panties in a heap on the kitchen floor.

Beth slumped against the wall with the thought of it. Why had she done this? She loved Mark; she really did. The terror coursing through her was proof enough…losing him would kill her. Even hurting him would tear her up. She wasn’t sure she could bear it.

“I think it’d be really nice to meet the man.” A smile played about Abbott’s lips. He stretched out on the couch, kicking off his boots, and taking a sip of his beer. “In fact, I think I’ll just stick around until he shows up. I think I need to have a little talk with him, man to man. He’ll appreciate me letting him know.” Abbott stared straight into her eyes. “I mean, if this were a purely hypothetical situation, as they say, don’t you think you’d agree? I mean, it’s doing the poor guy a favor.”

Beth bit her lower lip. She pictured Mark in his office, or maybe at the courthouse, glancing down at the Movado watch she had bought him for Christmas, and thinking about how long it would be before he would see her again.

She rushed into the kitchen and threw up in the sink.