The Morning After — James Lewis

Jane caught my eye while I was on the dais.  After the board meeting ended, she cornered me in the hallway and asked me about an item on the agenda.  We started talking, and I told her that I had to meet my wife for dinner.  I asked her if she would join me for a drink another evening so we could discuss her question further.  She said she would, and two nights later we met in a South Miami bar.  The affair began that night, although it would not be consummated for several months.  When I was with her, she made me feel like the only person in the room.  Her eyes focused on me, she stroked my hand when I spoke, and she laughed at my jokes, no matter how foolish they were.  No doubt, I was a willing participant…but she seduced me there on a bar stool beneath the dim glow of shaded lights.

After that first night, we met often for lunch.  On the days we met, I waited, staring through my office window into the parking lot.  Jane would step from her car, smooth her skirt or dress, and shake loose her blonde hair.  I imagined, as she walked into the building past the security guard, that his eyes followed her hips and he thought the same lustful thoughts I thought.  What man wouldn’t?   Yet, our lunches remained lunches.  As I said, I was a married man.  One afternoon, however, as we sat by a window in a crowded restaurant, the change occurred.  I watched the sunlight wash across the curve of her neck, and the wait staff and other customers faded away.  As our conversation paused, her eyelids flickered and her lips curled into a smile, and I wished then that I had no wife so I could kiss the woman in front of me…the woman with whom I was falling in love.

The dream started that night.  In the dream, I took Jane in my arms, pressed my lips to hers, and lost myself in the oceans of her eyes.  She whispered for me to take her.  I unbuttoned her blouse, unclasped her bra, and loosened the belt on her skirt.  She shook her shoulders and hips, and her clothes fell to the floor.  I cupped her breasts in my hands, kissed her again, and ran my tongue to the hollow at the bottom of her neck.  She gasped, and her skin grew goose bumps.  I brushed my lips downward between her breasts and glided them over her stomach to the dip in her navel.  Her head tilted back, and she moaned.  I pinched her nipples softly, slid my hands down her sides to her buttocks, and pulled her black panties past her hips and thighs.  I closed my eyes and smelled her scent.  Ravenous with desire, I plunged my face between her legs and probed my tongue into her heat.  She groaned as my mouth explored her, holding my head and canting back and forth until she grew weak and collapsed upon the nearby couch.  She grabbed at my shirt to pull me close to her.  I lifted myself to my knees, stripped off my clothes, and thrust my member into her moist flesh…then I woke.

This dream came to me each night for several weeks, and, each night, when I woke, my heart raced.  I looked at the wife who lay beside me and wished that she were Jane.  During the days, I found myself distracted at work and unable to focus on tasks I usually handled with ease.  My assistant noticed the change.  Even my lunches with Jane became difficult.  My eyes undressed her as she sat across from me.  I wanted to tell her about the dream that was becoming my obsession.  My wife, whom I had begun to avoid, sensed that something was wrong.  She confronted me one night.  She told me I had grown distant, accused me of not making love to her in more than a month, and asked if I were having an affair.  I paused before I answered no.  “Really?” she said.  In a moment of clarity, I looked into her dark eyes and told her that, no, I was not having an affair, but I could no longer live with her.

That weekend, I found a small apartment near work, moved out of my house, and started over.  During the gloaming, I stood on the balcony and surveyed what seemed like a new world.  The palm trees swayed beneath me, mirroring the swaying of Jane’s hips.  The fading light lingered in a canal across the street, dancing white on the water as if it were dancing on Jane’s blue eyes.  Purple clouds drifted through the sky, carrying my imaginary queen across the heavens to my bedroom.  I saw the woman I loved in every movement of the world…and I existed in a twilight where all would be right once I held her in my arms.

That Friday, we lunched at our usual place.  The strapless sundress Jane wore clung to her curves and revealed the tan lines on her shoulders.  As the men in the restaurant gawked as Jane passed their tables, their women gave them dirty looks.  As usual, Jane focused all of her attention on me, but I felt an eerie nervousness.  I fumbled through our conversation.  She asked me if anything were wrong.  I shook my head from side to side before recounting the details of the past week.   She smiled briefly, almost imperceptibly, then took my hand and consoled me on my “difficult decision.”  I said that it was all for the best.  She asked if it would at least be all right to celebrate my new apartment.

“I would like that,” I said and caressed her fingers with my hand.  She offered to bring a bottle of champagne that evening.

When we stood to leave, I noticed the outline of her nipples against the cotton of her dress.  I had become excited too, and I placed my hands in my pockets to hide my erection.  Outside, I kissed her on the cheek and smelled the scent of vanilla on her nape.  She breathed in my ear and whispered, “Until later….”

She arrived that evening, a bottle of champagne in hand.  I gave her the perfunctory tour, and she opened the bottle on the balcony.  The cork shot over the balustrade and the foamy liquid spurted onto her hand.  She licked the stickiness from her fingers.  I watched her with delight.  I put my arm around her, and she did the same with me.  We looked out at the stars, and she raised her glass and toasted to my new life.  We tilted back our flutes and finished our champagne.  As we left the balcony and entered the living room, I turned on the radio.  As if on cue, Johnny Hartman sang, “You are too beautiful, my dear, to be true, and I am a fool for beauty.”

We sat on the couch, and I looked deep into her eyes.  She smiled, and we experienced a moment of awkwardness, but we knew what would happen next.  I leaned forward and kissed her.  Her lips parted, and each tongue explored the other.  Our hands wandered over each other’s bodies.  My head tingled with passion.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” I said.

“You have no idea,” she said, fanning her chest.  She gathered her breath and rose from the couch.  Crooking her arms and reaching behind her neck, she unclasped a button and let her dress fall to the floor.  She wore no bra, and her breasts blossomed white against the mocha of her surrounding skin.  I stood also.  She slid her panties to the floor.  A thick patch of auburn hair tufted from between her legs.  I became hard.  She stepped towards me and kissed me again.  As she kissed me, she unbuckled my belt and unzipped my pants.  She reached into my briefs and squeezed.  I groaned.

Keeping her eyes on mine, she knelt down.  Once her knees touched the floor, she took me into her mouth.  She swirled her tongue around my girth, and my legs buckled.  I steadied myself, and she moved her head slowly back and forth.  After a few minutes, she took me from her mouth to relax her jaw.  “I’m a lucky girl,” she said and blew me a kiss.  My head tilted back, and she inched me into her throat until she gagged slightly.  She moved back and forth again, this time more rapidly.  I could hold back no longer.  I ran my fingers through her hair.  My muscles grew tense.

“I’m there,” I said, and Jane slid her mouth back to the head, pumped my shaft gently, and nursed me until I overflowed.  I stood panting.  She rose to her feet and kissed me.  I tasted myself on her tongue and felt a sticky rivulet on her chin when it brushed against mine.

I brought her to the couch.  She sat at the edge and spread her legs apart.  A musky scent exuded from her, and I buried my head between her thighs.  I licked the damp, silky strands of hair around her lips before I plunged my tongue into her flesh.  She moaned, pulled the hair at the back of my head, and pushed my face against her.  I swirled my tongue inside her, before sliding it out of her and gliding it to her clitoris.  There, my tongue flitted on her jewel.  She gasped.  My tongue flitted more rapidly, and I moved my mouth in tight circles.  She squeezed her nails into my shoulders.  “Don’t stop,” she said.  She began to grind her hips against my face, and her juices released onto my mouth and chin.  She called out, “…god, oh god,” bucked against me, and screamed.  Relaxing her grip on my shoulders, she fell limp beneath me.

Her taste and the intensity of her pleasure had roused my passion again.  I removed the remainder of my clothes, pressed my chest to hers, and kissed her deeply.  We fell back on the couch.  As I kissed her, my organ brushed against her labia.  Our eyes locked together, and she pulled me closer to her.  I entered her and shuddered with anticipation.  We moved together, rolling our hips in rhythm.  Nibbling from her ear, to her neck, to her nipples, I explored her body as we made love.  Her breathing grew heavy and quick.  I rolled my hips faster to match the tempo of her breath.  She said my name, whispering it at first, then letting it echo more and more loudly.  I held her hands behind her head and kissed her again.  She cried out in pleasure.  My excitement grew uncontrollable, and I pulled myself from her and erupted.  I showered her chin, her breasts, and stomach in glimmering pearls of white.  Sated, I collapsed on her.  She enveloped me in her arms, and we slept for the first time as lovers.

The morning after, we woke, made love again, and showered.  We dressed and went to breakfast at an outdoor café.  She smiled at me and held my hand, but I sensed something was amiss.  I thought she paid the waiter too much attention as he brought her fruit and coffee.  Moreover, her eyes seemed to search the leering faces of the men who surrounded us at their white plastic tables.  Then, when a handsome goof wearing sunglasses pulled up to the curb, I swore she batted her eyes at him as he stepped from his car.  I wondered: Would she someday corner one of them in a dim hallway if she had the chance?  I squeezed her hand, and she blew me a kiss…but I knew I was not safe.  I would have to keep an eye on this one.  I would have to watch her very closely.

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This is James’ second sexy story to appear here on Every Night Erotica, read X.

Mr. Lewis lives in Massachusetts with his two cats, Elvis and Rico. He writes short stories and poetry in his spare time.