We Shouldn’t But Now I Can’t Stop

We shouldn’t, but I came when he called.
Once was a mistake. Twice had been an accident. But when I parked my car next to his and drank in his silhouetted body at the deserted oval, it felt like the start of a relationship.

I was in love with someone else. For years, I’d been totally and completely in love with someone else. We were part of the same friendship circle, and eventually, he’d realize that I was the one he could love.

So, if I was in love with someone else, why did I leave the party with a random stranger and make a one-night mistake?

Jealousy. Doesn’t every revenge-fuck or rebound start with jealousy? I’d watched the love of my life with his arm around another woman he’d soon introduce to me as his girlfriend. Jealousy had burned, and I wanted him to feel the same.

When a random stranger offered me a drink, I said, yes.

When the random stranger kissed me, I kissed him back.

When the random stranger took me back to his place, I lay face down on the bed and imagined it was the man I loved fucking me from behind. When the hand squeezed between the mattress and my hips and rubbed me to an orgasm, I bit my lips and refused to cry out any name.

And when the random stranger made me breakfast the next morning, the tenderness between my legs wasn’t from jealousy, but from being well-loved. Four times he’d loved me with his cock, and twice by his tongue.

But the love of my life hadn’t even noticed I’d left the party and two days later, his status had been updated. He’d found his next ex-girlfriend.

I was still hurting from the relationship status update when I answered the call from my random stranger. With energy to burn, we raced each other on a twenty-kilometer bike ride to the top of the nearby ridge before he fucked my exhausted body against a tree. He’d peeled down my sweaty lycra shorts and after teasing me to a slow burn orgasm that I thought would never end, he rammed me so hard, I almost saw stars.

Again, I refused to see his face or watch his eyes while we fucked — all the better to imagine he was someone else.

But tonight, two texts had arrived within minutes of each other and I had a choice. I could go to drinks with friends, knowing the newly single man I loved would be there. Or, I could answer the call from my stranger.

Yes, I knew his name, he’d programmed it into my phone on our first night. But I liked to think of him as my random stranger. It allowed me to put distance between my emotions and what we were doing.

I could do both. I could have a quickie with my random stranger before meeting the love of my life and our friends.

Liar. He’s never quick and you’ve become addicted to his brand of cock.

Didn’t I deserve to be happy? And as I imagined my red lip gloss staining my stranger’s cock, I felt happy.

I released the band around my hair, wanting it to get tangled in the night air or twisted in his fists. Even before I reached where he was now leaning against his car, my body tingled with anticipation. My heart might not have been won over, yet, but my body had already surrendered.

“You came,” he said, stroking my face until I couldn’t resist his beautiful eyes. Yes, my walls were thawing.

“Not yet,” I replied. “That’s your job.”

I shouldn’t have come here. I should have walked into the bar and taken my seat next to the man I loved and stood my ground until the next willowy blonde got between us.

Instead, I let this random stranger spread me over the hood of his car and toss my panties into the wind.

But if I was truly in love with someone else, why did I let my stranger’s rough chin graze up my thighs?

Why was I so wet at the thought of his mouth on my pussy that when he teased me with his tongue, I wanted to explode?

And why did I slide down the car, turn around, spread my cheeks so he could take me from behind, again?

I closed my eyes, but it was harder to imagine he was someone else. It was harder to imagine the man I thought I loved could pound me like this. With each slap of skin against skin, my body responded to the stranger rocking me against his car.

I cried a small protest when he stopped. But for once, I didn’t protest when he turned me around and kissed his way up from my pussy, my stomach, and found my lips.

It didn’t feel like a mistake.

It didn’t feel like a random fuck with a random guy.

When I wrapped my legs around his hips, I watched his hooded eyes close and release, as if I was everything he needed.

When he kissed me, I kissed him back with more desire and passion than I thought possible.

I wanted this.

I wanted him.

And when he tried to rub me to a climax, I pushed his hand away, demanding to feel his release first. Tonight, I wanted to give him pleasure, not take.

But my body betrayed me.

He came, fisting my hair, grunting my name as the car shook with the weight of his release. And then, without warning, my pussy clenched, my tremors built and for the first time, I cried out his name.

Because even though this man might be my second best, I’ll always be his first choice.

And eventually, my heart will decide that my body knows best.
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