"I don't want to talk about it!" she shouted, tears welling in her eyes - then slammed the door in my face.
I didn't feel like driving home again just yet, so despite the drizzle, I decided to take a walk around the suburban streets. The rain might have been misty, but my mind was clear on the events of the last few days: after much defiant shouting and screaming, she had admitted to the affair. I was devastated enough to find that the woman I knew as my friend and lover had another friend and lover to keep her happy, but once the burden of hidden truth had been lifted from her aggressive defence, she delighted in telling me how much happier she was when in bed with him: how he could go all night without getting soft and just how much better were her orgasms from his long and dedicated tongue. That was painful enough for me to hear, but not as humiliating as it was for Myra who had discovered them in her bed earlier that afternoon - too late for her boyfriend's frantic thrusting between her best friend's widely spread legs to stop their mutual and noisy climax.
She had run out of the house and called me immediately, spluttering down a crackly phone line about what she'd seen - and when Kate had arrived home, supposedly from a hard day in the office, I had confronted her in the hallway. After her abuse and unfair comparisons of our sexual accomplishments, I asked her to leave. She just smiled, shrugged her shoulders calmly and walked out of the door. I hadn't seen her since, though she had been back to the house to take her things - and, I realised later, a fair few of my things too. At least she had the decency to leave her key on the kitchen table, though maybe stabbing it through the 100 year old distressed oak was a bit melodramatic.
But then I had found myself back at her house, a smile forming on my face as I realised I wasn't hurting as much: I was ready to drive home and get out of these wet clothes.
"Matt!" she shouted, "What are you doing? You're drenched!"
I looked back to where Myra stood with her arms folded on her doorstep - through her red eyes and tear stains, she looked concerned for me, so I walked through her gate and up the path.
"Get in here and dry yourself off..." she started, shutting the door behind me and brushing aside the hair stuck to my bedraggled face. Her harsh motherly caresses began to soften and then stopped, her hand cupping the side of my head. I looked up from trying to unzip my wet jacket and got caught by her deep, brown eyes. They sparkled with tears, but there was something else - not that my slow mind had time to work it out as she moved in and kissed me softly on the lips. She kept her head impossibly close to mine and my hands found her waist, pulling her closer. Her eyes closed and I glimpsed the tip of her tongue before I felt it against my lips - pushing them open to invade my mouth.
As our affection became more animal, I felt my erection rising in my underwear and began to grind my hips into her body - my hands moved rapidly over the denim enclosed curves of her rear. Suddenly, she pulled away from my lips and we stood, panting heavily at each other and just staring in barely restrained lust. We let it go.
Our hands busied themselves with each others' clothes and in a few seconds, I stood in front of her with my pants around my ankles, my pulsing hardness pointing the way to her similarly naked body. I gently lowered her to the wooden floor of her hallway, her deft hand guiding me to her wetness and then I was inside her: surrounded by an incredible warmth and tightness that she rippled along my length, urging me to move in and out. I began to thrust slowly, trying to savour the experience, but her haste overtook my enjoyment and her hands gripped my body to set the pace. I opened my eyes to see hers blazing back at me, her teeth gritted and face wrinkled and knotted in desperation. Using my hands, I lifted myself higher and forward over her heaving body and the renewed pressure above where we were joined threw her head back and her mouth wide open. As she gasped for air, I thrust harder - moving slowly out until the head was just between her welcoming lips, then pushed back hard to find deeper warmth and increased pleasure.
She cried out in a wordless grunt and her hands dug into me, as if she was trying to push all of me inside her. She fitted in orgasm, each sudden movement finding a new spot to channel our pleasure back into my body and spreading the electricity in my groin until I could hold back no longer. There was no time for a warning as my first spurt met her dying spasms. Her previously closed eyes shot open to tell me she could feel me coming inside her and the deeply strained lines on her tortured face disappeared, relaxing to a ragdoll in my arms. We embraced in silence, our thirst sated for now, but neither of us wanting to let go of the other.
"Fuck... me... !" she croaked in exclamation,
"I think I just did," I joked and we both smiled. The realisation that the wooden floor was hurting both of us wasn't enough to wipe the stupid grins from our faces, but it did force us to disengage and stand unsteadily in the hallway, the sound of rain on the window a perfect accompaniment to our labored breathing.
Myra stared at me for a few seconds, then ran past to disappear into the main bedroom. I heard a shower start and thought briefly about joining her, instead deciding to find the main bathroom so I could clean up. A few minutes later and I was barely clothed in my underwear and t-shirt, sitting patiently in the kitchen, having switched on the coffee machine to warm up. I remembered my ex-partner's bitter complaints on how I was never spontaneous and couldn't help but smile - then I considered what Myra might be thinking and the smile rapidly died: would she think that's what I came here for? Was that why she invited me in? What was it anyway? Comfort? Revenge... ? That thought lay thick in my head until a white-robed Myra walked confidently into the kitchen and fussed with a couple of mugs awaiting the espresso.
She turned suddenly and looked at me sideways, confident of herself but unsure of me. She started to open her mouth to say something, but then closed it again. I could see her brain ticking away but couldn't work out what it had decided, so I asked the question hanging in the air:
"What do we do now?"
She ignored my question and instead started mumbling to herself:
"Rob was going to return his key today..." she said quietly, but then smiled wickedly before walking over to where I sat and embraced me again, planting an affectionate kiss on my forehead. I could feel the warmth from her body and my arms pulled her closer, gently holding her waist - and her hands still around my neck, she lowered her head so I could lose myself in those eyes once again. A small smile began in a corner of her mouth.
"What do we do now?" she teased, an eyebrow raised as if in defiance: maybe of Rob, or maybe of my own uncertainty, "we do that again," she said throatily and kissed me before I could respond.
My lust did not hesitate in banishing my doubts and I pushed aside the cotton of her gown to reveal what I had missed in the rush of our first connection: this time, I began slowly, my fingertips tracing the underside of her left breast, moving from the outside in to find themselves buried in the heat of her cleavage. Her hand cupped the breast, presenting it to my open mouth, and I devoured it eagerly: my tongue finding the steep contours before carefully twisting the distended nipple in my mouth. Her moans encouraged me further, and my other hand explored the other side, her curves exciting me so that my whole body sizzled in anticipation, and one part in particular was vertical vying for attention. Her hand answered its call and with the gentle stroking of my excitement between us, raised my temperature so I could no longer sit. I surprised both of us with my strength as I stood and carried her the short distance to her bedroom, her legs instinctively wrapped around my waist and refused to let me go, even when I lowered her to the soft, white sheet.
Myra stared at me - dazzled in the headlights of our sex, whilst my mind chose to rediscover its doubts: beginning to think of what - who - had fucked on this bed. Yes: fucked. We were not about to make love, to share intimacies borne of love or affection - this was a more base passion all wrapped up in our confused emotions of loss and betrayal. We were still staring at each other and I told myself to shut up.
I kissed her hard. She held me tight and rolled me onto my back, lifting her upper body above me and shrugged off her gown - making me gasp when I saw her beautiful body above me. She smiled in response and I twitched between her legs, making her eyes widen. She accidentally released me from the grip of her thighs and I took the opportunity to roll her back so that our positions were reversed, with her staring up at me. I stood quickly and removed the little clothing I was wearing whilst she lay panting on the bed, watching my erection bounce around in front of her - she lifted a hand to grasp it but I was too fast, instead moving swiftly between her raised legs and filled my lungs with the aroma of her arousal.