Oh, shit.
That was the first thought I had when my eyes met his hazel ones across the expanse of my shop. A man I had never seen before. He was the kind of man who sent a rush of heat through your body the moment you laid eyes on him. The kind of man who, with one look, made you think about getting naked.
The kind of man who inspired you to slip your left hand behind your back, hiding the visible sign to the world that you were married.
I had never done that before. Not once during the eight years that Iâd been married.
He walked into my store on a Friday in late February. His tall frameâat least six foot twoâwas all muscle. Something about him oozed sex appeal, even though his eyes were dark and he looked as if he carried a burden on his wide shoulders. I could tell that something serious was going on in his world. He wasnât in my shop to buy flowers for a happy occasion.
And he wasnât interested in small talk, either.
He bought a ready-made bouquet with a Get Well Soon balloon. So I knew someone in his life was sick. And sick enough that he was very worried.
Then he left. There was nothing remarkable about our interaction, and yet I couldnât forget him. Iâd checked his left hand and found no wedding band there. That didnât mean he wasnât married, of course, or seriously involved with someone.
I didnât know why I cared.
But I would come to think about him a lot over the next several weeks, to the point where I was disturbed by the unexpected direction of my thoughts.
Was it a sin to daydream about having sex with someone other than your husband? Not just a simple daydream, a quick flash of two naked bodies wrapped together. But a fully fledged, detailed fantasy about another man pleasing you in the way that only your husband should. Vividly picturing another man with his fingers and tongue all over your pussy, while youâre in the middle of fucking your husband. Imagining the moment you slide over a strangerâs cock and take him fully into your body.
Something about him awakened a sexual part of me that had been dormant for a long, long time. But it came roaring back to life that day, shocking me with its intensity.
What scared me was how easily thoughts about another man invaded my brain as a married woman. Donât get me wrongâI loved my husband. And until that man walked into my floral shop, I never expected I would ever cross the line and fantasize about sex with a stranger. At least not to the point where it was no longer about the fantasy, but about the other man.
Seeing him and reacting to him were the beginning of a turning point for me, even though I didnât know it that day. It wasnât just lust that had been awakened in me, but something that my marriage had killed. I wouldnât put all the pieces together until later, but when I did, I could look back on that day when the sexy stranger with the hazel eyes came into the store as the beginning of my rebirth.
The beginning of me reclaiming my life.
I gave myself a once-over in the bathroom mirror and smiled at my reflection. I looked good.
Sexy. Hot.
Hot enough that my husband wouldnât be able to resist me.
Iâd flat-ironed my hair, giving my shoulder-length ebony locks the razor-sharp straight look I didnât wear often. Robert typically liked it softly curled. The straight hair, combined with the dress and dramatic makeup, gave me more of a high-fashion model or actress look. My hair had taken a good thirty minutes to perfect, but I was extremely pleased with the result.
I smoothed my hands over my black sheath dress. It was tight, hugging my curves. Iâd put on a push-up bra to give me more cleavage, and the dressâs V-neck exposed a teasing amount of flesh. A little too much?
I shook my head. No, I didnât think so.
I wasnât trying to be subtle in my sex appeal, though I was trying to be tasteful. What I wanted was my husband thinking of getting me homeâand nakedâduring every moment of our dinner.
We needed something to get us into baby-making mood.
âElsie, whatâs taking you so long?â I heard Robert call out to me. His voice was close, which meant he was in our bedroom. Iâd left him downstairs watching CNN in the great room as Iâd come to the master bathroom, locking the door so he couldnât inadvertently see me before I wanted him to. This was the second time heâd come up to check on me.
âIâm almostââ
âWe have a seven-oâclock reservation,â Robert said sternly. âItâs six-twenty.â
âIâm sorry, sweetheart,â I said. âWeâll get there. Weâve got enough time.â
âWeâre going to midtown.â
The doorknob rattled, but with the door locked, it didnât budge. âOpen up, Elsie.â
âJust give me a few more minutes.â I wanted my look to be a surprise. We were going to The Melting Pot, a popular fondue restaurant in midtown Charlotte that always got rave reviews, and I wanted to look chic and sexy as I walked in on Robertâs arm.