Chapter 3: Andrea

Dennis’s car was not in the driveway when I pulled up to the house. I let out a long sigh of relief, a part of me glad that I’d be spared a tongue lashing for being late, but another part of me just a little pissed off, too. No car in the driveway meant he was at the bar, drinking with his coworkers, and more than likely trying to get some girl’s number. Preferably one with daddy issues. He liked those the most.

I thought that, by time, the cheating would stop bothering me. The first time it had happened, he had come home well after midnight smelling like booze and perfume. I had been stupid enough to confront, and he had been quick with the beating.

It hadn’t been the first time he’d laid his hands on me. No. Dennis always had a temper, and it only took us three months into the marriage for him to blow up about some random, insignificant thing. I was raised to be tough, my father a cop who had always told me that if I wanted men to respect me, I had to show them that I was willing to earn that respect.

Dennis, on the other hand, felt otherwise. And my confrontation led to a black eye and cut lip that kept me out of work for three days until the swelling had died down enough for foundation to mask it. I should have walked out then, but I couldn’t. A part of it was shock, maybe. The fact that he could actually hit me came as a bit of a surprise, which, looking back, it shouldn’t have. So, I blamed my decision to stay on shock.

But the truth was completely different.

Dennis had been my high school sweetheart, and even though he was a popular kid back home, my parents had hated him. And they had been very vocal about it. To the point where my dad would actually chase him off if he ever came near the house. Once he had even threatened to arrest Dennis, which I knew was bullshit. But for a kid in high school, that had been a serious threat.

So, when I had finally worked up the nerve to tell them that I was marrying him, my father had given me a long, hard stare, rubbed his stubble and said, “Get out of my house.”

And I haven’t gone back since.

Now, looking at my reflection in the rearview mirror, a part of me wished he had done a little more than that. My mother had tried to stop me. Even my brother had tried to talk some sense into me. But I wouldn’t budge, mainly because I knew that as long as dad wasn’t going to get involved, I was going to be fine.

I regretted that more than ever now.

They’ll take you back, you know. Pack up your things, get in your car, and drive home. It isn’t that far, and they’ll take you back.

That little voice in my head had a habit of repeating that particular mantra over and over again, especially on days like this. When I was too stressed out to think clearly, or to come up with a better solution to my problems other than running away.

You don’t need better solutions. There’s just one!

I sighed, climbed out of my car and trudged to the front door. I hesitated, looked back at my car, and closed my eyes for a few seconds. My body was urging me back to the Honda, ask if silently pushing me to run away now, quickly, before he got back. Forget the clothes, the jewelry, the few hundred dollars stashed away in the cookie jar over the sink cabinets. Go, now, and never look back.

I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting back from ten. I pushed the key into the hole, unlocked the door and stepped into the house.

There was a general lack of warmth to the house. I could never put my finger on it, but ever since we had bought it, mostly out of my own savings, there was constant chill that ran through the whole place. My mother once said that a home’s warmth comes from the happiness within its walls. If that were true, then the house really did reflect the mood of its current inhabitants.

I quickly scanned the living room and hall, making sure that I truly was alone, and Dennis was not lying in some drunken stupor on the couch, finding his way home only because someone had been smart enough to take the keys away from him before he had started binge drinking. But the house was quiet. And cold. And annoyingly inhospitable, a feeling I had gotten used to over the years but was still strong enough to never let me forget.

I kicked off my heels and made my way upstairs, tossing my purse on the chair by the bedroom door. I felt the tension in my neck slowly ease, the knowledge that at least tonight I’d be Dennis-free making my nerves ease. I felt the muscles in my body relax, and I slowly began to undress. The chill against my skin felt good. I wiggled my toes against the cold hardwood floor and eyed the bed wearily.

Now what are we planning for tonight, Andrea?

I allowed myself a small smile, then quickly raced into the bathroom to wash up. Within minutes I was under the covers in my panties and top, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the fact that I had the bed to myself.

The thought of packing my things and racing home played at the forefront of my mind. It was teasing me gently, a little devil of a voice urging me to get up, quickly, quietly, and hurry. No one would know. No one would be able to stop me. Just pack and leave.

What then?

Anything, really. My parents had died two years ago, first my mother to cancer, and then my father three months later to a heart attack. Some say he had died of a broken heart, unable to live without his wife. Bobby had told me that our father had never been the same again once mom was gone. I believed him. The two of them had been the poster children for what a happily married couple should look like.

Unlike my marriage to Dennis. Which was probably why they had reacted the way they did to me telling them that I was going to marry him. My parents must have seen the real Dennis years before I had. If only they had pushed a little harder. Been a little firmer in their decision to stop me from making the biggest mistake of my life.

Although I knew their insistence would have only made me want Dennis more. I could be stubborn like that sometimes.

Bobby would welcome me back. I mean, what were brothers for if not support during a time of crisis? I knew Bobby had calmed down. During my parents’ funeral, he had seen the signs, had told me to come home, and I had just shrugged it off and promised that everything was fine. Everything definitely was not fine.

Dammit, even the people at work had noticed.

I wonder if Kyle Hannigan noticed.

I closed my eyes, picturing Kyle with all his manliness in my mind. I saw him clearly, tall and blonde, flashing me that smile of his while his eyes slowly took me in. I could get lost in those eyes. I could stare into them for hours, days even.

I felt a soft tingle between my thighs and let out a long sigh as my body seemed to drown into the mattress. I had imagined myself with Kyle Hannigan countless times; more times than I could remember. And I was willing to bet that every woman in our office had at one point or another. Sometimes I even pictured him when I was with Dennis, closing my eyes and replacing my husband with the image of a better man, a gentler man, one who would please me as much as I pleasured him. I had only ever been with Dennis, and I had never believed that I could actually cheat on him, despite the countless times he cheated on me. But it didn’t hurt to imagine. On the contrary, it was the one thing that kept me going.

I closed my eyes, and a picture of Kyle immediately materialized before me. Standing at the end of the bed, smiling at me, a look of lust and love mixed on his features. The way his eyes traced the curves of my body, every inch of me hungrily taken in, only turned me on even more. That tingle between my thighs grew in intensity, spreading to the rest of me in heat waves. My breathing deepened, and I slowly opened my legs, giving him unhindered access to the one place I needed him the most.

In my mind, Kyle slowly undressed. I bit my lip as his naked body stood before me, every inch of him chiseled to perfection, the lines of his muscles gently interweaving into an entanglement of yumminess. I opened my legs wider, pulling my knees up just enough for him to slide in between my thighs. He took the invitation, crawling onto the bed and slowly lowering himself until all I could see was that gorgeous head of blonde hair.

I imagined Kyle to be gentle. To take his time. To keep going forever until he had me begging for more. In my mind, his tongue was like a silken piece of heaven, and when he’d pull my panties to a side and thrust his tongue between my wet lips I’d moan in bliss. He never failed to deliver.

Tonight, his tongue drew portraits across my pussy. Moving up and down, circling my clit and flicking at it, driving me insane. It found its way inside me, gently circling until I began to buck my hips against his face, slowly yet urgently. Wanting more. So much more. My fingers entangled in his hair, pressing his face into me, my clit rubbing against his nose, his tongue sending shivers up and down my spine. I didn’t want it to stop. I needed this to keep going for as long as it could.

And just as I came close to coming, he grabbed my ass with both hands, lifted my hips up higher and ravaged me with such intensity that my orgasm hit like a hurricane. Legs shaking, moans bordering on screams of pleasure, fingers pulling at his hair as my body seemed to stiffen and relax at the same time.

“That was beautiful,” I whimpered to the empty room.

But Kyle was there. In my mind, he was always there. I could see him looking up at me with a wide smile on his face, slowly crawling up my body until his eyes were only inches from mine, where our lips gently grazed each other’s, a forbidden kiss I wished could be real. I reached down between us, grabbed his cock gently in my hand and stroked it. Slowly. Passionately. Knowing that having him inside me would be more pleasurable than anything I could ever imagine.

He kissed me. Traced his lips down my neck. Squeezed my breasts and hungrily sucked at my nipples. My hand moved faster, a part of me wanting him to do it already, to stick his cock inside me and give me the fuck of a lifetime. I played it out, kept my hand where it was, and just lost myself in what he was doing to my breasts.

“Fuck me, Kyle,” I whispered. “Do it now, please, now!”

He pushed inside me with one long thrust, his cock spreading my pussy wide, my breath catching in my throat. He pushed deeper, filling me up completely, my pussy squeezing down on him in an attempt to keep him inside forever. He began to move, slowly at first, his every inch sending bolts of electricity through my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist, the heels of my feet pressed against his ass, pushing him back into me every time he pulled out.

His pace quickened, his thrusts become deeper and faster, until he was pounding me for all his worth. I screamed in pleasure, lights flashing on and off in my head as he fucked me. His urgency turned me on even more, and I pulled him to me, hugging him and scratching at his back. The bed springs sang out in blissful harmony as we moved, and a part of me thought that he would fuck me so hard, the bed would collapse underneath us. He was good. Very good. Incredible, even. And I was hit with one orgasm after the other.

“Fuck me, Kyle!” I screamed, and he was more than eager to comply. I had no idea how long we would go, but in my mind, it lasted all night. He would stop in the middle, giving me a chance to catch my breath, teasing me with his cock before ramming it inside me again. And it went on and on, as if there would be no end to the pleasures I was feeling. I bucked my hips up against him, took him in deeper when I could, begged him to fuck me harder and faster. In my head, he was always willing to give more, to do more.

My last orgasm hit me so hard, I felt the world around me spin out of control. My head swirled, my eyes rolled back in their sockets, and my body shuddered. Waves of pleasure washed over me, embracing me in their warmth, the heat of my body forcing me to sweat into the sheets despite the ominous chill that lingered in the house. I felt incredible.

When I had finally caught my breath, I slowly opened my eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning. The lights were out, the only illumination coming in through the window from the streetlights outside. My body was drenched in sweat, my breaths uneven and my heart pounding in my chest.

I was gushing. My fingers were buried inside me, my panties now a wet mess I would have to change. I pulled my hand back, a quick shudder hitting me when my fingers grazed my clit, and I slowly allowed my body to relax. I closed my eyes again, allowing this short bout of bliss to envelope me completely before I knew I would have to get up and change.

My cellphone rang, the shrillness scaring me and bringing me back to the real world a little too quickly. I rolled over and grabbed it.

“Where the fuck are you?” Dennis screamed from the other line.

“I’m sorry, I was–”

“Save it!” Dennis interrupted. “Get your ass over here and pick me up. This asshole won’t give me my car keys.”

He was drunk, his words slurring and forcing me to concentrate just to understand what he was saying. A part of me had wished he would actually find some slut at the bar and spend the night with her in a motel, away from me, leaving me to enjoy one peaceful night alone.

“Did you hear what I fucking said?” he screamed, and I winced.

“I’m on my way,” I whispered.

“Hurry the fuck up!”

He hung up. I sat in bed for a few seconds, my mind racing until tears began to flow down my face.

I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t take another night of abuse. I knew exactly what would happen. I knew that, if the verbal abuse didn’t kill me on the drive back home, the physical one would be too much to bear. He was already angry, and it was typical Dennis to take that anger out on me. Picking him up meant delivering myself to a beating. Not picking him up would probably be worse.

Then get the fuck out. Leave. He’s not coming home any time soon. There’s a window of opportunity here.

I bit my lip, trying to control my sobs, and briefly glanced at the closet. In five minutes, Dennis was going to call me to make sure I was on my way. It would be another fifteen minutes before he called a cab, seething with anger on the ride back and ready to bash my skull in with his fists.

I had less than half an hour.

I hesitated for the briefest of moments, unsure of whether or not I should finally listen to the small voice in the back of my head. Then I quickly jumped out of bed, pulled my suitcase out of the closet, and began packing in a hurry.

I had half an hour.