Sleeping With My Married Ex

Chapter 11

  He organized my closet.

"I want to be wooed," I had said. "Courted, pursed, seek, charmed, chased, cultivated." Those were my terms. There's no way I would be satisfied with just sleeping with him without the actual effort of being courted. Mutual attraction is one thing. Letting the other know you actually like them enough to spend time trying to showcase that like and that you respect them is another. If I'm going to do something that goes against my entire being, I damn well better get something out of it.

He organized my closet, folded my clothes, lined my shoes, hung my coats and dresses. When he finished, I could have ate off the floor. I didn't even know there was carpet on my closet floor. "That was a fire hazard," he commented when he was through. I sat on my bed with my textbooks, highlighters, and laptop surrounding me.
"It wasn't that bad," I say. 
"It took me two hours to clean."
I look up from my textbook. "I appreciate it. Thanks."

Flowers. Candy. Dinner. Nights out. He's done it all, and he's done it damn well, much to my surprise, with originality.  He cooks for me. Not just cook, but cooks for me. What I want. Stuff I like. He'll make it for me. Bring it to me job or apartment. I feel like I have my own personal chef. But the courtship isn't one-sided. I do things for him as well.

In my office, I finger the 8 roses that just arrived in an arrangement.
"Simply beautiful," Warren reads the card aloud. "Shannon, is there something you aren't telling me?"
"Yes." I look up at my best friend who I haven't saw much of recently. Not my fault. He's been out of contact with me, not the other way around. "Just like there's something you're hiding from me."
He sits across from me. "Since we both know what is it the other isn't telling, why don't you tell me why you haven't said anything to me about it."
I continue to finger my roses. "You're my best friend. I can tell you everything, but you can also tell me anything." I tear my gazes from my flowers to my friend. "I guess I'm just afraid you'll say something I don't want to hear. Then I'll be pissed with you. Now what's your excuse."
He shrugs now. "I didnt want you to read too much into it."
I grin. "You do know by trying to keep it secret, you have in fact made me read too much into it."
He dismisses my comment. "Remind me that I need to whip you later."
"Are you sure you want to do that?"
"Are you sure?" he repeats, but in reference to my situation. "He's married."
"To a tramp."
"Doesn't matter. It's wrong."
"This is coming from the man who hooked up with multiple girls at once back in college."
"But they weren't married."
"But some of them had long term boyfriends."
He folds his arms. "You're hooking up with a guy who's married and can only afford to send you eight roses."
"Tell me, what would you get me...you know, if we.." I can't finish the rest of that statement. It's too weird. I point between us.
"I would at least get you an entire dozen."
I chuckle. "Which is why we wouldn't work." I smell my flowers. "You would go all out. Buy some over priced bouquet and all that jizz jazz. I'm complex at times, but I like somethings plain, Warr. Red roses are simple and beautiful and just so happen to be my favorite. To him, I'm simple and beautiful. He only bought eight because it's my favorite number. Anyone can send a dozen roses and a premade card or something cliche." My attention shifts back to Warren. "I'm making him work for it, babe. Cliches won't work."
Warren snorts. "Nothing about you is simple."
"To each his own."
"Are you sure, Shannon? I don't like this. That guys an ass."
I nod in agreement. "He's definitely that, but Donovan has never treated me like that."
"And what, you've known him for a whole five months. Isn't that a little too soon to make statements?"
"I've known him since I was 15. Besides, you're no saint yourself Warry. Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl."
He accesses me. Analyze me. I roll my eyes. "Worry about Amber. I'm fine. I can handle this. Why don't you tell me about your date."
He's silent for a moment, the look in his eyes telling me loud and clear that he's still not happy with me. "Fine. But you will tell me when he does something wrong." He wasn't asking, he was commanding me, but that's okay. Imposing and obtrusive is just the way Warren is. I can deal with it. I nod. Moments later he launches into his date with Little Miss Nurse, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say my best friend was smitten.

After work, I head straight home, leaving my roses on my desk. Not like I need them at home anyway. My living room already has the last three bouquets sitting on the kitchen counter. I enter my apartment building and see the witch at the mail box. I contemplate if I should turn around and just wait for her to leave before I check my mail. It's not that I'm afraid of her or anything. That's laughable. I just don't feel like arguing with her. I see no reason to. Of course she would. Donovan has made no secret to her about where I stand with him. I was very shocked by the argument because it happened in the hallway, not in the privacy of their apartment where I'm usually the only one who over hears.

"Keep your damn mouth closed," Donovan snapped. "If you say one more thing, if you even go near Shannon, I'll cut you off so fucking fast."

There was only one train of thought running through my mind at that moment; "What are you waiting for?" I halted that train of though immediately. It's not my place to wonder why he does or doesn't do what he does and doesn't do. All I could do was furrow my brows and watch in silence from my peep hole.

The Witch hasn't directly approached me since, but she tosses sly remarks whenever she sees me. They're easy to ignore, and for the most part I do, but sometimes I just want to ring her neck.

The decision to turn away or not is taken away from me when she looks over to where I stand. It's as if she has a radar and tracks me. No point waiting now. I inhale and walk to my mailbox.
She glares at me. I keep from rolling my eyes. I'm not sure if I'm successful. One of my friends mentioned years ago that I have a habit of rolling my eyes without knowing it.
"Bony bitch," she says.
"Tuck your gut before you comment on my size." I open my mailbox.
She says something about me running to Donovan. The remark is so unintelligible, I'm not really sure what she means.
"You have it all wrong. Donovan's the one who runs to me." I look around my mailbox door, "Anything else you have to say?"
She slams the mailbox and storms off. The encounter is brief, but it still annoys me. I grab my mail from the box and lock the door. Taking a second, I flick through the envelopes. Bill. Bill. Junk. Trash. Bill. Note. I look at the note, a piece of notepad paper folded in half. Who would slip a note into my mailbox? Probably the witch.

You stole my heart, but that's okay. I'm going to steal yours in return.
-DS

Whatever annoyance that was just riding me vanishes in the span of a heartbeat. The line is cheesy, and I wonder where he stole it from, but I like cheesy. I like it a lot. I keep a smile on my face as I make my way up to my apartment. If the note gave me an ear to ear grin, the little plush leopard in a basket bed at the foot of my door gives me a face splitting smile. "How cute," I say as I bend down to pink the stuff animal up.
"I saw it when I got here an hour ago." I hear Sam call from four doors down on the other side. "Why a leopard of all things?"
"I like leopards most of all big cats, and I want a bengal kitten. They look just like leopards only domestic size, but they're not easy to find and can cost a lot."
"He's sweet when he wants to be," Sam says and shuts her door. She too had witness the fall out in the hallway between Donovan and his wife about four weeks ago. Unlike Warren, Sam didn't pin me with a glare and tell me what I'm doing isn't right. She said she already knew, despite me saying that nothing happened between the two of us. She merely shrugged and said time was ticking.

I pick up the basket, juggling in it one hand so I can unlock my door and enter my apartment. Closing the door, I look around take in everything. My lease would be up in a few months. I would either have to renew it or find some place else to live. Unless I found something better, and I have no hopes I will, I need to renew my lease for another year. Maybe I'll look for my bengal kitten then.

After sitting everything down, I put the dozen or so apples into a pot of water before I shower. It's only a two block walk from my place to work, but it's hot. Really hot today. I feel sweaty and sticky.

The shower is calming and refreshing, as is the chicken salad and grapes I snack on afterwards. Dumping the water from the pot, I puree the apples, removing all skin and core, before transferring the puree into my crockpot. Measuring out some brown sugar, clove, cinnamon, and all spice, I dump the contents into the pot, stir and cover it. I sit the previous pot on the stove top after I wash it.

I lay upside down on my sofa, my feet hanging over the back, my shorts riding up my legs. I turn the TV on and flick on my DVR playlist. The list is full of recordings that I haven't watched, some dating back for months upon months. I click on the Supernatural folder. Now that school is over for the summer -no intentions of taking summer classes- all I have is work and a minor internship with a professor. Basically, I have a few hours of free time throughout the week for the time being. I think my day would end nicely with a little Dean and Sam.

"HA!" I laugh out. "Stupid Dean. That's just a mean thing to say to your demon blood sucking vampire younger brother." I tend to talk, more like fuss, at my TV screen. Books as well. "CASTIEL!" I'm still fussing at the TV when when there's a knock on the door. I glance at the clock, 7:13, before I roll off backwards. Tugging my shorts down, I walk over to my door and peep through the peep hole. My heart skips a beat. I tug the door open and let Donovan step inside. He bends down for a quick kiss, I rise to my tip-toes to meet him halfway.

"That's for the flowers," I say when we break apart. I lean forward and kiss the corner of his mouth. "That one is for my note." Finally, I kiss the other corner. "And for my leopard."

"You're welcome." He walks further in, sniffing. "What smells like apple pie?"
I saunter into the kitchen to stir my pot. That's the trick to apple butter. Stirring it helps it thicken faster, something I didn't know the first time I ever made it and it took three days. "It's apple butter." I sit the spoon down and place the lid back on. "Have you eaten?"

A smile forms. I forgot just how little that wife of his actually perfumed her duties. I don't think that women should be homemakers and slave over a hot stove every day and night just for a man. I'm more of an equal rights person. If I can do it, you can do it. If I can work, cook, do laundry, and take out the trash so can you, and vice-versa. But the witch didn't do anything. It's almost cute and innocent the way Donovan's face will glow when I do something for him. Simple things. Not that I'm going to take up the habit of turning his sheets or darning his socks.

"No," he answers. I give him the same thing I had, only I make his chicken salad into a sandwich instead of giving him crackers.
"It's hot. You shouldn't have something too heavy on your stomach."

I return to the living room to finish watching my show, only this time I'm not talking to the TV nearly as much. He joins me on the couch after he finishes his meal, stretching out behind me, wrapping on arm around my waist. I giggle, the contact ticklish at the first.
"What's this?"
"Supernatural."
"Toya watches this religiously. Says she only looks at it because-"
"Jensen Ackles is hot," I finish for him. I hear him growl slightly. "Well it's true. That man is gorgeous."
"Whatever."
"Aww, don't be a big baby and green with envy," I coo.
"Shut up."
I spin around until we're face to face. I kiss his nose. "I still like you most." I see that my words appease him, so I turn back around to face my TV. "But I got to admit, if I ever saw him in person..." I let the rest of my sentence hang in the air.
"You wouldn't do anything."
"True. But who knows. I've been doing some pretty reckless things lately."
"Not that reckless," he says, the hand around my waist going up my shirt to spray across my stomach. "I'm still waiting for my dance."
"Hmm," I reply nonchalantly.
"I held up to my end. Now you need to honor your part."
"Screw honor. I'm not an honorable person. Honor does nothing but lead you to your death faster."
"What?" He laughs.
"Think about it. You know my brother is in the military, right? And what's one thing they teach soldiers. To stand and face the enemy regardless of odds and all that crap. Do you know what I tell him whenever I talk to him?"
"What's that."
"Run."
He laughs.
"If running keeps you alive, high tail it right out of there. Screw honor and dignity. I'd rather be alive than crippled or dead. My advice to you is the same. Don't walk into a burning building like an idiot."
"It's my job."
"And you look good doing it. Just pick and choose carefully."
"What if someone, a child, is trapped inside?"
I turn around until we're face to face again. "Are you trying to guilt me into something?"
"Nope."
"You think because you say a child is trapped inside I'll go, 'well you have no choice but to go'. Is that what you think?"
"I'm not thinking anything."
"Well you have no choice but to go, now do you? But you and that child better come out alive and okay." I trail my fingers across his jaw.
"So if I say I'll go in to get the child out, you expect me to get the child out no matter what, right?"
"Right."
He smirks. Ah, that smirk. I feel like I just walked into a trap. "So if you say you'll dance for me if I dance for you, it's only right for you to stick to your word."
Bastard, spinning this around on me. "Well, yes. But I never said when."
He shakes his head in disagreement. "Actually, you did say when." He clears his throat. "The day I pole dance for you will be the day you strip for me while singing Justin...whatever that kid name is."
I narrow my eyes. "You are something else." I roll off the sofa and march into my room. Since my closet is organized, I easily locate the shoe I want. I step into the five inch black satin open toe stilettos and lace the ribbons up my calf. There's no need for me to change out my pajamas as my little shorts and tank are black, silk, and sexy without being revealing. I glance in the mirror, running my fingers through my hair to make sure it's still straight and falls in place.

My heels click against the floor as I make my way back down the hall to my living room. I didn't lie when I said shoes can make a woman feel more confident in her self. I feel empowered at the moment, like nothing can bring me down.  He's no longer laying on my sofa, now sitting up watching my every move. I don't know whether to feel like the prey or the predator. I move behind the sofa and kick one leg up and over, placing it directly on his shoulder. Fifteen years of dance and five of yoga has made me extremely flexible. "I don't want to hear you cry after this, capisce?"

His strokes a finger from the base of my ankle up until he reaches my knee, his fingers moving wickedly against the straps on my legs. I inhale and push the air out through my lungs, trying to keep myself composed. "Turn the music on." There might not be a pole around, but those classes Sam and I take also include chair dancing. Add that with all the styles I learned over the years and I think I can manage this impromptu dance really well.

Donovan moves over to my stereo system and flicks through my iPod. He searches through it, looking for who knows what, while I remove my leg from the sofa. With my head tilted, my hair falling slightly into my face, I watch him sit the iPod back on the stereo and retake his place on the sofa. The mid-tempo beat of 112's Anywhere flows from my stereo speakers and I laugh out loud. "Come on Donny. This is 1990's baby making music."

He grins and I laugh even harder. I think my laughter was to cover my sudden nerves. The thought of him watching me intently while I purposely seduce him gives me chills. I suppress a tremor and allow the music to wash over me, moving slightly to get the beat, as I mumble the lyrics. It doesn't take long for me to become in groove with the song. I slide my hand across the sofa as I move around to the front of the sofa and sit on the coffee table directly in from of Donovan It's not a chair, but I can still use it to dance. I smirk and lift both legs up to the ceiling, bending them as I twist to the right, straighten, then bending as I twist to the left, allowing him to see just how toned my legs are, and how high up they can go. I bring them to rest crossed, one leg over the other. I try not to laugh. He's like a cat following a ceiling fan.

With him watching my every move, I twist and twirl, circle and spin, bend and snap, rolling my hips against the table. After a minute or so, I forget about everything and fall into a trance, letting my body do what it wants without concern of what to do next or if he's even watching. It's just me and 112 in the shower, in the bedroom, with me wet all night long. My breathing becomes ragged the more I move, not because of the amount of moving, but because I feel hot and sensitive. 112 fades away. LSG My Body takes its place. I sit with my legs slightly ajar, my elbows on my knees, and hang my head, swinging my hair side to side with the music. Slowly I stand, raising my arms hand and lets one hand slide down one arm, until both arms slide across my body. Damn, but I feel like I'm on fire. Liquid fire, if there's such a thing.

I place one leg on one side of Donovan and the other on his other side. With him sitting and me standing, his face is right where I'm most hot and wet. I grind and damn near collapse when his hands run the back of my calves to cup my butt. "No touching," I say and smack his hands away. He growls and I couldn't feel more in control yet out of control. I dance right there, just like that, with me right in his face. I lift my left leg and place it on the back of the sofa above his shoulder. The song changes to Silk Freak Me. "Take it off," my voice comes out throaty.


Of course he doesn't just unravel the strap and slide the shoe off. No. He places soft, wet, skin tingling kisses and nips from the toe of my foot up my calves. I damn near fall. I place one hand on his shoulder to keep from toppling over. He bites and the ribbon and pulls it loose with his teeth. The ribbon pools loosely at my ankle. He lifts my foot and slide the shoe off. I have no clue what he's done with it, nor do I care. He lets that foot fall back to his side, and I left the other one to the back of the sofa. The same process repeats. I dig my nails into his shoulder when he licks my ankle. Who knew an ankle could be arousing? Once that shoe is removed, I smack his hands away and reinstate my 'no touch' rule.

He ignores me rule when I lift my top slightly, revealing my stomach and dangling belly ring. Leaning forward, he trails his tongue around my navel and I do collapse right onto his lap, straddling him. It's only now that I notice the song had changed yet again to Red Light Special. Did he create an entire playlist or something?

"No touching," I say to the devil in his eyes. He raised his arms over his head and grip the back of the sofa.
"You're in charge," he says.
Damn, but just those words are enough to make me lose it. I place a kiss at one corner of his mouth and run my tongue along his lips until I reach the other end where I place another kiss. My eyes drift close of their own accord. I kiss his mouth. He gives me full control, parting slightly so that I can slip my tongue inside and take full advantage. I don't know why I suddenly think of torturing him further, so I keep the kiss slow. When he tries to take control I pull away. I'm in charge, something he should duly remember if he wants to this to go further. I've never been one for control, but I like having this power over him. I can feel him, so hard and ready. I slip my hands under his shirt and pull it up and over his head, over the sofa it disappears. He grips the back of the sofa once more.

I pick up the kiss where I last left off and when he matches me blow for blow I don't discourage him. My hands roam over every stitch of muscle exposed. It's been so long since I've last been with a guy. A really long time. I think he knows that, which is why he's letting me take control. Arrogant man.

I grind against him to the beat of the music, no longer aware of when one song ends and the other begins. He pulls away with a hiss. It feels so good. So damn good. I run my hands up his arms until I can slide my hands into his. Bring his arms up, I place them on me exactly where I want them. He squeezes, the pressure adding to the pleasure. I drop my head to his neck. I lick and blow and feel him twitch between my legs. The speed of my hips rolling increase.

I guide my tongue down the center of his chest and around each nipple before I nip it. One hand clutches the back of my neck and he pulls me up. I laugh and kiss him again. His hands disappear under my silk top. We move in compatible silence, letting my body and breathing tell him what to do and what I like. Just like back then when we did things children shouldn't have been doing. No words were ever needed, this wasn't a porno, something ruined with unrealistic noises and dirty words. Great. Dirty words are the fastest turn off in the world for me.

Donovan grabs my legs and flip us with me on bottom now. Through my clothing, he kisses down my front until his face stops between my legs. I raise up on my arms and look down at him. He looks up at me, his thumbs slip into the wait of my shorts. One tug and they're going leaving me completely naked from the waist down. I never wear under clothes under my pajamas. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. He lowers his head and blows. My back arches. Definitely a good thing.

I fall back while he works, my eyes closed tightly. I try to breath slowly and deeply, but as the pressure builds I fill myself loosing control of my breathing until I gasp, and ball my fist tightly at my side. I raise one hand to my mouth and bite hard to keep myself from crying out. My legs tremble and he pets me until I'm no longer a shaking, boneless, mass.

He laughs. "Still as uncontrollable as before," he speaks low, but I still hear him. I laugh with him, my stomach quivering from aftershocks as well as laughter. He shifts me until I lay longways on the sofa. I reach out for the buckle of his belt. I unfasten it and the button of his pants, slipping my hand inside. When I reach what I'm looking for, he grabs my hands to still me when I wrap my hands around him.
"I'm not the only uncontrollable one," I laugh and pull my hand out. "Pants off."
"Impatient."
"Shut up and just do it."
He stands up and takes his pants off. I nibble on my bottom lip. I wrap my fingers around him and lick the tip. Now it's his turn for his knees to give out. I kiss and tongue and suck and bring him to brink but not giving him what he wants most. When he can no longer tolerate it, he pulls away. Returning back to where he belonged, he doesn't give me what I want. He teases me instead, removing my top and using his mouth and fingers to build the pleasure until I reach out and slap him. "Stop toying with me." A hand slips between my legs, his fingers exploring me. He slips one finger inside, working my muscles until they're relaxed enough for him to slip in two. My hips roll to meet his hand motion for motion.

The entire time I'm wondering what the hell is his wife thinking by cheating on him. The guy was golden. His hands are golden. His mouth is golden. He is golden. I wrap my hands around his back and pull him down until I can bury my face into his shoulder and bite at his shoulder when he hits a spot that makes me cry out in estacy. I remove my mouth from his shoulder and trail it up his neck and jaw until I stop at his mouth. I part my lips giving him control now. I move one hand between us to grip him, gliding my hands up and down as he inserts another finger.

It's hot. My body is on fire, sweating, wet, and achy. So is his. His slips his fingers out and I relax back on the cushion of the sofa giving my body time to return to a plateau phase. I position him at the entrance, but he pulls away. "Wait," he says and reaches over the sofa to pull a little packet from his pants. Oh yeah. Protection. Damn, but he's turning my brains into mush along with my body. I completely forgot. I never forget.

Once he's prepared and in place, he starts to feed into my slowly, to slow. I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him in in one swift motion. He growls and holds still, but doesn't say anything. Just gives me time to adjust to his size until I start to move my hips against him. In and out he moves, slowly in a rhythmic motion that feels soooo damn good. He places one hand on my hip and raises my right leg up to his shoulder allowing for deeper penetration. I lay back, running one hand through my hair, gripping it tightly as I feel my body ready to break, giving him all the freedom he wants and needs to bring us both where we want to go.

Soon both legs are are up. Thank god I'm acrobatic. I rock my hips to meet his and clench my muscles. Kegel exercises in its finest. I squeeze my eyes tightly, grip my hair, and bring my other hand up to my breast and he fingers my clit and I spazz beneath him. He lets my legs down and flips us until I'm on top. Cow girl time. I plant my feet firmly into the couch and rise up, coming back down slowly. We kiss and I begin to go faster when he moves his up to meet mine as his aims for release.

There are no dirty thoughts roaming through my mind. No stupid euphemism for what we're doing. No milking the cow, or tasting the flesh kabob, like you find in crappy erotic romance novels. I just enjoy the pleasure he's giving me and return it equally. When he does cum, it's not with a loud roar like some barbarian. It's as quiet as mine, neither of us one for loud noises to alert the entire floor to what's going on behind door 518. When my legs are no longer jelly and strong enough for me to move, I lift off him and fall back onto the sofa, he's right behind me. We lay there, sticky from all sorts of fluids and panting. When my body is no longer hyper aware and fully sated, I turn my head to face him. I give him a quick kiss. "The deal was a dance for a dance," I say.

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Fun Fact: I really, really, reallllllyy hate the title of this story. When I first published it on here all those long years ago, it was not titled this. But I learned how to play with the algorithm and thus this title that makes me cringe was born. 

Author note: Please read me.

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