He lowered his face to his lap.
“I was disappointed in myself.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I assured him.
He tapped his wedding band against his empty glass. How had I not noticed that before?
“You’re married,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I lost her. In fact, I don’t even wear the ring most of the time. It’s just a reminder.”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize she’d…”
“No, she’s not dead,” he said with a laugh. “She left me. I was a drinker.”
He looked down at the empty glass and chuckled.
“Still am I guess,” he added. “Anyway, when I saw you earlier, you know, in your room, I was mad at myself and pulled the ring out of my pocket. To remind me of what kind of asshole I can be and where that leads.”
I stood and stepped in front of his chair. He looked up at me with such longing in his eyes. Not even desire this time just a need to be held. I’d read him wrong. I thought he was another dirty pervert when actually he was a motivated cop who’d lost his motivation to love. His head was right at my pussy when I pulled his face close and held him.
He sank into me, his face against my shorts I mean, and gripped my thighs tight. Nothing sexual about it, only a man feeling cared for once again, for probably the first time in a long time.
He breathed deep and I wondered if he was trying to smell my pussy. Then I remembered the pain he was in and mentally kicked myself for being so insensitive. Here he was, a man who’d visited my house with the intention of ripping down my guard and extracting memories the way a dentists jerks out teeth. My how the roles had been reversed. He was the one giving up memories now. And I was feeling sorry for him.
Suddenly he pulled away from me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so full of apologies it seems. I shouldn’t have held you like that. It’s just that you’re so…”
I ignored him and walked away to fetch the bottle of whiskey. I came back to him and poured some into his glass. He shook his head softly but I poured even more.
“Stop telling me no,” I said. “I’m not her.”
I reached down to pull his chin up so he could look at me.
“I’m not her,” I repeated. “I’m not the girl who left you and I don’t judge. I want you to feel good around me.”
He raised his glass and took a sip. I tilted the glass higher and forced more down his throat. Then I poured more into it before setting the bottle down on the coffee table.
“Thank y…”
I turned and forcefully kissed him, shoving my tongue down his throat, tasting the sweetness of the drink on his lips and inside his mouth. Finally, he relaxed and sank into my kiss, returning the gesture, nearly dropping his glass in the process. My hand found its way between his legs where he sported a massive hard on. I clutched it in my hand and rubbed it vigorously over the fabric of his pants, sliding my hand up and down his length. He moaned into my mouth.
Then I pulled away from him, stood, and sat back down in my spot on the couch kitty-corner to him.
When I looked over at him he seemed to have his mind blown. He softly shook his head as if trying to get me out of it.
“I wanted to taste you,” I said. “And I did. And I’ll want to taste you again if you’re okay with that.”
“Damn,” he said, stunned.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I cursed under my breath.
“What is it?” he asked, suddenly worried.
“I apologized to you for coming on so strong and then did it again. It’s such a hard habit to break. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man,
especially such a handsome one, here in my house. I’m sorry.”