I've worked with Andrew for nearly six years. In that time, we've grown close - he calls me his "work wife", which never fails to get a wry smile from me. Aside from my husband, I think I'm closer to Andrew than any other man I've known: since the events of this story, he's told me he thinks of me more than his wife.
One of the main reasons for our friendship is our similarity in age. The others in our office are either much too young or far too old for me to even consider. But Andrew's different. Like me, he's in his mid-thirties and, like me, has been married for nearly a decade. We talk about everything: from work-related dross to full-on sex tips. It was on my suggestion that he treats his wife regularly with his tongue - he's confided that the rewards have been unbelievable.
Despite working beside him and texting outside of work, our social calendars have kept us from developing beyond just "co-workers". That's not to mean I thought of Andrew sexually before the events I'm about to detail. I considered him off-limits due to our married statuses: which is to say I'd never even thought of cheating on my husband and certainly not with a married man.
But I did.
We were out of town on a business trip. The hotel we were staying in wasn't particularly grand, but it was up-market enough for us to have several meetings in the function suite before retiring to the bar. The first day was an almost complete success, with only one potential client resisting Andrew and my combined charms. For the others that decided our firm was the right one for them...well, they never lacked for a drink all night.
As the new clients grew increasingly more drunk, several of them made passes at me. There were hints, some subtle and some not, about better deals if I cared to discuss terms in the privacy of my room. I deflected their advances, noting Andrew's amused grin. A couple of times he encouraged them, taking great enjoyment from my polite refusals.
As midnight approached, I called it a night. I thanked the new clients for meeting with us and told Andrew I'd see him in the morning. He glanced around and pulled a face, as if deciding their company wasn't as good as mine. Before I had even reached the door, he'd excused himself.
He drunkenly slipped an arm over my shoulder as we crossed the lobby to the elevators. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Not enjoying yourself?" I asked.
He shrugged. "That blonde was making eyes at me. It was getting depressing."
I glanced back, seeing the young woman staring after him hungrily. "She's cute. What, was she not offering the same thing the guys were sending my way?" I smiled as I teased him.
He gave a small laugh. "She's too young. I like my women a little older, a little more experienced."
I made a face. "You like older women?"
Andrew's grin was infectious. "Yeah, like you."
I shoved him playfully as the elevator doors opened. Stepping inside, the air conditioning immediately made my bare arms rise in gooseflesh. "God, I thought the lobby was cold!" I crossed my arms for warmth.
Andrew had maneuvered to stand at the back of the elevator. He stepped close behind me and took hold of me, rubbing my arms. I put my head back, leaning on his chest and let him fondle my upper arms.
A familiar heat began to spread from deep within me. I gave a small, contented sigh. Andrew's hands on me felt great. Thoughts began to form, the kind I'd never considered before. Through our time together, I've gotten insight into what he likes in a woman, how he likes to be touched. I've seen him shirtless: I could describe his abs and the intense work-out he does to maintain them. I could guess what kind of face he makes when he comes.
But at that moment, with us standing in that elevator and his hands on my body, I didn't want to merely guess. I wanted to know.
I wanted to know if his ass was as toned as his chest and stomach. I wanted to know how it felt for his hands to roam other, more intimate places. I wanted to know if he was as big as he joked.
I pushed back into him, getting as close as I could. I rubbed my backside on him, very slightly, just to gauge his reaction. The hardness pressing against my back was all I needed.
Andrew cleared his throat. "What are you thinking about?" he asked with exaggerated innocence.
"I was thinking about what the men in the bar were saying to me." I caught his eye in the mirrored wall.
His eyes flashed. "D'you want to go back and take them up on their offers?"
"Not them, no," I said, hoping I didn't need to say any more. From the way he looked at me, his eyes running up and down my body, he knew exactly what I meant. Warmth flooded through me as my heart beat quickened.
The elevator stopped. Andrew gently guided me by the shoulders out and down the corridor. All indication either of us had been drunk was gone: every nerve was on fire, waiting for his signal.
We walked, his arm looped around my waist, to my door. I fumbled in my purse for the key and opened. I turned to him, stood as high as I could in my black heels, and kissed him. He resisted initially, but gave himself to me when I cupped his cheek. His aftershave was faint after a day of travel and meetings, but it had kept its fragrance.
We parted, my mouth slightly open in eager anticipation. Andrew touched his fingertips to his lips. "You taste sweet." A cloud fell on his expression. "But we shouldn't..."
I nodded, hating myself for the yearning coiling inside. "No, we probably shouldn't." I stepped over the threshold of my room. Unable to look at him, I muttered a hurried goodbye and closed the door.
