Kess woke to the sound of fucking. Voices she did not recognize grunted and squealed in a syncopated rhythm. The former, masculine. The latter, fake. Porn, she surmised as her whereabouts swam into consciousness mere moments before her disappointment overtook all other sensation, making her eyes again sting with tears.
* * * *
For weeks, she'd looked forward to their Valentine's Day trip—away from home, away from kids, away from any need for discretion or any fear of interruption. She reserved the hotel, did all the preparation. Surely, Kess reasoned, the opportunity for some serious fucking would be seized. If Jack truly desired her, as he claimed, how could he resist?
But resist he most certainly did.
They shared a lovely afternoon, shopping and sight-seeing, then enjoyed a quiet dinner. On the way back to the hotel, they picked up a bottle of wine. Everything was proceeding as she hoped. For the most part, anyway.
Jack repeatedly told her how much he liked her outfit, a special purchase made solely because he'd spotted the blouse hanging in the store and said she'd look good in it. Ever eager for his sexual attention, she bought it along with a pair of pants and a whimsical hat. However, he seemed to gleefully take pictures of everything except her. Kess told herself that it was out of consideration for her camera shyness, but deep in the recesses of her subconscious, she knew better.
She knew Jack collected photographs of women he admired and desired. Kess wondered if he'd ever regret not having an extensive collection of her pictures. Like, perhaps, if she died... or bailed out of the relationship in search of emotional fulfillment. The ones he did have on his hard drive had been foist upon him, making Kess feel rather cheap and desperate, especially since they never quite produced the enthusiastic reaction she sought.
In the room, they each slipped out of their street clothes and into something more comfy. Kess grabbed the laptop for a quick email check, passing it to Jack a few minutes later so he could do the same. She poured herself a glass of wine and settled onto the bed to watch television while Jack checked his messages.
Okay, so it wasn't exactly romantic. Domesticity tended to suck the romance out of a relationship, not that they ever had much of it to begin with. Their story only sounded romantic to the outside world. The reality was a lengthy, painful journey full of intense longing and bitter disappointment. And yet, they'd survived it, albeit scarred for life. She'd tried many times over the years to inject that elusive element, never achieving much more than added disappointment. Jack was either oblivious or indifferent. Kess couldn't decide which was worse. Neither provided her solace.
Two-thirds of an hour and two-thirds of a bottle later, Jack was still on the computer, and Kess was more than two-thirds drunk. She stood on shaky legs, stripped off her clothes, and slid under the covers without a word.
The movement distracted him from whatever was holding his interest online. There was a rustle as he placed the laptop on the nightstand, then his hands slid over her bare body.
