Cheater - Sex Stories

Cheater

... further upset her, or ruin our friendship. However, I could never refuse her anything and agreed. She climbed out of the truck and I followed her into the house. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back,” she said, waving her arm toward the sofa as we passed through the elegant living room. It felt good to sink into the overstuffed cushions of the sofa and relax. I watched Natalie as she continued on into the kitchen. The soft curls of golden hair bounced about her shoulders and her skirt hugged the slight flare of her narrow hips and swished around her gorgeous legs just above her knees. She was a vision, and I was entranced. She returned shortly carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. She filled one glass and handed it to me. “Oh, would you rather have a beer or something else?” She stopped. I shook my head. “No, wine will be fine,” I answered, taking the glass from her. I’m not much of a wine drinker, but I didn’t want to make her get something else just for me. Natalie filled her own glass, then kicked off her heels and sat close to me, curling her beautiful legs beneath her. She lifted her glass and took a long drink, nearly emptying the glass. She set the glass on the table and refilled it with a sigh. “What should I do, Rick?” she asked, her voice beginning to tremble. I paused for moment, collecting my thoughts as I turned to look into her deep blue eyes. “You could always have him killed,” I half joked. “Ha!” she snorted a little and briefly cracked a smile, “Don’t tempt ...

... me.” She sighed again and laid her head on my shoulder. We sat in silence for a moment, and she placed her hand on my bicep. She lightly squeezed it, then slid her hand up to my shoulder and back down to squeeze it again. She lifted her head and brought her other hand up to join the first, trying to stretch her fingers around my thick upper arm. “I never noticed your arms were so big. Look, I can’t even get my hands around it,” she said, sounding surprised. I looked down at her tiny fingers wrapped around my arm. The pink manicured nails of her thumbs were touching on one side, but those of her index fingers were almost four inches apart on the other. “I’m not a little boy,” I answered with a wry smile, chuckling silently to myself as I recalled Kenny’s scrawny little arms. “No, you certainly are not,” she smiled. Her hand slid down my arm to squeeze my hand and her eyes roamed down over my chest and abdomen, paused briefly at my crotch, then traveled back up to meet my gaze. “Seriously though, I’m so confused, what should I do? Should I divorce him?” she spoke quietly, gazing into my eyes. God yes! Dump that asshole. Get as far from him as you possibly can! Is what I wanted to say, but instead, I held back and took a minute to ponder her question. Since she asked whether she should divorce him, she, evidently, was considering NOT divorcing him. Something that, up to this point, I had thought was a forgone conclusion. Now that she knew the truth, part of it anyway, how could ...