Chapter 3: The Affair Intensifies
The air in Marco’s car was thick with the smell of sex, sweat, and his cheap, spicy cologne. Kathryn’s head lolled against the headrest, her chest still heaving. The driver’s seat was reclined awkwardly, her chef’s pants tangled around one ankle. Marco’s hand, resting possessively on her bare thigh, was slick.
“Christ, Kathryn,” he murmured, his voice a rough scrape against the quiet of the empty parking lot. The kitchen lights were off, the restaurant a dark hulk against the city glow.
She turned her head, looking at his profile. The hard line of his jaw, the satisfied curl of his lips. The memory of him, of his mouth between her legs in the walk-in cooler, of the way he’d pinned her against the cold stainless steel, sent a fresh, weakening tremor through her.
“We should…” she began, but her voice was hoarse, foreign.
“We should do that again,” he finished, pushing himself upright and adjusting his jeans. He grinned, a flash of white in the dark. “Soon. Fucking soon. I’ve been thinking about that ass since you walked in for your stage.”
She pulled her pants up, the fabric rough against her sensitized skin. Her fingers fumbled with the button. “That was two months ago.”
“And two months too long,” he said, starting the car. The engine growled to life, shattering the intimate silence. “Where to?”
“Home,” she said, the word tasting like ash on her tongue.
The drive was a blur of streetlights and silence. Her body hummed, a live wire compared to the dead numbness she usually carried home. She could still feel him, the stretch and burn, the commanding weight of him. It was a brutal, shocking contrast to David’s earnest, fumbling attentions just a few nights before. That scream he’d drawn from her—Marco’s scream, really—had hung in the bedroom air like an accusation. David had been puzzled, thrilled, and had fallen asleep with a baffled smile. She’d lain awake for hours, smelling another man on her skin.
Marco pulled up a block from her house, a gentlemanly gesture that felt absurd given what they’d just done. He killed the engine and turned to her. In the dim dashboard light, his eyes were dark pools.
His hand moved to his belt buckle with deliberate slowness, the leather sliding free with a soft hiss.
"You should suck my cock before you go," Marco said, voice low and rough like gravel under tires. He wasn’t asking.
Kathryn’s pulse kicked hard in her throat. The heat between her legs flared again, fresh and insistent. She could still taste him—salt and musk and the bitter tang of her own arousal from earlier.
The car smelled like sex and the lingering grease from the fryer clinging to their clothes. Outside, the street was quiet, just the hum of a distant lawn sprinkler.
She hesitated. A car passed slowly, headlights painting the inside of the car in fleeting gold before plunging them back into shadow.
Marco exhaled through his nose, impatient. His fingers curled around the back of her neck, pulling her down until her breath hit the thick ridge of his cock through his jeans.
"Come on," he murmured, thumb pressing into the hinge of her jaw. "You’re already wet for it. I can smell you."
Kathryn swallowed. Then her mouth opened.
The zipper was loud in the silence. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath—she’d expected boxers, cotton, some last barrier. But no. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy against her lips.
"Fuck," Marco groaned as she took him in, her tongue flattening against the underside. His hips jerked, forcing himself deeper.
She gagged once, her fingers digging into his thighs.
"Eyes up," he ordered, voice rough.
She looked. His jaw was tight, head tipped back against the seat, but his gaze burned down at her. Watching.
Kathryn hollowed her cheeks, sucking harder.
"Good girl," he grunted, fingers tightening in her hair.
She could feel him swelling, his breath hitching. His free hand found hers, dragging it back to his balls, forcing her to squeeze.
"Make me come," he muttered.
The engine was still warm beneath them. The leather seat creaked as he shifted, fucking her mouth in short, brutal thrusts.
Kathryn’s knees ached against the console.
Her mouth was full of him, a heavy, living weight that made her jaw ache, but a low, answering throb pulsed between her own legs with every guttural sound he made. The console dug into her shin, a sharp, real pain that anchored her to the moment, to the dangerous absurdity of what she was doing in a car a block from her sleeping husband. Marco’s breathing grew ragged, his hips losing their rhythm, becoming jerky and urgent.
“Yeah, just like that, take it all,” he rasped, his voice strained.
His fingers twisted tighter in her fiery hair, a claiming grip that sent a shocking bolt of submission straight to her core. She could feel the inevitable tighten in his balls under her hand, the muscles in his thighs going rigid. He was close, and a part of her, a feral part she’d locked away for years, thrilled at the power of pulling this from him.
He suddenly wrenched her head back, her lips making a wet, obscene pop as he pulled his cock from her mouth.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his chest heaving.
Kathryn blinked, disoriented, her lips swollen and slick. The streetlight through the windshield haloed his head, leaving his face in shadow except for the fierce gleam in his eyes. He was stroking himself fast now, his fist a blur, his gaze locked on hers.
“You want it?” he grunted, the words harsh.
She didn’t answer, couldn’t. She just watched, hypnotized by the raw, aggressive act, by the sheer fucking filth of it.
“I said, do you want it?”
“Yes.” The word was a whisper, stolen by the thick air.
“Then take your goddamn reward.”
It wasn’t a gentle crest but a violent eruption. With a choked, guttural cry, the first thick, hot stripe hit her cheekbone, just below her eye. The second splashed across her lips and chin. The rest, pulses of it, painted her nose, her other cheek, her eyelid when she flinched. It was warm and smelled uniquely of him, salt and sex, a branding.
He let out a long, shuddering sigh, his body slumping back into the seat. His softening cock, glistening and spent, rested against his thigh.
For a long moment, the only sound was their labored breathing. The cum on her face began to cool, tightening her skin.
“Leave it,” Marco said, his voice returning to its usual low smoothness, as if commenting on the weather. He tucked himself away, zipped up. “Don’t you fucking wipe it off. I want you to walk into that nice house with my shit all over you. Let it dry.”
Kathryn remained frozen, the command slithering into her, equal parts humiliation and a dark, exhilarating pride. She could feel a droplet beginning a slow track down toward her jawline.
Marco reached over, smearing a thumb through the mess on her chin, then pushed that thumb past her parted lips. She tasted him, bitter and final.
“Now get out,” he said, not unkindly, but with a tone of dismissal that left no room for argument. “See you tomorrow, Red.”
The dome light was blinding when she opened the car door. She stepped out onto the quiet suburban pavement, the night air shockingly cool on her soiled skin. The door thudded shut behind her, and Marco’s car pulled away without another glance, its taillights disappearing around the corner.
She stood there for a full minute, listening to the sprinkler hiss three houses down. Then she turned and walked toward the darkened colonial where David slept. Each step felt amplified, a drumbeat. The dried streak on her eyelid pulled slightly with every blink. She could still taste him in her mouth, a secret she carried up the driveway, past the tidy hydrangeas, to the front door she quietly unlocked and stepped through. The house smelled of lemon polish and the lavender fabric softener David liked, a clean, innocent scent that now felt like a lie.