If I Could Do It Again (5 page)

The question stalls me and I hesitate. I’m not sure what to say. The idea excites and terrifies me. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Richard won’t like it and …”

“Do you want to come?” he asks, cutting me short.

I hesitate. “I do.”

“Then it’s settled,” he says. “Pick a date.”

“Please …” Becca whines from the large bowl chair behind me. She showed up about twenty minutes ago, letting herself into my house and planting herself in my office, dramatically demanding that we go out for a spa day. “You’ve been working too much lately,” she whines. “The novel’s almost done. You can afford to take the day off and come to the spa with me. Besides, I’ve already booked us in and the packages are non-refundable.”

While I’m sure she’s right, I have been working too much lately, I don’t really want to go. I’m behind on my word count for the day and on top of that, I have two letters from Joshua sitting on my desk that I need to reply to. Spending the day at the spa really isn’t high on my priority list.

I keep my attention on my emails, clicking my way through all the social media notifications. “I can’t, Becca. I’m behind.”

“You’re always behind,” she says with a long, drawn out huff. She comes up behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Taking a few hours for yourself isn’t going to …” she stalls suddenly, her grip tightening on my shoulder. “Uh, Vic, why are you getting mail from a prison in the United States?”

I sigh, shrugging her hand off my shoulder, and then I turn around, leaning back in my chair and looking up at her. She’s frowning, her nose wrinkled up as she stares at the letter sitting on top of the heaping stack of paperwork.

She doesn’t look happy. Not even a little.

“Ummm … research?” I say, though it comes out as a question rather than the sure statement it was meant to be.

Becca narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “Want to try that one again?”

No. Not really.
I’d really prefer not talking about it at all, but the hard glint in Becca’s chocolatey brown eyes tells me that’s not an option.

So much for keeping Joshua a secret.

“Well, it started as research … kind of,” I say, running a nervous hand through my hair. I haven’t told anyone about Joshua, well, no one but Richard, and I have no idea what she’ll think. “I was researching kidnapping cases for a book, and I stumbled on this prisoner pen-pal website, and …”

“You have a prisoner pen-pal?” she half whispers, half shouts.

“Um … yeah.”

“Holy shit.” Becca grins excitedly, surprising me because she isn’t exactly the nonjudgmental type. “Turn off the computer,” she says. “We’re going to the spa.
Now.
”

I let out a sharp, nervous laugh.
Shit.
That’s her
I’m not leaving you alone until you tell me everything
voice. I glance back at my computer screen. I know I should just tell her no, but Richard’s home again, and the last thing I want to do is have this conversation while he’s right across the hall working on that stupid boat-in-a-bottle.

“Fine, okay,” I say, eventually. “I can’t wait.”

Forty-five minutes later, I’m sitting in a massaging chair with my feet submerged in warm water. Becca’s beside me, her long blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. She has her phone in her hand, her nose scrunched up as she studies Joshua’s pen-pal profile.

“Damn, girl,” she mutters, her big brown eyes peeking up at me. “That man is hot. Does Richard know about him?”

I cut her a sideways look. “Of course he knows. Why would I hide that from him?”

“Because he’s your husband, and this …” she waves a hand at me dramatically, “is not really something you tell your husband about.” Her eyes fall back onto Joshua’s picture, a soft smile touching her lips. “How did he take it?”

I shrug. “He was fine with it at the beginning, you know, before I actually sent the letter. Now … well, he doesn’t like it. He spends a lot of time trying to convince me Joshua is scum. I think he’s feeling threatened, maybe.”

“Is Joshua scum?”

I don’t respond immediately, considering my words carefully. “No, I don’t think so. He’s … sweet, Becca. He listens to me, really listens. And,” I pause, biting my bottom lip, “he calls me ‘beautiful’. Every single day. And he likes my curves. Loves them, actually.”

Becca’s eyes widen. “Oh no.”

I laugh awkwardly, confused. “What?”

“I know that look,” she says.

My brows furrow. “What look?”

“That one,” she says, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You like him.”

“Of course I like him,” I say, feeling a blush staining my cheeks. “We’ve been writing and talking for months now.”

Becca curves one of her perfectly shaped brows. “No, you like him like him. Damn, Vic. What have you gotten yourself into here?”

My pedicurist taps my right leg, and I lift it, putting it on the footrest, trying not to squirm as she begins taking off the old polish. It sucks having ticklish feet.

“I don’t really know,” I say truthfully. “But I can tell you one thing, I haven’t been this happy in years.”

“So, what are you going to do?” she asks, cutting me a look. “And your answer better involve finally leaving Dick.”

I roll my eyes at her. Becca may tolerate Richard for my sake, but she’s never liked him and she’s never hidden it.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “He knows I’m done, that I want out, but I’m just … I’m just …”

“Scared,” Becca supplies. “You’re scared.”

“Yeah.” And I really, truly am.

The spa day lasts way too long. Between Becca’s nonstop talking and my brain racing with story ideas, I’m not entirely sure I’m going to make it through all the pampering. I need my nails to dry and a pen and a pad. No. Scratch that. What I need right now is for my phone to ring.

I haven’t heard from Joshua all day and it’s … odd. Really odd.

Digging around in my purse, I search for my phone, wondering if maybe I just didn’t hear it ring. I rifle, searching and searching, pulling items out, pushing them around. Where the hell is my phone?

****

When I finally get home, it’s nearly six o’clock at night. I find my phone on my desk so I grab it, looking to see if I missed any calls and what I see on the screen makes my stomach sink. Twenty-six missed calls, all from Joshua.

I sit down at my desk, setting the phone right beside me, and I open up my emails. I try to focus—I really, really try—but it’s pointless. Between the soft classical music coming from Richard’s hobby room and my silent phone taunting me, I get nothing done. Instead, I spend a whole lot of time glaring at my phone, willing it to ring.

It sucks that I can’t call him.

No. Scratch that.

Sucks
is not a strong enough word for the way it feels.

It’s pure hell.

An hour slips by. I respond to three emails. Another thirty minutes, two more emails cleaned up from my inbox. I look at my phone again and check to make sure the ringer is on. Twenty more minutes slip by. I update my expense tracking spreadsheet.

And the evening drags on, falling into night.

I’m tired, exhausted actually. The yawns keep slipping out no matter how hard I try to swallow them down. I’m just about to give up for the night when the phone finally rings.

Grabbing it, my heart beats wildly as I spot Joshua’s number on the screen. Quickly, I answer it and accept the call.

“You okay?”

No hello. No beautiful. And his voice is rough—harsher than normal. I’m stunned. My lips twitch and I fight hard not to frown.

“Yes,” I respond, my voice guarded as my entire body coils tightly. “I’m okay.”

“Where’ve you been?”

I swallow hard. He doesn’t sound happy. Actually, I’ve never heard his voice this … cold before. I feel it like a chill spreading down my spine.

My stomach knots. “I was out.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” he demands, his tone dropping, impatient and biting.

I laugh sharply, my body heating at his words. What the hell has gotten into him? Sure, I missed some calls, but this … this attitude is ridiculous.

“I was out,” I repeat, nervous anger leaking out of my voice.

“I called you twenty-six times,” he says. “You got a fucking cell phone. Why the fuck didn’t you answer it?”

“I forgot my phone at home.”

He exhales loudly, frustrated. “Where the fuck have you been, Victoria? I’m not going to ask you again.”

“I went out,” I say, exasperated. “What do you want? A goddamn play by play?”

He exhales again, just as loudly as the last one, but this time I’m pretty sure it’s a forced calming breath. “Yes, I do. And watch your tone with me.”

It’s my turn to let out a frustrated breath. “I went to the spa, got my nails done, had a massage and a facial. Then I went to the bookstore, got coffee, walked around the mall a little, went for dinner. I was just out doing stuff.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Um, yeah …” my voice drops low. “I guess.”

“Good,” he says, his tone still as hard as concrete. “Glad you’re okay and you had a good time.” He pauses, letting out another loud exhale. “I’m done talking to you right now.”

“Joshua …”

“No,” he says, cutting me short. “I’m done.”

“Wait,” I say, hating the desperation I hear in my voice. “What do you mean you’re done?”

But he doesn’t respond. Instead, I hear the recording say, “The caller has hung up.”

Pulling my phone away from my ear, I stare at it for a beat. I feel the sting of tears—damn tears—in my eyes, and my chest feels so unbelievably tight that it’s hard to breathe.

Oh my God. I don’t understand what just happened.

I sit in my chair, blinking fast and sniffling, staring at my phone. I don’t know how long I sit there, my eyes glued to the screen, hoping it’ll ring again. It’s probably been only five minutes, but it feels like hours.

Taking a deep breath, I set my phone aside and head into the bathroom washing my tears away. I take my time, slathering on some moisturizer and brushing my teeth, and after a few minutes, I’m starting to feel normal again. A little less shaky.

When I come out, Richard is standing there leaning against the wall, hands stuffed in his blue jeans. He’s smirking, his shoulders are shaking with silent laughter, and looking at him, at the knowing look in his eyes, I know he was eavesdropping.

My temper flares white-hot.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his smirk stretching, turning into a full-blown smile. “You get into a fight with your little convict?”

I glare at him, long and hard. “Don’t call him that,” I say sharply, enunciating every single syllable. “He has a name.”

Richard only laughs, and I spin around, walking back into my office, slamming the door behind me.

God, I hope he doesn’t stay long.

It’s been a long day, mostly because I barely slept last night. My stupid brain kept replaying the conversation with Joshua over and over, trying to make sense out of it, but yeah, I couldn’t. Still can’t. We’re friends.
Just friends.
And friends don’t freak out when someone doesn’t answer the phone.

When I gave up on sleeping, I spent a few hours seriously considering shutting down the phone line, and cancelling my prepaid calling account. The problem with that, though, is that every time I think about not hearing his voice again, my heart feels like it’s cracking.

Then, I spent a few more hours trying to figure out what I did that was so horrible that he’d yell at me the way he had, wondering how I can fix it, and if he’ll even give me the chance to try.

Ugh.
Who am I kidding? We’re not just friends. We’re … well, I don’t know what we are, but
just friends
isn’t it.

The cold hard truth? I’m … attached and I don’t want it to be over, but the question remains: what is
it
?

It’s a little after two o’clock in the afternoon and I’m hiding in my office since Richard’s still home. I can hear him cursing from across the hall. The boat project must not be going well today. He hasn’t done his laundry or picked up his dry cleaning yet, so I assume he’s staying overnight, but he won’t tell me either way.

I should be working, but I can’t concentrate. I’ve been checking my phone constantly since I woke up this morning, making sure it’s on, checking if the ringer is turned up.

I’m agonizing, I know.

I don’t know what to do about the argument.

I don’t know what to do with myself.

I glare down at my phone again, because it hasn’t rung all day, not that I expect it to. After the way Joshua ended things last night, I won’t be surprised if I never hear from him again.

A shrill ring echoes through the room. My heart stops, and then races. I snatch up my phone, my heart stalling for a second before I glance at the caller display.

Please be him. Please be him. Please be him.

It’s him. Holy shit! It’s him. He’s calling.

My heart thunders in my chest, beating like a jackhammer as I answer it, impatiently waiting for the recording to end, for my chance to accept the call.

“How’s my beautiful angel doing?” Joshua says as soon as the line clicks through. He sounds upbeat today, happy even.

Not what I expected. Not at all.

I hesitate. “I’m fine. How are you?”

I’m a mess really, but I’m not about to admit it.

“I don’t believe you,” he says. “You’re a shitty liar, baby girl. You’re still mad about yesterday, aren’t you?”

Despite myself, I smile at that. I can’t believe how well this man knows me.

“You yelled at me,” I say quietly. “Then you hung up on me and I thought I wasn’t going to hear from you again. So, yeah, Joshua, I’m a little mad.”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” he says simply. “You need to learn.”

I snort out a laugh. “Are you kidding me right now? I’m not always going to be around to answer the phone for you.”

“You should be,” he says, a tinge of irritation seeping into his voice. “I waited in line for hours yesterday. People watched me wait in line and call you over and over, and you didn’t pick up your fucking phone. It’s fucking embarrassing. You wasted my time. You made me look like an idiot.”

I blink. I don’t even know what to say to that.
Embarrassed.
He yelled at me because he was embarrassed. Really?

“You always pick up every time I call,” he continues, “and when you didn’t, I got extremely worried about you. I didn’t know if something happened to you or if you and Richard got into a fight. I’ve lost a lot of people while I’ve been locked up and I was afraid I’d lost you, too. I caught feelings for you, baby girl, and I thought something happened to you and there was nothing I could do about it. I was fucking worried, and when you finally picked up, you were being a bitch about it. I’ve showed you the sweet loving side to me because I felt like you deserved it. It’s a side that not too many people get to see, but I’m not going to let some bitch speak to me like you did yesterday.”

“Really, you’re calling me a bitch now?”

“You were being a bitch yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. And I am. The truth is, I’ve been sorry since I realized I forgot my phone.

Joshua laughs, all seriousness gone from his tone. “Say it again, this time try to make it believable.”

“I’m not sure I can do that yet,” I say teasingly, laughter in my voice. “Give me an hour or two, okay?”

My response makes him laugh again, this time a full, loud laugh. It’s an amazing sound, packed full of raw energy and when he speaks again, his voice is deeper than normal. “Is your pussy wet, baby?”

I blink and let out an awkward laugh, surprised by the question. Some of our calls and letters have touched on sexual stuff, but he’s never been this blunt before. What is he doing here?

“No,” I say after a moment, though my voice doesn’t come out nearly as confident as I would have liked. The truth is, as soon as he asked, I could feel the dampness gather between my legs.

He hums. “Again with the lying. I hope this doesn’t become a habit.” He pauses for a beat, and when I say nothing, he continues. “Stick your hand in your panties and tell me.”

“No,” I repeat, this time a little firmer. “Joshua, I can’t do this with you.” And I can’t. Even if Richard wasn’t home, playing with that stupid boat right across the hallway from my office, engaging in phone sex just isn’t right.

I’m still married.

I still live with my husband—kind of.

It’s just … not right, even if Richard knows it’s over between us.

Joshua chuckles. “Yes you can. I know you want to be my little slut. Be a good girl and reach into those panties. I want you to tell me how wet your pussy is.”

I swallow hard, feeling heat coil through my body. Shit, I want to. I really, really want to, but again I say, “I can’t. We can’t. Richard’s home and …”

He doesn’t listen to me. Actually, he right out ignores me, cutting me off. “You know what I’m picturing? I’m picturing you in nothing but a garter belt and thigh high sheer stockings. You’ve got on a pair of stiletto heels, and you’re in the kitchen cooking me dinner.”

I laugh awkwardly. “No one cooks dinner in a garter belt, stockings, and heels.”

Again he ignores me. “I walk up behind you, slapping your ass once nice and hard, and then I lean down and start kissing your neck.”

“Please stop,” I whisper, though I don’t mean it, and he hears it. He knows.

“You don’t really want me to stop, do you, baby girl?”

I don’t respond, but I don’t have to. This man who has only known me through letters and a handful of phone calls knows me better than anyone else. He knows me better than anyone ever has.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“I grab you by the hips, spinning you around, and back you up against the wall. My hands slide around, cupping that perfect ass of yours, squeezing hard as I lift you up, telling you to wrap those thick thighs around my waist.”

My heartbeat picks up, thrumming away in my chest, and I make a sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper.

If he hears it, he doesn’t let on. “I dip my head, taking one of your hard nipples into my mouth, biting down, then sucking the sting away, before moving on to your other perfect breast. After I’m done sucking on your nipples, I walk you over to the kitchen table, and in one solid motion I knock everything off, and set you down. I kiss my way down your body until I’m on my knees, placing your legs on my shoulders. Then, I start kissing the inside of one of your thighs until I reach your pussy, making sure it’s nice and wet. I stick my tongue inside your cunt, tasting your juices and trailing my fingers up your legs to your inner thighs, gliding a finger into your tight pussy while my tongue starts doing circles on your clit.”

My stomach is in knots, and my breath is short. Jesus, what is this man doing to me? I’ve never been so turned on before. My hands are shaking and my voice whispers softly as I say, “You make me so wet.”

And it’s true. I don’t have to reach into my panties to feel the wetness—I’m so saturated I can feel it soaking them.

It’s unreal.

It’s amazing.

I’ve always had trouble getting wet with Richard. It doesn’t matter how much foreplay we have, we still need lube. But with Joshua, all he has to do is say a few words and my pussy is soaking.

“Good,” he says. “Touch yourself for me, baby. Rub your clit a little.”

“Okay,” I whimper, my voice cracking on the word. God, I feel like a gawky teenager, all shaky and blushing. But … my pussy has never, and I mean never, been this soaked.

I undo my jeans, hesitantly reaching down and running a finger along my clit. It’s throbbing, my wet channel clenching, begging to be filled.

“I start working my tongue faster, flicking your clit,” he says. “Every time I pull my fingers in and out of your pussy, you moan a little louder and your legs start shaking on my shoulders. I know you’re liking what I’m doing. Your nails are digging into my head. I know you’re ready to come, so I keep moving faster, thrusting my fingers in and out, until your pussy starts to clench and you come around my digits.”

Gasping at the image, I rub my clit and pump my fingers inside me. My body shudders, and my heart races. I want more, need more. More of him.

“Once you finish coming, I pull my fingers out of your pussy, standing up and sticking them into your mouth, telling you to lick them clean. Then, I undo my jeans, taking my hard cock out. It’s dripping with pre-come and I press it deep inside you. Baby, I love how wet and tight your pussy is. As I’m working my hips back and forth, I dip my head sucking on one of your hard nipples, and then the other.”

Pleasure explodes inside of me, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I close my eyes, swallowing down the moan that’s creeping up my throat. I’m close, so, so close …

“I grab your throat, and my lips meet yours, my tongue darts into your mouth as my other hand grips your ass. I start fucking you harder, slamming my cock in and out of your tight cunt. Your hand goes down to your clit and you start rubbing it. Our warm bodies are pressed so tight, our hearts racing in our chests, and I feel like I’m going to come, but I want you to come again, so I lean down, whispering in your ear, “Come for me, my little slut.”’

And I do. My orgasm grabs me, and I let out a soft moan, arching my back as my wet walls convulse. “I’m coming,” I say, though my voice is barely a whisper.

Joshua pauses, giving me a moment to catch my breath. I relax back in my seat, panting as the sensation subsides, my body feeling like Jell-O.

We’re both quiet for a moment, my breathing, the only sound filling the line between us. When he speaks again, his voice is soft and sweet. “Did you come good, baby girl?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and then I say, “Yes, thank you.”

“Anytime, baby.”

And then, the one-minute warning plays on the line.

“I’m going to go jerk off,” he says. “I’ll call you later.”

“Okay,” I say, and then he hangs up.

I set down the phone, slowly doing up my pants, before curling up into my chair, resting my head on the plush pillow. I never thought that the steamiest sex I’d ever have would be on my phone.

Shit. What did I just do?

I’m a horrible, horrible person.