I made a conscious decision to cheat on my husband.

Now, before you judge me, hear my story. Hear how much I'm like you, how similar my thoughts are to your own. Yes, I'm a horrible person. Yes, I've done horrible things. Yes, I don't deserve forgiveness. Yes, bad things happened because of my actions.

But I'm willing to bet I've done things that maybe, just maybe, you have thought of doing.

Maybe, just maybe, you're not as innocent as you'd like to think.

Or maybe I'm not so guilty... 

Misch stared up at him, simply amazed. She couldn't believe he was there, sitting next to her. Bubble, officially burst. Mr. Tal Canaan was a real life man, flesh and blood, not some fantasy to be locked away in some hotel room, shoved to the back of her brain. And the fantasy-come-to-life sitting next to her happened to be dressed up, as well. Sexy didn't cover how he looked that evening.

“Tal, we can't do this,” Misch lowered her voice. “You did me a huge favor the other night, really. I appreciate it, more than I can say. But it ended in that room.”

His hand moved off of her hip and across her lap. Came to rest on her bare thigh. Her voice caught in her throat.

“Oh, no. No, I don't think so. I don't think it ended at all. I think it's still very much going on,” he breathed, sliding his hand up, moving the skirt of her dress out of the way.

“Tal, please,” she whimpered.

Whimpering. The man makes me whimper.

“Ah, there's that word I love.”

“My boss could walk up any minute,” she hissed, pressing herself back into the cushioned booth, trying to gain some distance.

“Don't worry about your boss,” Tal whispered, dipping his head and kissing her temple.

“We can't. He knows I'm married,” she whispered back, squirming as Tal's hand pushed the last bit of material out of the way. If a waiter popped up, he'd have a great view of Misch's hot pink underwear.

“I told you, don't worry.”

“Don't worry!? How can I not -,”

She gasped as his thumb slid under the crotch of her panties. While her lips were parted, he dove in, kissing her hard. She moaned, welcoming him. Fuck, she'd cook him dinner and rub his feet, if he'd just keep touching her. Just keep wanting her.

“I love that you're always so ready for me,” he pulled away to laugh at her. She gripped onto his arm.

“Oh my god, I'm gonna get fired,” she panted, but made no move to stop him. His thumb was ridiculously dexterous; she wondered if he was double jointed. It swam in circles, making her dizzy.

“You won't get fired, I promise,” he had his sly smile on, and he actually rested an elbow on the back of the booth, propping his cheek against his fist. His relaxation actually made her more aware of their surroundings. She was sitting in the middle of a nice restaurant, waiting for her boss, and she had a man's thumb in her crotch.

Slut.

“Someone's going to see us. Please.”

“You know what's funny,” he ignored her. “This really wasn't my plan when I decided to come here. I thought we could have a drink, talk. I could watch you laugh. You have a great laugh. But then I sat down, and you're wearing this amazing dress, showing those amazing legs, and well, here we are.”

“I don't want to be doing this,” she begged.

“Why not?”

“Because,” she couldn't finish the sentence. Didn't want to say it out loud. Wanted to pretend that she was begging him to stop for the right reasons.

“Because why?”

I'm such an awful person.

“Because I'm ..."

“Since our night together," he whispered, "this is all I've thought about. All I've wanted to do. From this point on, you're going to be the only person I fuck while I'm here.”

“Tal, please, I'm going to … I'm about to …,” she couldn't catch her breath. She was too busy trying to stave off a huge orgasm.

“Shhhh,” he shushed her. Then his thumb was gone. He pulled his fingers free of her underwear, ran it up her body. Rested his hand against the side of her jaw. She was breathing heavily through her nose, staring up at him. He stared right back and pressed his dewy thumb against her bottom lip. Traced it back and forth.

Resistance is so fucking futile.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered. He smiled, then stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucking her wetness away.

“Anything you want, babe. Come find me,” he whispered back.

Then he was sliding out of his seat. Walking away.

Misch dropped her head back on the booth, tried to catch her breath. She pressed a hand to her chest and gulped in air. She had thought the night was going to be boring. Shmoozing their international partners, talking about insurance, trying to tell bad jokes in broken Italian. Getting off in the middle of a crowded dining room hadn't been part of the plan.

Mr. Canaan had never been part of the plan.

Crazy woman living in an undisclosed location in Alaska (where the need for a creative mind is a necessity!), I have been writing since ... forever? Yeah, that sounds about right. I have been told that I remind people of Lucille Ball - I also see shades of Jennifer Saunders, and Denis Leary. So basically, I laugh a lot, I'm clumsy a lot, and I say the F-word A LOT.

I like dogs more than I like most people, and I don't trust anyone who doesn't drink. No, I do not live in an igloo, and no, the sun does not set for six months out of the year, there's your Alaska lesson for the day. I have mermaid hair - both a curse and a blessing - and most of the time I talk so fast, even I can't understand me.

Yeah. I think that about sums me up.

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