I was such a good Christian girl when this whole thing started. The one man I had ever been with was my husband and then only after our wedding day. Honestly, I thought sex was overrated. I submitted to it twice a week, or as Jimmy needed it. I never wanted it for myself.

It all started when I asked my husband if I could get a job. We didn't need the income, but he worked such long hours, sometimes fourteen or more, in his law office that I was restive. After five years with no children, and nothing to do but keep house and read my Bible and volunteer at church, I needed more. I tried to tell him so.

"You have a job," he replied. "You're my wife."

"I'm lonely, Jimmy, and I'm bored," I said. Then, because of the disapproving look, I added, "I know you work hard for us. I'm not ungrateful, just restless."

It took me weeks to convince him. In the end, though, Jimmy reluctantly let me sign up with a temp agency at the local University. They assigned me to an elderly Vice-Chancellor who was retiring in three months and needed help organizing his documents for his replacement. I just loved the work. The temp service called me a day before the retirement party and asked me if I would be willing to stay one more week because the new Vice-Chancellor didn't have an assistant yet. Of course, I said yes.

On the very next day, I met Daniel Preston.

"Mr. Preston, this is Becky Tuft," the office administrator said. "She's been working with your predecessor and we secured her for another week so that she can help you get settled."

I looked up and I had to just keep looking, he was so big. I stood, feeling even smaller than I usually did; he must have been more than a foot taller than me. He was muscular, too; you could see that even with his suit jacket on. I offered my hand and it disappeared past the wrist between two of his.

"Tuft?" he asked, his voice like thunder in his chest. "I know a James Tuft. Is he your father?"

I flushed. "Jimmy's my husband," I said.

We got that a lot and it really upset him. He was seventeen years older than me and going a little bald, so he looked every minute of his forty-four years. I was twenty seven and had always been assumed younger than my age.

"Your husband, huh?" There was a hint of something unkind in his voice.

"Yes," I said earnestly. "We've been married five years."

His eyes lingered on the delicate cross that was just below the hollow of my throat and then strayed to the thin, gold band on my left hand and the tiny diamond that sat next to it. All of it were gifts from my Jimmy. My hand went over my cross, protectively.

"It's a very small world," he commented. I didn't have a lot of experience with people who talked in double-meanings, but his words didn't sound as warm as they should have. I glanced at the office administrator.

"Anyway," the administrator said, "Becky will be helping you get settled until you hire an assistant."

"I'll look very forward to working with you," he said.

I looked away. "Thank you."

#

Daniel Preston made me so nervous, I nearly quit that first day. He didn't even really do anything. His voice was loud and booming, which startled me. His eyes were bold and always seemed to be looking at me. Sermons had warned me of this. Sermons, but not life. I went to a private Christian high school. I graduated to a private Christian college and Jimmy married me right after.

I didn't quit, though. It was only one week, I reasoned.

Mr. Preston kept up a blistering pace at work and I felt woefully slow. There was a stack of things in my inbox all the time. It didn't seem to get shorter all week, no matter how I plugged at it. When he called me to his office Thursday afternoon, I thought it was to reprimand my inefficiency.

"Come in, Becky. Sit."

I did, without looking at him.

"Let me get straight to the point," he said. "I'm in need of an assistant and I don't really have time to do interviews right now. I'm pleased with your work this week. Would you like to come on board permanently?"

I did look at him, then. "Really?"

He looked amused. "Why do you sound shocked?"

"I'm slow. I'm not keeping up."

"Yes, you are. You're organized, communicate well, and anticipate me."

His complement gave me a warm sense of satisfaction. I liked that he was happy with me. He already had the respect of much of the office, and after only one week. He was charismatic and likable and handsome....

As soon as I realized where my mind was going, I tried to stop it. It wasn’t right to admire another man this much. I repeated my favorite verse from Proverbs in my head over and over. Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.

It didn't help. The idea of him as handsome was stuck in my head. I knew right then that I shouldn't take this job.

"You may do better with someone more experienced," I finally told him. It was a weak objection.

"I'm enjoying your lack of experience, actually," he said, letting the words hang in the air, a little smile on his lips. I didn't get the joke. He shook his head a little, still looking at me. Then, he added, "No bad habits to correct, you see. So, what do you say?"

I ought to have said no. What I actually said was, "I don't know. I should discuss this with my husband."

"I don't see why. It's the same job you've been doing."

He was right, of course, and it made me hesitate. "He thought temp work would be sporadic and I'd be home more," I finally said. And then, without any idea why, I added, "I don't imagine he'd mind, though. He works long hours most of the week."

"He does?"

"Oh yes. Until eleven some nights."

He gave me an appraising look and I felt like maybe I'd told him something I shouldn't, though I couldn't imagine what. Jimmy was always telling me that I talked too much. I just didn’t know why some things were supposed to be secret.

"That's very late," he said.

"He works hard."

"Hard work is one thing, but he shouldn't neglect a young, pretty wife like you."

I must have gone red in no seconds at all, and I didn't understand why. The minister called me 'Jimmy Tuft's pretty wife' almost every week when we shook his hand leaving church. But this felt so different from that.

"He provides for us," I managed.

"Everything you need?"

He gave me a direct look that seemed to go right through me. Again, I honestly didn't knowing what he was insinuating.

He must have seen my confusion because he said, "Forgive me. Long day. Can you give me an answer tomorrow?"

"I will," I said. I fiddled with my cross again.

"I'll see you then."

#

That evening, I searched the Bible for any reasons that I needed to bring decisions concerning my job to Jimmy. Ephesians says that wives should submit to their husbands in everything, but hadn't I? I'd asked if I could work. Did I need to bring every work-related decision to him as well?

It seemed unprofessional, which was probably why Mr. Preston sounded disapproving at the idea.

I went to the internet and did a search, which took me to the book of Ruth. Women worked in this story and their productivity was called a blessing. Surely, they didn't seek their fathers and husbands to tell them how to be productive. Certainly it wouldn't be unwomanly to accept this position on my own, if I wanted to.

But I was torn. What I wanted might not be the best thing for me.

I knelt by my chair and said a quick prayer, asking for God to make the answer clear to me. I asked him to help me find how to be both a good wife and a happy woman. I asked him to save me from temptation, but I don't think I asked for that earnestly enough.

I heard Jimmy's car door and stood. I went into the kitchen. There was still fifteen minutes before the roast in the oven was ready. It would give him enough time to get comfortable. I got him a glass of the mint iced tea that he liked and met him in the living room.

"Hi," I said to him, smiling and handing him the glass. "How was your day?

"Long," he answered, handing me his coat to hang. "It will be longer tomorrow, though."

He didn't look tired, but I knew better than to ask him about specifics about his job. He made it clear early on that I didn't understand what he did and it wouldn't help his stress to revisit his day's tension with me in the evening. And, truly, I wasn't a lawyer, so how could I understand?

"You poor thing," I said. "Dinner is nearly ready. Get into something comfortable?"

"Thank you, Sweetheart," he said, kissing me on the cheek.

I giggled. "Someone hit you with air freshener. You smell like flowers."

He sniffed his sleeve and frowned. "You're right. You'll have to drop this suit off at the cleaners for me tomorrow."

That meant I would have to leave early. I already left earlier than he did. The flash of irritation was new to me. I repressed it, but I couldn't deny it. I had to remind myself to be gentle.

"Leave it out for me," I said but he had already left the room, assuming my assent.

With the assumption, a deeper cut of resentment slashed. It was a new feeling, but it felt righteous. I had the thought that Mr. Preston appreciated me more than my husband did. And suddenly, without a single sign from God, I decided to accept that job offer.

#

I told Mr. Preston first thing in the morning and felt guilty all day. I knew I should have asked Jimmy. At the very least, I should have trusted God to give me guidance. But, no. I had rushed in and made this decision all by myself.

I didn't have much time to brood. Mr. Preston kept me busy straight until noon. Then he gave me big, white smile and said, "Excellent work, Becky. Take a long lunch."

I couldn't hold back my delight. His praise lifted me like I was a helium balloon. I got my purse and decided to treat myself with lunch out. After I finished my salad, I got two cookies and made the impulsive decision to bring one to my husband. I worked in one of the University's urban buildings; he only worked a couple of blocks away. I thought he would be so surprised.

But, when I got to his offices, it was like a ghost town. I looked around for a minute, remembering how Jimmy had said it was going to be a late night.

"Can I help you?"

I turned and the receptionist was poking her head out of a conference room. I didn't recognize her, but I really only met Jimmy's co-workers at the office Christmas party once a year.

"I was looking for James Tuft," I said.

"You're in luck. Most of the staff is at a retreat but Mr. Tuft opted out. Do you know where his office is?" I was fairly sure she was supposed to escort me back but she was eating lunch.

"I do."

So, I went down a long hallway with closed office doors on either side and headed for the one that was ajar. It was only when I was about ten paces away that I stopped. There were noises inside and it sounded like a struggle.

I don't know what made me creep to the door and peek through the crack. I should have knocked or just gone in. What I saw made me freeze and then it made me sick.

My Jimmy--no, not my Jimmy; it could never be my Jimmy doing this--had a woman bent over his desk and was having sex with her. Not just sex--vicious, violent, fierce sex. The way he, well, did what he did to her scooted a heavy desk by centimeters across a carpeted floor.

I wanted to look away, run away, even. But I couldn't. She wasn't even undressed, unless you counted the scrap of lacy panties that still circled one of her ankles. Her tight skirt was pushed up to her hips and Jimmy's slacks weren't even down to his knees. It's like they couldn't wait to be nude to do this sinful thing.

And, oh, how they seemed to love it. He had a handful of her hair and held her head down on the desk facing away as he used her. I couldn't even see her face--only that her hair was unnaturally blonde. He made grunts and moans and other sounds that I'd never heard him make before.

"Jimmy, yes. Oh, God, like that. Harder, Baby." Her voice was hushed.

"Harder?" He asked. He moved with even more force. "Careful what you ask for. I'll fuck you until you're bruised." My jaw dropped. He hadn't ever used that word around me.

"Do it, Baby. I'll be your personal whore. Make me feel it."

He let go of her hair and used her shoulders as leverage. Her moans got a little louder and I had to turn away. Before I knew it, I was halfway down the hall, walking with a quick pace past reception, and exiting his building. I left the two cookies, now crumbs in a package thanks to my grip, in the trashcan on the sidewalk.

Then, I walked without even knowing where I was going.

#

"When I said take a long lunch, I was thinking along the lines of an hour and a half," Mr. Preston said, sounding something between annoyed and amused.

I checked my watch. I was gone for over two hours. "I'm so sorry. I--" I cut myself off. What could I tell him without lying? "I...got some bad news over lunch and then I lost track of time. I'll stay late."

He gave me another of those piercing looks. I struggled not to cry, both from what I had seen and his disapproval. I couldn't take both. His expression softened. "That sounds fair."

Work got me through that afternoon. Anger and grief made me efficient; I tore through my tasks. Anything to forget the images and the sounds. Anything to take my mind off of what I was going to do when I went home. I didn't even look at the clock, so it was a bit of a shock when Mr. Preston came out of his office and closed the door.

"It's six-thirty, Becky. You've more than made up your time."

I looked up. "I'll just finish this--"

"Leave it. It will be here."

I hesitated. "Do you mind if I stay a little longer?"

"You don't want to go home?" I shook my head. "Because of your bad news at lunch?" I nodded. He looked at me a long moment. "Would you like to go for a drink with me, then?"

"I don't drink alcohol," I told him.

"Maybe today is a good day to start."

The Bible didn't prohibit drinking, just drunkenness. I always thought taking even one drink was part of the wide road leading to destruction, like it says in Matthew. Looking back, maybe that was true. Right then, though, I wasn't thinking about where this road was headed. And I didn't consider that it might be inappropriate to have a drink with my boss. In my mind, if he asked, it must be okay.

"What will alcohol do to me?"

He looked very amused. "It will make you warm, then happy, and eventually tired, depending on how much you drink."

Happy sounded good, even if it wasn't real. Like my marriage wasn't real. "All right," I said.

I straightened up my desk and shut down my computer while he waited. Then, we walked a couple of blocks over to a clean little bar full of business people. We got a table. When the waiter came by, Mr. Preston ordered a Scotch and soda.

"Should I get a scotch and soda, too?" I asked him.

Again, I got the sense he was laughing at me, though there really wasn't any indication besides a little sparkle in his eye. "Scotch is an acquired taste. I wouldn't recommend it for you," he said. "Do you like milk?" I nodded and he turned to the waiter. "Scotch and soda and a White Russian."

While we waited for the drinks to come, he talked to me in a way that required very little response from me. He liked playing sports: ice hockey, baseball, and rugby in overlapping seasons. He had a way of telling stories about his teammates that made me able to see them in my mind. He had me laughing before the drinks came, even if some of his language was coarse.

When my drink came, I sipped at it, expecting the alcohol to burn and taste like poison. It didn't. It was more like a melted milkshake. I took a long swallow and Mr. Preston actually did grin at me this time. It was a big grin--big like he was.

"Go slow," he said. "It's hard to taste the alcohol, but it's there."

I sipped while he talked. I was almost halfway through the drink when I really could tell that something was different. He was right: there was a happy, floaty feeling. When I thought about Jimmy, the pain was detached.

"Something just bothered you," Mr. Preston said, cutting off his own story, that sharp, direct look probing me. "What were you thinking of?"

Mr. Preston had failed to mention that alcohol would also act like a truth serum on me. "My husband," I said.

His voice took on a hard edge that I couldn't interpret. "Are you feeling guilty for being out with me?"

"No." Although, now that he said it, I probably should have been. "I'm thinking about Jimmy because he's having an affair."

Mr. Preston's drew back, looking surprised. "Was that your bad news at lunch?"

I nodded.

"You didn't know before?"

I shook my head.

"How do you know for certain?"

"I stopped by his office at lunch. I saw him with... with..." I took a shuddery breath and another sip of my drink. "I saw him."

He looked at the trace of drink left in my glass. Then he gave me another of those direct looks that felt like an x-ray. "Would you like another?"

I did, but I knew liquor made you want more liquor. "Maybe I shouldn't."

"What if I promise to get you home safely? If anyone ever needed a second drink, it's you. Unless you need to be somewhere..."

"No. Jimmy said he had to work late." I gave a laugh that sounded like a sob. "That usually means around midnight. I always thought he just worked so hard."

The waiter came by and Mr. Preston ordered me another drink without me ever really saying yes to it. I was glad to have the decision taken out of my hands. I started sipping at it right away. We sat without talking for a few minutes. He seemed to be lost in thought.

"You know what the worst part is?" I finally asked. Mr. Preston lifted his eyebrows. "What he was doing to that woman, he's never done to me. He's never even asked if we could... I mean, she seemed to really like it."

He seemed mildly amused. "What exactly was he doing?"

My flush must have been purple. "He had her bent over a desk. He was really rough with her."

"Was he now?"

"It was like he was someone else."

"Did you like it?"

I blinked at him.

"I mean, if it hadn't been your husband and another woman. The act. Did you like the look of it?"

"I don't know," I said very honestly. "Isn't sex supposed to be loving?"

"I suppose that depends on your point of view."

I hesitated but curiosity got the better of me. "What's your point of view?"

I knew full well I should be asking him this. I shouldn't even be talking about sex with him; his opinion of it wasn't going to be Biblical. But I was curious and the alcohol made it seem okay.

He gave me a long look and his eyes played on the cross around my neck. "I think sex is supposed to feel good. I think it's supposed to leave both people satisfied and happy. I think it's a form of expression and sometimes that expression is love; sometimes it isn't."

I tilted my empty glass, wishing that there was more. I was starting to understand how people got drunk.

"I should go home," I said. I knew my voice sounded sad.

He gave me a long look, like he was considering me. Then, he said, "Take me to your car and I'll drive you."

I did as he said. We were silent in the car together. It was so strange, being driven home by someone who wasn't my husband. When he pulled into the driveway, there was a cab waiting for him at the curb. I didn't even know when he had called for it.

"Thank you," I told him, already feeling the promised tiredness.

He cocked his head at me. "Good luck this weekend. I hope you give him hell."

He reached over and brushed a strand of hair out of my face. It was the only time he touched me all night but it still managed to leave me confused. It still managed to make me wish for something I couldn't name. It made me feel like I was the unfaithful one, instead of Jimmy.

I went inside to the empty house. I didn't bother to leave Jimmy anything out for dinner. He could make a sandwich. I went to bed. The alcohol made it so I didn't even have to pretend to be asleep.

#

I was so spineless, that I didn't talk to Jimmy about his infidelity all weekend long. I hardly talked to him at all. He mentioned how quiet I was, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, too. I was pretty sure I knew where it was.

That weekend was the first time I ever denied him sex. I was facing away from him in bed on Saturday night when I felt his hand on my arm, pulling on me to lay on my back. It literally made me nauseous.

"I don't feel well," I said. It hadn't ever mattered before. I had let him when I was sick and even when I was crampy, if he wanted to.

"No?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"I just want to sleep," I told him.

On Sunday morning, he wasn't pleased at all. He had a hard, disapproving way about him. That managed to hurt me, too. We went to church cold and came back cold. I watched my husband, the adulterer, passing the communion plates and tried not to cry.

When we got home from church, while I was laying out lunch, he crossed his arms and took a very paternal tone with me. "I'm not so sure that working outside of the home is good for you," he told me. "You forgot dinner on Friday. Last night... well, you know what happened last night. If you can't be both a wife and a secretary, your first duty is to be a wife."

My head snapped in his direction so fast, he took a step back. "Are you telling me to quit my job?"

"Your last assignment was complete Friday, right? Maybe you should take a break from temping until you can find your balance again."

"I'm not a temp anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I was hired by the company."

His coldness became glacial. "When did this happen?"

"Friday. I was asked to stay on because my work was good."

"And you accepted without talking to me?"

"You already said I might work."

"I said you could work as a temp."

It occurred to me that this conversation would have made me feel very guilty just a couple of days ago. Now, it just made me mad. "I didn't see the difference," I told him. And it was a lie. Not my first, but the first that I didn't care about.

"Next week, you'll hand in your resignation," he told me. "A full-time, permanent job takes you from your marital duties too much."

"I won't."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Excuse me."

"I'm not resigning."

He was very angry with me. I could tell from his tense neck and pursed lips. "I don't know what's gotten into you, Becky, but I think you need to take some time to pray and get your head on straight. I'm going out of town on Tuesday until Thursday. By the time I get back, I'll expect you to have sorted out your employment."

"You're going out of town?"

"Did I not just say that?"

"It's Sunday afternoon. When did you think I was going to get your clothes done?"

He gave me the coldest look of our married life. "I am not having this conversation with you. In fact, I'm finished talking about this. I'm going out and I'll be back this evening. I hope by then you will have considered your attitude."

He walked out of the house, slamming the door. Angry as I was, I still didn't have the courage to tell him about what I saw. I hated myself almost as much as I hated him, which was twice the sin. Jesus said to love your enemy; I couldn't even love my unfaithful husband.

However, I did do his stupid laundry.

#

Sunday night Jimmy came home after eleven and I pretended to be asleep. At work on Monday, Mr. Preston was in meetings all day. I hardly saw him. I worked as hard as I could so I didn’t have to think about going home and seeing my husband. I didn’t need to worry, though. That night, it was closer to midnight when Jimmy came home. I was seething but I still couldn't find my voice. It was a relief when he left town.

On Tuesday morning, almost first thing, Mr. Preston called me into his office. I had whittled down my inbox but he handed me a stack of documents that would fill it again.

"I'll start on this right away," I said, turning to leave.

"I've been meaning to check on you," he said. I stopped and faced him. "How was your weekend?"

I bit my lip. "I didn't tell him."

I waited for the disappointment and condemnation but it didn't come. If anything, he looked sympathetic.

"You don't confront people very often, do you?"

"No, I don't. I really haven't had to, much."

His phone started to ring. I turned to leave but he held up a finger. "This is Daniel Preston," he answered. "Thanks, Judy. Yep. I'll call you back in ten minutes. I have something I need to finish here."

He hung up the phone and turned back to me. I know it was a little thing, but I could hardly believe he had put off a business call for me. Jimmy wouldn't put off watching the evening news for me.

"Is your husband working late tonight?" he asked with a hint of grim humor. Even I knew what he was insinuating, this time.

"He's out of town until Thursday."

He gave me another of those very direct looks. "Then, would you like to join me for another drink after work?"

I flushed.

"Is it wicked of me that I hoped you'd ask?"

"Not from my perspective."

"Yes, then. And thank you." I turned and went back to my desk.

The day went fast because I was so busy. When Mr. Preston came out of his office at five, I was startled at the time. I straightened my desk, as I had before, and shut down my computer. Then, I let him lead me back to the bar that we had visited before. This time, he got a table in a shadowy back corner. It was a Tuesday night, so there was hardly anyone there.

He did what he did before: talking to me in a way that didn't need much response. This time he told me about some of the people in upper management and each description was a character. He managed to make me laugh, which was no small thing. He waited until I was halfway done with my first White Russian before he brought up my marriage.

"So, you didn't tell your husband?"

"No. But I was quarrelsome and nagging all weekend. And I wouldn't let him..." I looked away. "I just couldn't. But I didn't tell him why. He was very mad at me."

"That's rich of him."

"He told me to quit my job."

Mr. Preston seemed to be hiding a smile. "I see you haven't given me a resignation letter yet."

"If I divorce him, I'm going to need my own income." I hadn't even really thought the word 'divorce' before this. But now that I had said it, it loomed large over me.

"If you do, I'll give you a raise." I gave him a weak smile. "You think I'm kidding," he added.

"I don't know if I can. I've always been taught that God hates divorce," I said, sipping my drink, "Adultery is acceptable reason to end a marriage but I'm still supposed to try to save it. I should let the minister council us; I'm just not feeling very forgiving and that's my sin."

"Your sin?"

I nodded. "That's what my pastor would say. And that's what my father would tell me. We are all weak by nature. Maybe it was only once or only one woman. Maybe he's sorry."

Mr. Preston gave me another of those probing, direct looks. "He's not sorry. It isn't just one woman or just one time."

"You can't know."

"I do know." He looked at my drink, motioned the waiter over, and ordered us two more without asking. Then, his expression turned grim. "I have a confession."

My heart started going faster, in spite of the liquor. "What is it?"

He paused a moment, seeming to select his words very carefully. "My wife, Allison, had an affair with your husband."

I drew back. "You're married?"

"Divorced. Three years ago."

My head spun. "Did you catch them? Or..."

"I found texts in her phone and hired someone to follow her. Our marriage ended six months later."

We sat there in silence for a few seconds. I sipped my drink when I wanted to gulp. Jimmy was an adulterer before we were done being newlyweds. He had been with at least two woman. At least.

"That shouldn't something you have to confess," I said softly. "I should have heard this from my husband."

His eyes played over me, like they had the first time we met, lingering on the cross around my neck and the rings on my finger.

"My confession is that my intentions to you when we first met were... less than noble. It seemed like fate delivered you to me. Jim Tuft's wife sitting at a desk in my office, just waiting for me to get revenge in kind. It would have been fucking easy, too." He gave me another of this direct looks. "I don't mean any offense, Becky, but it would have."

For once, I understood. "You were going to seduce me to hurt Jimmy?"

"That was the plan."

"But, you're not trying to do that anymore?"

"You don't deserve more hurt," he said. "He does, but you don't. Obviously, I have more of a conscience than your husband, so your Jimmy wins again."

"Not my Jimmy," I said with vehemence that even surprised me. "He was never mine. I didn't even know what kind of a... a..." I couldn't think of anything bad enough to call him.

"Asshole?" Mr. Preston said, the shadow of a smile showing.

"Yes, that."

He leaned closer to me; I could smell his cologne. "I want to hear you say 'asshole'," he said, giving me a look that could only be described as tempting.

I hesitated and bit my lip. "Jimmy's an asshole."

"I don't know why it sounds so much dirtier coming out of your mouth," he teased.

For the first time, I recognized a tingle that must have been sexual. I responded to him in a way a married woman shouldn't but, after Jimmy's transgression, it didn't feel as wrong. I knew it was, but I didn't feel it.

I was at a precipice. Suddenly, I understood what my pastor was talking about when he said that people fell from grace. It wasn't being in a bar. Or being out with a man who wasn't my husband. Or even thinking about sex around him. It was that I didn't want to bring any more decisions to God. Had He spared me from a bad marriage? Given me one sign that Jimmy wasn't everything everyone told me he would be? Had my sheltered Christian upbringing done anything to help me deal with this situation? And hadn't I prayed earnestly and humbly about all of these things?

I made another decision without taking it to God.

"I don't want you to stop trying to seducing me," I said in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"You don't mean that," he said. I wasn't good with duplicity, but I was very sure that it wasn't the answer he wanted to give. "You would regret it tomorrow," he added.

"Would you?"

"No. But, then again, I don't have your moral compass."

"A lot of good it's done me. Five years and not only is my husband unfaithful, he's inattentive. I didn't know that sex could be better, but he did. Five years, twice a week, enduring what should have been a pleasure."

"Enduring?"

"Well... maybe that's unfair. It's only mildly uncomfortable, but he certainly wasn't making an effort to change that. Not like he did with his mistress."

"It's mildly uncomfortable?" he repeated again. "Doesn't he... warm you up, at all?"

"I don't know what you mean."

He gave me that direct look again. His eyes went to my cross and then back up to my face.

"Aw, fuck it," he said under his breath. I only just heard it. He swallowed the last swallow of his drink and put his glass down.

Then, he put one of his very, very large hands over the one of mine that sat on the table. Slowly and softly, he drew his fingers over my skin. It tingled in my stomach in a strange way that I liked.

"I mean touching and kissing." He stroked my index finger with his pinkie. "I mean, taking your clothes off very slowly and appreciating what's beneath. I mean using a tongue on you before using a dick."

That tingle went lower in a powerful way.

"No," I said in a low voice. "He doesn't do any of that, except a little kissing."

He held my eyes and shook his head. He looked at me another minute. "Why don't we go back to the office?"

I blinked at him. "Did you forget something?"

Again, his eyes twinkled like he was laughing at me. "No. It's close and private."

"Oh." And then I really understood what he was saying and flushed. "Oh."

He stood and took my wrist. I didn't offer even an ounce of resistance. The Bible verses swirled in my mind, the leading one from Matthew. Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. But, in my case, even the spirit was weak. And prayer was the last thing I wanted to do.

He walked quickly down the street and I trotted to keep up with him. Before I knew it, we were back in his office. He turned on a desk light rather than the overhead and closed the door. Then he pulled two chairs facing each other and sat in one. I sat in the other.

"Is this revenge?" I asked him.

"No," he answered, not blinking and not looking away. "This doesn't have anything to do with your husband."

Just the way he looked at me made me feel...attractive, sensual. My heart pounded and there was heat in my cheeks. I don't know if Jimmy ever made my heart pound. Mr. Preston lifted my right hand and kissed each fingertip. Then he licked across my palm on the softest, most sensitive part, kissing the center. It sent shivers everywhere. He kissed the inside of my wrist with an open mouth and it felt much more intimate than it should have. It was just my hand, but it was doing something to the rest of my body.

"More?" he asked. I didn’t even hesitate before I nodded.

He slid my skirt up to my thighs and eased my knees apart. Then, he gave me a roguish look, hooked his hands around my knees, and pulled me to the edge of my chair in a rough yank. It made my skirt bunch higher. I squealed and he smirked.

His hands traveled up the insides of my legs and I gripped the arms of my chair so I wouldn't stop him. It felt very good and very wrong all at once. When his fingers got to the edge of my panties, he teased a finger under the elastic without pushing me further.

"We can stop here or you can lift your hips."

There was a pulse between my legs that I'm not sure I ever felt before. If I had, it certainly wasn't to this intensity. I lifted my hips and he stripped my white cotton underwear away, leaving it on the floor. He pushed my legs open even more until I felt completely sordid. I was shocked to find that being completely sordid made the aching pulse ache more.

I expected him to take off his pants, but he didn't move to touch them. I thought he'd stand me up or bend me over or maybe push me to the floor, but none of that happened. His hands reached deeper and deeper between my legs, eventually separating the flesh there and stroking it gently. I don’t even know how to describe the sound that came out of my mouth.

"Feel how wet you are?" he asked me.

"Yes." It wasn't a whisper; it was a breath.

"You should always be this wet before you have sex."

He slipped a finger into me and my breath got shuddery. He rubbed me in specific places from the inside and the throb became a want. It became a need. His thumb worked me on the outside. I made a sound that was starting to resemble the sounds of Jimmy's mistress.

"How long has it been since you came?" he asked.

"I was a teen," I said in a shaky voice. "Before I knew self-pleasure was a sin." He snorted but didn't answer that.

He added a second finger to the first, working them in and out of me, sending thrills all over my body. Without even knowing it, I had opened my legs wider.

"You should know that seeing you like this is killing me," he said. "I want you."

The idea of being wanted sent a thrill over me. It was so much more satisfying in that moment than being loved. In my life, sometimes I had felt loved. Rarely had I felt wanted.

I met his eyes. "I won't say no to you."

Something fierce came into his expression. At first I thought maybe I made him mad but he didn't look exactly mad. "Not tonight," he told me.

It was the slow penetration and the lazy thumb that undid me. My hips moved just a little with his motion. I felt that sinful pleasure rising and reached for it.

The pleasure was so intense that I gritted my teeth to bear it. I contracted around his fingers, pulsing against his thumb. It went on and on; He didn't stop until I put a hand over his through my skirt. Then, he withdrew and sat back, watching me.

I was breathless and shaking and completely shattered from touch alone. I closed my eyes and tried to gather myself.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. I just don't think I can stand or walk."

He smirked at me.

It took me more than a few minutes to recover and there was embarrassment and guilt at the other end, but much less than I thought there would be. He was quiet in the car when he drove me home. The cab waited at the corner for him but he helped me out of the car without rushing.

"Good night, Becky. I'll see you tomorrow."

When he turned away, I dared to touch his arm. "Thank you, Mr. Preston."

Again, he had that look like he was laughing at me. "At this point, I think I'd be more comfortable if you called me Daniel."

I smiled. "Thank you, Daniel."

#

That evening, I tried to read my Bible. I was working on Numbers when I got to chapter five. It was the trial of bitter water, which was what they did to women who were even accused of infidelity. It made me mad. The Bible never made me mad.

I put it down. I decided that, tonight, I would amuse myself with a novel.

#

I was nervous to go to work on Wednesday. I got there before Daniel and had already started working when he arrived. He called me into his office to give me a stack of things to file. We were polite and professional. When I turned to go, he got up from his desk and crossed the room so quickly, I didn't even made it to the door. He closed it and looked at me.

"Did you spend the rest of last night repenting for our sins?" he asked.

I lifted my eyes to his. "No. To repent, you have to be sorry."

We stood there, looking at each other for a minute.

"Have another drink with me tonight," he said.

It was Wednesday. I knew that I should attend services. Nonetheless, I said, "I'd like that."

"Have it with me at my house."

My heart beat a little faster. "Yes."

He reopened the door. I went back to my desk. Even though I was busy, that day was so slow. I worked hard because I didn't want to think too much about this. I didn't want my conscience to rear up and ruin it. I didn't want God involved at all.

Daniel came to my desk fifteen minutes early. "I'm thinking an early dismissal," he said.

I straightened my desk and turned off my computer. He led me to his car with a hand on my back, talking about a book he was reading. Something about money investments.

It wasn't long before he pulled in front of a house and we went inside. It was like my house: high ceilings, a large living room, and a modern kitchen. Except it was messy.

"Just so we're clear," he said, making me my White Russian and handing it to me, "I invited you here because I want to have sex with you."

"I know."

"You're sure?" he asked. "Because, I want to do things that you'll find very sinful." There was a little teasing quality in his voice. It made my breath quicken. "And I might want to do them more than once."

I took a couple of swallows of my drink. I hadn't eaten much all day; I felt the effect right away. "Not missionary," I said. "Anything but that."

He smirked. "That will not be a problem."

He stepped up close to me and slid a hand up under my hair. Slowly, slowly he gripped a handful close to my scalp and eased my head back. It was so controlling and so decadent. He kissed my neck, his teeth grazing my skin. I brought my hands to his chest but I didn't know what to do with them.

"I want to be a little rough with you," he said in my ear, "but I don't want to scare you."

"I'm not feeling scared."

He let go of my hair and used his body to corral me back to the wall. I couldn't see anything but him. He had to bend at the knee to be eye-to-eye with me. When he kissed me, it pinned my head to the wall. Nobody had ever kissed me like this. His hands were on me. Nobody had ever touched me like this. He gripped two handfuls of my blouse and literally ripped my shirt open. Buttons went everywhere. The seam ripped.

I gasped and he pulled back a little. "Did you just tear my shirt?"

"Yes, I did."

"What will I wear home?"

"Something of mine."

A thrill went over me at the thought. "Oh."

He smirked before he kissed me again, pulling the blouse off of me, tearing it a little more as he did. He tugged my skirt down, letting it puddle on the floor of his kitchen. I was in my bra and underwear in a brightly lit kitchen with a man who wasn't my husband. And that man really, really seemed to like the look of me. He slipped me out of my panties and then my bra, tossing each aside.

His face took on that fierce expression that almost looked like anger. Then, he pulled me tight against him. He was like a fortress, every inch of him unyielding. I could tell that he was ready to have sex. For once, the idea excited me.

He stepped back just a little and took his shirt off. I couldn't help but look at him. I was taught not to care for physical beauty. It was fleeting. It couldn't be the basis for anything because it's so easily lost through illness or age or life. But I couldn't look away. And he seemed to like showing me, which was vanity, but I couldn't blame him.

He opened his pants and withdrew his organ. It was oversized, like the rest of him. He pushed me against the wall and his hand between my legs, touching me. I put my arms around his neck so my legs wouldn't collapse. Then, he was lifting me, pulling my legs around him, pinning me back against the wall. He held me up and positioned himself.

"This is what sex should feel like," he told me.

He entered me. He didn't ease into me; he thrust hard, going as far as he could. I spread to accept him. He pulled almost the whole way out and did it again, going in even deeper. It was almost too much; it even hurt a little. But not like with Jimmy. Not because of chafing and dryness. It was because I was so filled and taken. It was a hurt I liked.

He went hard and slow, my hips slapping against the wall. I moaned and I never moaned during sex. His lips found mine but didn’t stay there. He nipped and kissed my face and neck while he managed that punishing thrust. Next to Jimmy, it felt like he lasted forever. What's more, I didn't want it to end.

"I'm getting close," he said in my ear.

For a minute or more, that steady pounding continued. Then he stiffened and froze, finishing with a jerking thrust. He held me to him, breathing hard and after a moment, withdrew.

His lips found mine in another bruising kiss. With his arms around me, he turned me from the wall and lifted me up onto the kitchen island.

"Stay there," he told me. He wet a paper towel and held it between my legs. It was cool against me; it made the throbbing more obvious. He used the towel to blot me.

My breath was still shaky at his touch. He smiled a little when he saw.

"How do you feel?" he asked me. His finger flicked at me through the paper towel. "Still anxious?"

"I'm all right." That's what I said, even though my hips shifted under his hand.

He leveled a serious look at me. "All right was not what I was shooting for."

He flicked his finger again and I shuddered.

"I was shooting for something a lot better than all right."

He kissed my neck and moved down my body. As his fingers flicked through the wet paper towel, my legs widened. He kissed across my belly and lower. I reclined back on my elbows.

I didn't guess what he intended to do until he was practically doing it. He pulled the paper towel away, and I kind of got an inkling. When his tongue divided me, my body arched like a spasm. I made some sort of strangled sound. It was as much the idea of what he was doing as it was the actual stimulation. Looking down and seeing where he was, seeing his small movements, it got inside my head.

I was there in no time. I didn't need penetration or anything else. Just his tongue and the sight of him. He didn't tease and he didn't stop. He trapped my thighs with those very large hands and licked at me until I climaxed, crying out. I think it was some jumbled version of his name.

He kissed back up my body while I shuddered and gasped and tried to regain my senses. He didn’t give me the chance. He dragged me to him across the counter, pulling my legs around him, pulling my arms around him, lifting me, kissing my mouth, and tasting like sex.

He didn't say anything. He just carried me that way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, as if I weighed no more than ten pounds. He kicked a door open; we were in his bedroom. He sat on the bed with me still clinging to him, his hands traveling over my nudity, his mouth still tasting me,

He lay back. I felt him wiggle out of his sagging slacks. He pushed me down his body a few inches. He was ready again, already at my entrance. He positioned himself a little better but waited for me.

I pushed against him carefully, not wanting to hurt him, not even knowing if I could. So, his entry this time must have been tortuously slow. He made a long, low moan the whole time I was taking him in.

Then, with a little smile playing on his lips, he said, "Do what feels good to you."

I was never in this position, never in charge of pace or intensity. At first I was awkward and he put his hands on my hips to guide me. But, really, sex was such a natural thing. So instinctual, I was learning. Once I found a rhythm and position, he took his hands off of my hips and let me move however I liked.

It was selfish sex for me. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the feel of him. Before long, there was a deep, deep throb. I wanted more, so I went harder. Much to my surprise, my body reached for a different kind of climax. It was deep and throbbing. It wanted roughness rather than precision and I knew I couldn't get there on my own.

"Please help me," I whispered.

He sat up, put his arms around me, and met my movement with thrusts of his own. That promise of climax became a reality. I know my muscles clamped around him; I know my whole body shook; I know that I couldn't pinpoint where the pleasure was coming from, unless I just said it was coming from Daniel.

My climax was nearly finished when his breath became growls. His upward thrust got harder. Then, with his hands driving my hips down harder, he cried out. I tried to help with my movements and he cried out again. He pulled me to him, his thrusts shallow, holding me to him so tightly I couldn't do anything but melt into him. For a few moments, we just stayed there, his heart shaking us both.

He gently lifted me off of him and went into the attached bath for a washcloth. He carefully cleaned me, then himself. Finally after minutes of silence, He said. "What are your thoughts?"

"That I need a divorce lawyer."

He gave me that big smile. The one almost as big as him. "I know a really good one."

#

When Jimmy came home on Thursday night with his suitcase, mine was waiting by the front door. I could have just left but it didn’t seem honorable. Not even in this dishonorable situation.

He stepped into the house looking confused. It was dinner time but didn't smell like dinner because I hadn't started anything. I stayed all night with Daniel, hurrying home for a change of clothes before work and then hurrying home from work to pack my bags. I saw Jimmy from the hallway before he saw me, so I know he looked very angry when he saw my luggage.

He dropped his bag so it made a loud sound on the foyer linoleum. "Why are you packed for a trip?" he yelled into the house.

"I'm leaving," I said, coming out of the hallway. "I think we need to be apart for a while."

"You're my wife. You're not going anywhere," he said dismissively. "Is this about quitting your job?"

"No. This is about the blonde in your office that you've been having an affair with."

He visibly paled. "Who told you lies like that?"

"Nobody. I saw you."

"No, you didn't."

"I stopped by your office at lunch last week."

He straightened his shoulders. "You think you saw something; you didn't."

Not long ago, his response would have been confusing. It would have made me believe him and question myself. I would have been ashamed of making the accusation. Not anymore.

"You're an asshole, Jimmy," I told him.

"Rebecca!" he said, like he was my father. "What has gotten into you?"

"You're a cheating asshole and I don't want to be married to you anymore."

I lifted my suitcase. He put a hand on me and I shook it off. He grabbed me again, this time by the wrist. "I think you're confused about your role as my wife. If you believe that I've been unfaithful, we should take it to the pastor and figure out why you've become so suspicious of me. You don't walk out. You don't swear at me."

I dragged my wrist out of his grip, feeling righteous. The only thing that broke my wrath was the short honk outside that told me my ride had arrived. My hand went to my throat where the thin chain that held the small cross hung. I pulled it until it broke and I dropped it on the floor in front of him.

"You pray. I'm done with it," I told him. Then, I walked out.

Daniel waited in a car in front of my house. Jimmy followed me as far out as the porch but stopped. Maybe he didn't want a scene in the neighborhood where he lives; maybe he was nervous knowing that someone was helping me go. Either way, he didn’t try to stop me again.

I put my suitcase in the back seat of Daniel's car and climbed in the passenger side. "My guest room is ready for you," he said. I heard the insinuation in his tone and this time I knew what it meant. It made me smile.

"Just until I can find my own apartment."

"Or I convince you otherwise."

"You could, you know," I said softly. "Convince me otherwise."

He didn’t answer, but I saw his smirk. His foot was on the accelerator all the way from my house to his.