Lips of an Angel

I let her do it all, and I let myself touch her and kiss her and fill her up with my cum, all the while thinking of someone who wasn't anything like her.

**

I tried not to think about Mallory while I beelined back and forth across Minwack Falls, using the generator to help everyone and their dog.

I tried not to think about the way her eyes had shone, the ghost of tears still playing along her lash line, the puffiness of her skin serving only to enhance how beautiful she was and how much I longed to hold her and tell her it was all going to be okay.

I tried not to think about the way her ass looked in those jeans, about the gentle curves of her hourglass figure, about how her breasts bulged slightly out of that v-neck t-shirt she'd been wearing.

The problem was, I was only human, and her ass had looked so fucking good in those jeans.

When I failed miserably at not thinking about those things, I tried to tell myself I was being a lecherous creep, that even though she was older than my daughter, I was technically old enough to be her father.

I tried to tell myself that thoughts were thoughts, and that's all they could be, and that my job was to be Liz's husband, which meant not thinking of other women the way I was thinking about Mallory.

It was exceedingly difficult, but I managed somehow.

Part of me was still out helping everyone all over town because I was hoping Mallory would need another hand; the rest of me was avoiding having to go home and be around Liz. That said something I didn't want to think about. Through everything, I'd always loved my wife. As rocky as our marriage was, I loved her.

I was just so fucking tired of dealing with her.

I was tired of missing who she used to be. I was tired of hoping that woman would return to my life. I was tired of being second to everything else in her life; I could handle being second to our daughter, but to our town? To our neighbours?

I was tired of the guilt. Of the regret. Of the games. Of trying to be the perfect family and the perfect husband when my life was so far from perfect, it was like a sick joke.

Still, the gas in the generator wasn't going to last forever, so I was going to have to go home eventually. After I finished helping the Northways run their sump pump so their basement wouldn't flood if it started raining again, I figured I'd have enough gas for one more stop with some leftover so I could run a few things at my house, since it was my generator, after all.

I jumped into my truck and pulled out my phone to post on the town Facebook page. When her reply popped up moments later, I knew I was in danger.

The problem was, I was thrilled about it.

I know I already had my turn, so if someone else needs help, don't worry about it, Mallory wrote. But if you're available, I could totally use a warm bottle to get the baby to sleep, @Scott.

I tried not to seem too eager when I responded. I gave other people a chance to reply, to claim that final spot, to save me from the inevitable torture of being around this surreal, beautiful woman who seemed to be built to exploit my weaknesses.

Not too much of a chance, though. A minute later, I replied.

Alright everyone, going to @Mallory's for my last stop. Have a good night, all!

AMAZING!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! she wrote seconds later, and I had to hide a smile before popping my phone in the cup holder and pulling out of the Northway's driveway.

**

I couldn't look at her.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I am. It's just..."

"I thought we were happy," she choked. "Just, why?"

I sighed. "It's... it's not you."

"That isn't what I asked." Her voice was hoarse and it scratched down my spine, my body and my brain conflicted in how it wanted to react.

"I know, but--"

"The least you could do is just fucking tell me why!" she snapped. "Or, you know, even just fucking look me in the eye."

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Her eyes were on me. I could feel them. And she was right, it was the least I could fucking do after what I was doing to her. Swallowing hard, I lifted my eyes from the spot they'd been trained on. Slowly, carefully, I glanced up, first seeing her folded arms and then her shaking shoulders. There was redness creeping up from her collarbone, all along her neck, all the way up to her tear-stained cheeks.

And then I looked her in the eyes.

"Why?" she asked again.

"It's going to hurt you more to know," I said softly.

My jaw trembled as pain shot through her eyes. Her perfect lips parted and she stared at me, unspoken words lingering on the tip of her tongue as she processed my refusal to answer.

"Did you meet someone else?" she finally asked.

"I..."

"Are you cheating on me?" she asked, her voice pitching up.

I couldn't look away.

**

Mallory opened the door with a phone pressed to her ear and tears on her face.

"Sorry," she mouthed, her face twisting as she fought to stop crying.

"You okay?" I mouthed back.

She didn't respond, just stepped aside so I could follow her into the house.

"I know," she said into the phone. "But you don't understand what it's like to--"

She stopped as though she'd been cut off and took a breath, blowing it out slowly.

"Jeremy, please," she pleaded. "I c-can't... Would you stop interrupting me? It's... Yeah, but--"

Again she stopped.

"Fine," she finally said. "Whatever. I have to go. Your daughter needs to go to bed and since you're too busy for me and her, I'll just deal with it all myself." She listened for another moment, then made a barking sort of laugh. "Whatever. Bye."

She hung up, facing away from me as she drew another deep breath.

"Are you okay?" I asked again.

"Of course I am."

She turned around, looked up at me, and immediately burst into tears again.

Fuck.

There was nothing I could say. I might have been a shit husband and worthless father, but I knew when it was time to keep my mouth shut and my arms open, and that's exactly what I did for Mallory. She threw herself into them, sobbing against my chest as I tried to hug the pain away while scolding myself for the sick indulgence I felt having a crying woman in my arms.

I couldn't help it. I hated seeing women cry, I hated when they were upset, I hated that helpless feeling of not knowing what to do to make it stop... and I loved it. There was something deep in me, some ancestral instinct left there by the cavemen or something, that fucking loved it. That part of me would roar, insisting I had to protect them, comfort them, that I was Big Man and my job was to keep Pretty Woman safe and happy, and that apparently my cock was the tool I needed to do that.

Years of practice had made it a lot easier to stop myself from reacting, though, and so I didn't get an ill-timed erection as Mallory buried herself in my arms. It didn't matter that I could smell the sweet vanilla scent of her hair or feel those bulging tits pressed hard against me; I could pretend I was a decent fucking person and comfort her, let her cry, hold her up while she fell apart until she could draw a shaky breath and keep herself on her feet.

"Sorry," she choked.

I loosened my arms as she pulled away from me, a trembling hand brushing the tears that hadn't been absorbed by my shirt off her cheeks.

"It's okay," I said. "Are you... what can I do to help?"

She laughed, a watery sound that was as heartbreaking as it was telling, and gestured down the darkened hallway towards the kitchen.

"Do you mind carrying Ellie out if I get the bottle warmer?"

Of course I didn't mind.

She didn't seem willing to talk as we repeated our steps from earlier; maybe it was that she just wasn't able to yet, but I didn't press the issue. I started up the generator and took Ellie when she began to fuss as the bottle heated, then directed Mallory on how to turn the generator off once it was done so we didn't have to juggle the baby again. When we got back into the house, I shook my head when she reached for Ellie.

"Go sit down or get some water or something," I said. "Chill for a few minutes. I'll feed her."

She stared for a moment as I dutifully set to work feeding her daughter, muscle memory kicking in from all those years ago when Ramona was a baby. Ellie latched onto the bottle immediately, drinking greedily as I cradled her. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mallory watching.

"Thank you," she finally said, her voice soft. She put the flashlight on the kitchen counter, then sniffled softly as she left the room.

I pretended I couldn't hear her crying from down the hall. I pretended that the little I'd gleaned from her end of the phone call didn't piss me off, that I wasn't angry at her husband for doing something to upset her when she was already having a shitty day. I pretended I was a decent person giving an overwhelmed mom a quiet moment to collect herself and regroup, that I would do the same for anyone, that it had nothing to do with her angelic lips and big blue eyes and golden-red hair.

When she came back, Ellie was fed, burped, and sleeping soundly in my arms.

"She likes you," Mallory said softly.

"I think she likes milk," I whispered back. "And sleeping."

A tight but genuine smile crossed her face. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."

I worked really hard not to let my eyes trail down her body like they wanted to and instead chuckled softly.

"Don't worry about it. And don't worry about posting in the Facebook group if you need more help." I nodded towards a notepad on her kitchen counter. "I wrote down my number and Liz's number. Call either of us if you need anything, even if it's just some hot water so you can heat the bottle."

"Scott," she breathed, looking up at me. "I can't even tell you how much that... If there's anything I can do..."

And I swear to God, I was really hoping I was imagining the glimmer in her eye as she bit her lip like a fucking porn trope, her breasts pushed forward just a little more than they had been a moment before.

"Actually, you wouldn't happen to have something to eat, would you?" I asked quickly. "If it's not too much trouble. I, uh... I had a light dinner."

She released the lip from between her teeth and smiled, which was about ten times hotter than the lip-biting and so even more problematic.

"Of course," she said. "Let me put Ellie to bed and I'll grab you something."

**

She kicked me out and filed for divorce.

I didn't blame her.

Worse, it wasn't really a punishment. I left her there, left her in tears, and went to fuck the woman I'd wanted to fuck all along.

I couldn't help it.

I wanted her.

I went back a few days later. She was kind enough to not burn all my clothes or sell my shit or whatever. Instead, she watched with folded arms as I packed a few boxes and bags, determinedly not looking at her as I collected the remnants of my life.

The silence was defining, deafening, and destructive. Regardless of what I'd done, I loved her. I hated that I hurt her. She was beautiful, and she was sweet, and someone far better than me deserved her. And she... well. I knew she loved me. I knew she was attracted to me. We had fucked constantly, had barely been able to keep our hands off each other, once upon a time.

And now there was nothing but silence. Nothing but tension. And one of us was going to crack.

I could only hope it wouldn't be me.

My dreams came true when she cracked first.

"Do you love her?" she asked suddenly.

I stared down at the box I was packing and folded it shut slowly.

"Yes," I finally said.

"Why?"

I just shook my head.

"What does she have that I don't?"

I shook my head harder. "Nothing."

"There has to be something. Something I wasn't... something you couldn't get from me."

"It's not about that," I said, still staring at the box.

"What's it about then?" Her voice broke. "I could handle it if you just didn't want to be with me anymore. But it's killing me, Scott. I just need to know w-what about her is so much b-better that you had to--"

"It's not about that," I repeated fiercely.

"What's it about?" she asked again.

A sob punctuated her sentence and it was my turn to crack. I looked up into eyes that were glimmering, eyes that were broken and scared and hurt because of me, and I couldn't... I couldn't stop myself.

She fell into my arms willingly. I don't know why. But she cried, and I held her, and I stroked her hair and whispered softly into her ear that it wasn't anything she did, that it wasn't her fault, that I hadn't lied to her when I said I loved her, that it was my fault and my fuck up and that I was sorry, honey, I was so, so sorry. And she kept crying, kept sobbing, kept clinging to me like I was a leaden life preserver, and that was a huge fucking problem when I couldn't stop myself from reacting to her tears.

Her hips weren't quite pressed to mine when my cock started to get hard, but it wasn't exactly easy to hide the growing bulge between us. It was inevitable that she'd feel it; I was almost relieved when she shifted and I felt her press against it, freezing slightly as she realized I was hard as a fucking rock. I expected her to push me away; I expected her to sneer at me with disgust, mock me for getting turned on by making her cry.

I didn't expect her to pull herself closer, then look up at me with those shining eyes.

"Scott," she whispered, and I kissed her.

Her cheeks were wet, her lips trembling as she kissed me back. It was a tsunami, a hurricane, an ocean of sensations and passion and anger all mixed up between our bodies. She wasn't mine, not anymore, and I wasn't hers, but in that moment she was everything. Her hands danced on my body and mine on hers; my shirt was torn off recklessly as I tried to unbutton her jeans. She led me to our bed--her bed, now--and I obediently listened as she directed me onto my back before climbing on top of me.

In unison we hissed as she took me inside of her, consummating our marriage on that bed one last time. I groaned as she started moving, fucking me like she'd never be able to get enough cock stuffed inside her pussy. When she came, she threw her head back, baring her beautiful neck as the walls of her pussy pulsed around me. It was all I could do to hold on; all I could do to let her bask in that moment; all I could do to make up for what I'd done to her in the smallest, most insignificant way.

When she slumped forward, her hips rolling erratically as she tried to keep going, I sat up and guided her onto her back. Matte trails of withered tears began to fill again as I started moving; I stopped, but she clutched me, pleading whispers begging me to continue.

So I did. I kissed the fresh tears off her cheeks as I filled her again and again, and I ignored the guilt and disgust as I brought myself closer and closer to orgasm. I had half an instinct to pull out and come on her stomach because she wasn't mine anymore and it didn't quite feel right, but her legs wrapped around my waist and she held me in place until I couldn't hold back any longer.

"I'm sorry," I gasped when we were done.

"I'm not," she said, and her legs loosened.

"No?" I asked, trying to catch my breath.

Her gorgeous mouth twisted spitefully. "I'm the other woman now, Scott. You're the one who has to live with the fact that you cheated on this woman you apparently love so much."

She sat up, suddenly cold, suddenly vengeful, and got off the bed. I watched as she walked away, her ass swaying from side to side, my cum glistening as it dripped down her thighs.

And yeah, that fucking haunted me.

**

I was expecting a peanut butter sandwich or a granola bar or, if I was lucky, some fucking Oreos or something.

That is not what I got.

The thunderstorm started again just after we got inside, bursts of lightning flashing chaotically through the windows. Mallory directed me to wait in the living room while she prepared a snack, then apologized for the simplicity of her offerings as she placed the tray in front of me.

"Simple," in that the cured meats included a luxurious spiced salami and some kind of sliced sausage that I thought might have been duck.

"Simple," in that the cheese was just a simple aged cheddar and a wine-flavoured goat cheese.

"Simple," in that the pickles were homemade, and by pickles, I mean the pickled cucumbers, pearl onions, peppers, and asparagus.

"Simple," because the sourdough she'd sliced up was a day or two old, and the only fruit she had was a bunch of grapes, and she usually liked to put pistachios on it but she'd only had salted almonds.

"Mal... Mallory," I said, trying to cut into her apologetic effusions. "This is perfect. Seriously, this is... this looks amazing."

It managed to quiet her and she looked up at me, her eyes wide and shining in the dim golden glow of the flashlight she'd placed on the table.

"Really?" she asked.

"Really." I popped one of the pickled peppers into my mouth and shook my head in disbelief. "You made these?"

She nodded.

"You should be a chef. These are fantastic."

The room seemed to brighten as she smiled. "Jeremy keeps asking me to just buy regular dill pickles and stuff. He doesn't like the ones I make."

"He must be crazy."

She smiled sadly, rolling one of the grapes between her fingers before eating it. "Maybe. I don't know. It's been... it's been hard."

I almost didn't want her to start talking. I didn't want her to be upset, but I didn't want to take that step, to be the person she could lean on at that moment. Not when I was already struggling not to react to her presence, not when she had lips that reminded me of angels before her, not when we were both married and she had a baby and I had...

It wasn't right.

"What's been hard?" I asked instead of keeping my fucking mouth shut.

She sighed. "I didn't think things would change so much after having a baby. I thought... I mean, I knew they'd change, but I didn't think Jeremy would go back to work so early. I was so pissed and this is exactly why. He has no idea how hard it is when he's out of town and I'm by myself and I can't even... I feel like I'm barely a person anymore. All I am is a mom." She looked up at me, her eyes watering again. "Does that make me sound horrible? I love my daughter, I just--"

"I get it," I said. "I understand."

"I feel like he resents me," she whispered, the words spilling out of her. "Like he's changed. I just feel so alone and so... I just worry, you know? I worry she'll see how he treats me and then she'll grow up thinking--"

She stopped suddenly, glancing up with alarm and fear in her eyes.

"How does he treat you?" I asked, knowing deep down that I was about to get myself into a situation I did not want to be involved in.

"It's not... it's... it's hard to explain," she whispered.

"Mallory," I said, putting the piece of bread I'd been about to eat back on the tray and turning towards her. "I think you need to explain it to me."

She stared at me, her eyes speaking words her lips couldn't, and I knew. I fucking knew what that dirtbag was doing to her, and for all the things I'd fucked up in my own marriage, I'd never even considered doing something like that.

"Why are you still here?" I asked.

"He's my husband," she replied. "And he's... he's Ellie's dad."