Second Wife Ch. 07

After she recovered, she smiled and put my cock back in my trousers, patting it fondly once it was stowed away.

I startled myself by giving her a kiss on the forehead and actually thanking her, as I left her small room.

"For what?" she asked, confused.

I smirked. "For letting me unload."

She got the joke, even snorted. That made me happy, for some twisted reason.

***

Call Mary prescient, if you want. The next morning there were two emails in my inbox and two voice messages on my voicemail at work, all from Dana. All expressing various levels of disbelief and confusion.

Dear Bill, ran the first email. I really enjoyed our date last night, and hope we might be able to do it again sometime soon. I really felt like we hit it off, and I could see great things in our future! Thanks, Dana. Her cell number followed.

Dear Bill, read the second email. I'm a little confused about what you said last night. I thought we had a really good time. I felt there was a little chemistry there. So I'm not sure why you don't want to go out again. It might just be me, but is there any way you could clarify that? Thanks! Dana.

It sounded needy and more than a little neurotic. My lack of follow-through had completely hit Dana where it hurt her most: her desirability and suitability as a mate.

The phone messages were likewise confusing. The first one was time-stamped ten minutes after I'd left her place last night. The other one followed an hour later.

"Bill, this is Dana. Thanks again for a wonderful time! I really enjoyed dinner. I hope we can do it again sometime soon. I really like you. Call me!" she sang before hanging up. A little too cheerful, I thought grimly.

The second voicemail sounded a little more hurt and just the slightest bit more desperate.

"Hi, Bill, this is Dana again. I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I can't help thinking over what you said to me last night. Um, what did you mean by 'probably not'?" she asked the phone, a hint of shrillness in her voice. "Did I offend you somehow? I'm sorry, if I did. I just thought it was a good time, and I wanted to do it again, so . . . look, just call me, could you?"

Four messages within two hours. I chuckled to myself as I deleted them. I had work to do -- Friday is not a slack day for me this time of year -- and I buried myself in work and tried to forget about my disastrous date with Dana.

But Dana had clearly not forgotten about me. As a matter of fact, she was in my office about ten minutes before noon, dressed in an attractive but severe gray business suit with a smart pleated skirt. Her dirty blonde hair was done up in a tight bun. And she had a gleam in her eye that I couldn't quite place but, honestly, made me a little afraid.

"About last night," she began, a little aggressively as she pushed her way into my office past my secretary's desk -- Donna had gone to lunch early today. "Look, maybe I came on a little strong," she began, as soon as the door closed behind her. "But I thought we had a really good time—"

"We did," I agreed, reasonably, if reluctantly.

"Then . . . well, then why don't you want to go out with me again?" she asked, sounding hurt. Her eyes were big, and her lip quivered just the tiniest bit. Pretty -- very pretty. But . . .

I considered. This wasn't just some chick in a bar, after all, this was a professional colleague that traveled in the same circles I did. Pissing her off might be detrimental to my career. Pissing me off could definitely be detrimental to hers. So this called for a delicate touch, under normal circumstances.

But then I swallowed my doubts and sighed. I didn't really care as much about my career at the moment.

"Remember what you said about there not being enough quality guys out there?" I asked, hesitantly.

'Well, yeah," she agreed. "I thought that was obvious!"

"It does seem to be the consensus opinion," I nodded. "Well, it just so happens that I am one of those good ones. One of the very, very few. And I know that, so I can afford to be choosy. I just had my heart broken by my wife, and I'll be honest: I'm looking to remarry again, eventually. But after my last relationship, well, I promised myself I wouldn't get involved with anyone I didn't think was worthy. Now, you're a great woman, no doubt, but Dana we just didn't . . . click." I made the pronouncement a little sadly. Dana wasn't sad -- she was shocked.

"You don't think we clicked?" she asked, a hint of shrillness in her voice that I found alarming. "I thought we clicked. I thought we got along great -- we like all the same things, we like the same types of . . . things, and we know all of the same people. I felt clicking. Why don't you think we clicked?" she demanded.

"Well," I said, after some thoughtful hesitation, "I tend to judge a date's level of interest in me by just how she reacts to me by the end of the night. If we had 'clicked', then I figure we probably would have had breakfast together -- or at least an amusing encounter we could giggle about later, and perhaps even a foundation for romance. But when I tried to make a move, you shot me down. You were nice about it, but you let me know that you were content with how far things had progressed. I took the hint and backed off. So . . . .no clicking. If you thought there was clicking, you must have been hearing things." I was trying to be diplomatic about it, and blame the situation, not her. I was willing to let her salvage her bruised pride.

"What do you mean, exactly . . .?" she asked, unsure of whether to bite my head off or whether I might be salvageable.

"May I be candid?" I asked with a sigh.

"Of course!" she said shrilly, still trying to sort me out.

"I'm still kind of new at doing this, so maybe it's me. But I've got my dating rituals, my checklist, just like I'm sure you do. So I mean that if I go home with a lump in my pants at the end of the night," I said, my voice low enough she had to lean in to hear me, "I naturally draw the conclusion that I wasn't . . . inspiring enough for my dates, and that indicates a low probability of finding what I'm looking for." Like I said, I was trying to be diplomatic, avoiding rudeness without feeding her a line of complete bullshit.

"So," she said, taking a deep breath. I prepared for a shout, but she kept her voice agreeably low. "Let me get the facts straight: we had a good time last night."

"Correct," I nodded.

"We have a lot in common and share some interests," she said, ticking the points off on her well-manicured fingers.

"Yes, yes we do."

"You are definitely looking to remarry, and I'm starting to look around for a husband, so we're both on the market and ready to buy."

"Also correct," I agreed. Again with the financial metaphors.

"You do think I'm attractive, and I do think you are attractive," she said, evenly.

"That's certainly the case on my part," I agreed. "I was ready to ravish you."

She stumbled a little bit with that admission, but ignored it and kept going. "But even though we had a great time, and made out, because we didn't have sex you don't think we have a potential relationship, so a second date would be fruitless."

"In a nutshell," I said, not trying to be an asshole. Or, not much. Again, I waited for the feminine squall to overwhelm me. But, honestly, if felt uniquely good to tell a date why I wasn't interested. You rarely get to do a post-mortem together.

I was shocked when the outburst I expected didn't arrive on schedule. She sighed, almost defeated, and looked around my office, anywhere but at me.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice still low and even. "I wanted to -- I was interested -- but I didn't think it was . . . prudent to dive into a physical relationship so early."

"I can see your reasoning," I agreed. "But without that spark, well . . ."

"Sleeping with you on the first date constitutes a 'spark'?" she asked in disbelief.

"It's usually at least a pre-requisite," I nodded. "My reasoning is, if you want me so badly that you can overcome your inhibitions and cross some boundaries, then there's potential for passion and romance. If I didn't impress you that much, then . . . well, then I didn't do my job right. So."

"So." Dana looked at me, There was a long, pregnant and uncomfortable silence after that. I looked at her. She looked at me. I could only imagine what was going on in her head.

Finally, she broke. "Will you let me think about this?" she asked, a little dazed. "It's . . . a lot to process, actually. I'm not particularly good at the whole dating thing myself, obviously, or I wouldn't still be doing it, but . . . you've given me some food for thought. Um, how about I call you next week, and we consider a 'do-over'?"

I shrugged. "I don't know," I said, doubtfully. "If there wasn't any spark the first time— "

"Fuck the spark," she hissed. "Like I said, I'll call you next week, after I've had a chance to think about this. I'm sure I could win you over," she explained. It sounded less kittenish and more desperate than she probably intended. Looks like Dana didn't take rejection very well.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "But really, Dana, if it didn't happen last night—"

"Do you have any idea how horny I was when you left?" she whispered. "I was dripping. I wanted you so bad . . . when you touched my tits, it took everything I had to resist."

"And that's kind of my point," I said, "all of that and . . . and you stopped me at second base. If it was meant to be, then everything you had wouldn't be enough to resist. If we had really clicked, there wouldn't be a thing in the world that would have kept you from fucking me last night." I guess I was trying to let her down gently, using the lack of sex as an excuse for my general disinterest in her for other reasons, but I was a guy and I could get away with that. She might think me a complete pig for saying so, but I could live with that. That was easier than coming out and saying 'Dana, I think you're a golddigging, manipulative social climber who will ensure a miserable ten-year marriage before another messy divorce and I'm not interested.'

"That's not fair!" she whispered harshly. "I said I wanted to! And you didn't even try again, after that! I could tell there was something wrong, but—"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dana. I don't have the time to play games." I said, tiredly, but I was secretly amused to see her twist in the wind a little. I suppose I've cultivated a bit of a sadistic streak, again thanks to my unfaithful wife. Maybe I could put this in a metaphor she could understand. "If you can't close me faster than that, well—" I shrugged again.

That made her mad, which was kind of cute. She gave me an intense glare, then turned on her heel and stalked to my door. There it was -- the outburst. Once her hand hit the doorknob, though, she surprised me. Instead of opening it and storming out, she locked it with a decisive click. The deadbolt, even. Then she turned on her heel again and stalked over to me, slowly.

"Dana?" I asked, as calmly as I could manage, "what are you doing...?" Was there room in that suit for a gun? one part of my brain speculated unhelpfully.

"I'm going to do what I should have done last night," she said in a growl. "What I wanted to do last night. No, shhh," she said, laying a long finger against my lips. "No obligation, I promise. It's a freebie. I was pretty worked up last night, too, so just consider it a temporary continuation of our date. One I owe you."

"Come on, Dana," I said, shaking my head, "you don't owe me anything."

"Then I owe myself," she said, unbuttoning her blouse. "But give me twenty minutes to prove to you that I might be worth a second chance. Twenty minutes? Please?" she said, nearly begging. A woman's self-esteem is a powerful thing when it's been freshly wounded.

I sighed one last time. "If you think you can convince me otherwise," I said, doubtfully, "then I'll give you thirty." Donna wouldn't be back from lunch until after one-o'clock.

She smiled, a little bit relieved. "I don't know what it is about you that does it for me, Bill," she said, kissing me and pushing her glorious bra-clad boobs out against my chest. "Maybe it's because you told me 'no' -- and nobody tells me 'no'. Or maybe because you're so damn self-assured, and that's always sexy. But let me make up for last night, and then you can decide whether or not to call me next week on your own."

"You make a compelling argument," I gasped between aggressive kisses. Her hand found my pants and the resurgent cock within that was straining to get out. She smiled a little more broadly.

"You just get that thing out," she instructed, turning to face away from me as she slowly hiked up her skirt and slip. She was wearing garters and no panties, and her gorgeously round ass was perfectly framed. I'm not the lingerie freak some of my friends are, but I had to admit that, as cliché as it was, seeing her naughty black stockings under her severe business suit was intensely sexual, especially under the circumstances. "And then you fuck me from behind over your desk, as hard as you want, Bill. I want to really feel it. Then you just think about that sweet little hot, wet pussy all weekend, and decide whether or not to call me next week. Okay?"

I didn't respond, except to free my cock, nestle it between her legs, and sink it deep into her cunt -- which was just as wet and hot as promised. She groaned as my dick pushed apart her slick walls and bottomed out. Dana raised her head like she had a bridle in her open mouth as her pussy stretched around me, then gave me a slow, seductive look over her shoulder and wiggled her ass to seat me firmly inside of her.

"Okay?" I asked, a little concerned. She nodded, and added an involuntary whimper.

"You're . . . bigger than I expected," she admitted.

"Hope you're enjoying it," I said, giving her a little extra thrust. Her eyes glazed over for a moment, then she nodded firmly and put her head down over my desk, wiggling her ass around to entice my cock.

Then I fucked her violently. I don't mean I hit her or anything, but considering that this was likely the only time I would be in this particular pussy, I decided to make the most of it. I grabbed her ass by her garters and began pounding her pussy -- shaved for the occasion, I guessed -- with a relentless force. Every time I pulled back she gasped for air, and every time I thrust manfully into her, she issued a cute little whimper. The novelty of boning a colleague over my desk was enchanting, especially one whom I had developed an attraction to. And despite her off-putting ways, Dana was a hot babe. I enjoyed fucking her tremendously.

So did she. While I didn't last more than ten, fifteen minutes inside her tight depths, the more I hammered away at her defenseless cervix with the head of my cock, the more wound-up she became. I was so intent on my own climax that I almost missed hers -- right up to the point where she failed to stifle an orgasmic yelp and crunched the weekly earnings report in her hand like it was a silk sheet. That got my attention -- as did the suddenly tight grip her cunt had on my dick. Spurt after spurt of my cum coated her pussy as I collapsed over her back, pinning her to my desk. If my rejection of her had torpedoed her self-esteem, this heated quickie had helped restore it. And it had also ensured me the use of her pussy on our next date, should I ask her out -- after this little number, it would be difficult for her to deny me, despite the fact that I'd already written her off as long-term material. But that didn't mean Dana couldn't be of use to me.

Gotcha, you golddigging bitch! I thought savagely with a satisfied sigh as the last of my seed dribbled inside her. Which made it a pretty memorable second date. She might even get a third.