DITW 15-29: Of Man’s First Disobedience, And The Fruit

(This is the end of the series)

#

There’d been six outrageous days in a row of perfect fall weather. Bright blue skies, crisp, cold air, and the sun shining bright. Might be the best colors of fall he’d seen in years. Unionville looked unreal.

But this afternoon he was downtown, right in the heart of it. Cars inched in traffic, their windows down, some good music playing, but far more bad. Most people were in happy moods, despite the construction holdups. He was sitting street-side, on Adelaide, down by the business heart of Toronto. There were only two tables outside the Much Love café, and he was lucky to get one. The honeylocust above the tables showed the yellow of the seasonal change, and once in a while one of its smaller leaflets would flitter down to the table and he’d flick it off to the sidewalk. The two sunglasses-wearing women at the other table now were arguing about the value of maintenance fees against how often the elevator was down in their building. A little less salacious than their last discussion, which was about another friend’s husband “needing space,” and he’d enjoyed their exercised litigation of the absent friend’s life and all the things the friend could be doing better.

It was for the best, because now he could see a long, black car down toward the Church Street intersection, heading this way. He checked his watch. It was ten to one. Perfect timing. There was a better story about to take place than the sunglass women’s.

He’d booked the afternoon off, telling Harmeet he had a dentist appointment. He drove into the city with only a vague conception of what he would do.

For lunch, he’d had the grilled cheese on house-made challah bread and a Greek salad. He was down to his coffee and a plate of choux balls.

A big group of Bay Street guys were street-strutting and bantering with coffee cups—no jackets, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses on—and he eased his head to the side to keep track of the shining black car. A Mercedes or a Maybach or whatever. This had to be him.

The finance bros passed on, laughing, and Josh watched the car get closer, then pull over to the side, right where expected. Outside the restaurant.

The Cafoni Classici restaurant occupied the building across the street. It was an Old Town Toronto courthouse in sandstone, a three-story pavilion with a pedimented entrance, two pilasters flanking it. The modern neighborhood had grown up around it and dwarfed its structure and status, but it was still a fine and implacable building. The Gruppo Cafoni was a collection of restaurants, six in Toronto and now one in Los Angeles. Keith Stone had money in the group, Keith getting out of the black limo now and buttoning his suit jacket, looking around. Not even acknowledging the driver who’d come around to open the door for him.

Even if he didn’t own a piece of the restaurants, this would be where an executive like Keith Stone would dine. A possible future Minister of Finance.

There was a time when Mom and Dad marched young and bullied Josh down to the Stone estate to tell Devlin’s uber-rich father what his son was up to. Papa Stone didn’t care. Dismissive asshole. When Josh and his parents went home that night, Mom broke a glass in the sink she was so mad. “Fucking prick,” she’d called Keith Stone, and Mom never swore. Young Devlin Stone had always been on the path to full Fucking Prick status. And this was the man who’d set him on his way.

Keith was tall, and where Devlin was handsome, Keith Stone looked scary. Like if he wasn’t wearing a ten-thousand dollar suit, you wouldn’t want to encounter him in a dark alley. He’d been handsome once, probably, but he was in his late fifties now, and his face was lined and creased with the marks of an angry scowl. Big, strong build still, and massive hands. He wore his silvered hair back from his face. Wouldn’t want anything to shield his dark, predatory eyes.

Josh watched Keith trot up the old court steps and disappear inside the restaurant.

Fifteen minutes ago, he’d seen another actor in this affective theater trot up the same steps and disappear into the Cafoni Classici. That one had unbelievable legs. Long and strong, feet clad in expensive heels. She’d dressed all in black with a tight and ass-hugging mid-length skirt. Her jacket had been tailored to show her exquisite physique; the narrow waist, the long limbs, the elegance. Hair up, showing off the grace of her magnificent neck. An absolute ball-shrinking terror in her own right.

He’d watched her take a spot at a table framed in one of the courthouse windows, ten feet above the sidewalk. Like a theater’s stage.

And now she stood and received her lunch partner, the two of them coming close, the woman standing to greet him and offering a professional gesture to the seat across from her. On their best behavior in public.

They sat. The woman had already ordered drinks. She knew what the powerful man liked. The Honorable Minister Stone.

Stone lifted his menu, but his eyes stayed on his frighteningly gorgeous companion, Stone saying, “What did he say?” And Kimmy’s coy. She’s saying to Keith how she hasn’t asked him yet. Stone reminds her she told him she would. Kimmy’s urging Keith to be patient. She raises her chin, regarding her new quarry, and she says to him, “I think he’s enthusiastic. And, I think, in time, we’ll get what we want.” Those sultry red lips issuing promises that would have Keith Stone on his knees. And Keith smiles, thinking of all the ungodly passion awaiting him.

Josh shifted with great perineal discomfort in his café chair and popped a choux ball in his mouth and watched and watched, and hot coals glowed in the ash, a new wind breathing fire into dormant coal.

#

Headlights brightened the bedroom, Hyun coming home from a night class, a few minutes before ten o’clock. Josh closed the bedroom door and went to the bathroom. Kimmy stood at the mirror, teeth brushed, rubbing face cream onto sharp cheekbones, the protuberances that showed when she hollowed her cheeks and raised her brows, staring into her own dark eyes. Her satin robe hung open, showing the skimpy underwear she wore and her flat tummy and the sweep of ribs drawing up to her topless chest. He floated tonight on contented waters and an easy cotton protected him from the world’s sharper edges.

They’d been alone tonight as a family. Father, mother, and daughter. They’d cooked dinner together in their beautiful home. After eating, they’d curled up on the couch and watched television. They had plans for the weekend and Sophie would be here soon. Maybe they’d have a movie night and make popcorn with real butter.

Kimmy was the same girl he’d fallen in love with when he was a boy. They were united. They were one. All the good of their life before eased back in gentle waves, each one washing a little higher on the beach, reclaiming the marks of former tides.

Right now, Colleen was in her crib. She’d had a good night with her mom and dad. Josh brushed his teeth and Kimmy left him to it. He joined her again by the crib’s side. Colleen lay on her  front, angel face to the side, her back moving up and down with gentle breathing.

He said, “She sleeps so well.”

“We keep her busy.”

Which was true. “We do,” he said, thinking of the scheduled activities Kimmy had organized on a sheet pinned in the kitchen. From play time and mirror time, music and movement, water time in a warm plastic tub. Colleen had three helpers in the house devoted to her development. He’d wanted to read a board out to her before bed tonight, but she’d conked out before he could.

“Soon we’ll have her in the nursery overnight,” Kimmy said. “I think it’s past time, really.”

Their little baby all alone. “We won’t need Hyun to watch her when we want to be loud,” he said and bumped a hip to Kimmy’s, and she showed a white smile he hadn’t seen in so long. It was a beautiful smile.

Kimmy snuffled a small laugh behind her hand and moved to the bedside. “Do you think we were loud the other night?”

He couldn’t remember. “I think I might have been.”

Kimmy chuckled again, and slipped off the silk robe, putting it on the chair by the bed, then slipping under the covers in only her underwear bottoms. He ached to feel her body heat. He joined her, leaving Colleen be, content in her own cottony brume of sleep, and slipped into bed with Kimmy, the sheets crisp and cool. Their bodies came together under the bedding, and they settled until the sheets warmed.

He said, “How was lunch with Stone?”

“It was good,” she said. Then: “I wondered if you’d ask. It took you a while.”

“I just remembered,” he said, lying, slinking close to her, getting the heat radiating from her lean body and soft skin. He pressed against her, took her in his arms, her back to his chest. Kimmy shimmied rearward, cozying herself to him. He said, “Stone’s closer to taking over the world?”

She giggled a soft, wonderful sound, like he was being silly, but also seeing the humor. “Things are going well for him.”

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it,” he said drolly. Kimmy laughed again. She was playful tonight. He already knew she was when he’d seen her preparation for bed was only a pair of panties. He sighed and groaned as his arms circled her narrow body. She felt incredible. And she really was his. He wouldn’t deny it again. Kimmy sighed, too. Arching her back and craning her head forward on the pillow. He kissed the gentle knob of bone at the base of her neck. Kimmy’s breaths deepened. His cock hardened, and he pressed it into her ass cheek. Kimmy pushed back. He held her tighter.

“I saw you,” he said.

She stiffened a long moment, and he thought she was mad. She said, “You did?”

“I watched you. I watched you at the restaurant.”

The stiffness relaxed, but there was a sober silence for too long. He dipped his chin, traced his lips along her shoulder and up to her neck again. “In your slim skirt and your hair up—you looked so fucking hot.”

“Josh, you have to be kidding.”

One hand swept upward, the right hand cupping her small breast, finding her nipple hard on his palm. She moaned. His other hand eased down her tummy to the panty waistband. Her rump rolled against his hardness and squashed his balls. They writhed in slow increments, imitating copulation, his cock straining his briefs, hard and straight, pressed into his wife’s perfect ass.

Kimmy’s breaths came deep and tormented, and she writhed with him, reluctant yet somehow still eager.

She whispered something, but he couldn’t hear. He asked her to repeat it. She said, “If you want it, this time you’re going to have to beg me.”

A figurative spotlight shone on him and for a brief second he felt exposed or caught red-handed. His eyes widened with secret fear.

Their baby babbled a soft sound, then settled, and somewhere down the hall, Hyun’s bedroom door opened then closed.

Kimmy would love it. Tormenting her husband. And tormenting her former lover. Tormenting Devlin Stone by fucking his domineering father. There was no way Devlin didn’t have a daddy complex.

“I just wanted to see you with him,” he said.

“You saw me eat lunch with my boss,” she said.

“You looked so fucking beautiful, Kimmy.”

“Josh...”

His hand slipped under the panties and over her shorn mound, silky soft and smooth. His fingers slipped her crease and found her hot and wet and wanting penetration. He eased a finger inside her and Kimmy shuddered and gasped. Her hand came up and her long fingers wound through his hanging hair.

“It’s only play, Kimmy.”

“You can’t ask me. You can’t,” she panted. “You’d have to get on your knees and beg me, Josh.”

THE END