Marlena is seated at the table, and she feels pretty in her dress, stunning and adventurous. Eyes made up dark, and mouth a pale pink, smiling. Craig has his hand on her, hidden by the cloth of the table. He has been drinking. This place isn’t real.
A colleague is passed out, face-down on the table next to her. She is pretty, too. Crimson dress like a flame, small gold chain on her throat. A rich red stone. Oddly she can’t seem to remember her name.
She has been indulging in the drinks, perhaps a bit too much for her own good.
She will mind that tomorrow, of course. Worry about it. But what does it mean? And what does this mean now, Craig’s hand on her leg? His wife is across from her, eying them curiously. Does she know? Does she? Is that jealousy or just curiosity? What does it mean if he strokes her thigh like this? Her face is warm and flushed, and suddenly she thinks she might be a little sick. Standing quickly, she stumbles a bit, catches herself and laughs a little at her unsteadiness; the rush to her head feels wonderful and agonizing all at once. Marlena excuses herself to use the bathroom, hoping she will be able to find it in this state.
It doesn’t take her long, and now she is standing in front of a mirror, watching herself, staring at her reflection more intently then she ever has in her life. Splashing a bit of water on her heated and flushed cheeks, she watches as the drops of water trail down the soft curves of her face. She counts her soft freckles, the ones she hates so much but loses count.
Is this woman her? She doesn’t feel like herself, and thinks maybe she is someone else.
Marlena hears the door open, and she ducks her head to avoid their glance. She doesn’t feel much like making small conversation.
And before she can think to start for the exit, she feels herself being consumed; her mouth is full, dry and tasty. It happens so fast she has trouble registering it all. She had closed her eyes and it was in her mouth. Against her chin. Breathing hot across her cheek. It’s John’s mouth, John’s tongue. John’s chin, grinding hard stubble rough against her. But what is he doing here? She had seen him, outside, with Kate. Eating and laughing. Together.
She briefly wonders if she is imagining things, Now her arms are around his neck, hands in his hair. She whimpers in her throat, and his hand slides up her skirt and into her panties. But he doesn’t give her what she wants, he’s going to tease her, as he rubs his fingers slowly, slowly up and down her most sensitive of places. Her hips are grinding a big, slow circle against his palm, her brain pounding fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Crude as that. No, maybe she isn’t the good and proper Dr. Evans after all.
Then she is gazing into his deep, blue eyes. Breathing the heat of his breath. Panting it in streams back at him. She knows what he is thinking.
She is playing, teasing. She doesn’t think he has the guts. Drunk or not, they’re not together. They’re still married, it is not a happy marriage. They don’t even live together anymore. So a kiss is one thing. But fucking … oh, that’s quite another.
Because it wouldn’t be fucking for them. Already he is husking declarations against her neck. Muttering. His hands are reverent where they trail down, over the sides of her breasts.
It’s suddenly quiet; they have suddenly reached an impasse. It is this moment that will determine everything. Someone is panting, maybe both of them. There is a question in her eyes. It’s his move.
John doesn’t waste a beat with his answer. He takes hold of the front of her neck, hand splayed out, his fingers spidering to her cheek. Pulling her towards him, half frightened, half teasing. He wants to know how she’ll react. It has been so long. She’s curious herself.
His thumbs are making her ache as they rub her nipples, pulling her dress down enough to expose them. Kissing again, furious and hard. Ah, so this is it. She is on the sink counter, him settled between her legs, as he slips his fingers in her, finally. Her body is grateful. Touching her so she hisses and arches hard towards his hand. He has an obvious erection right beneath her. Thrusting it against her, over and over. The world is gone and she is throbbing.
So much emotion. Fear, danger, exposure, and the thrill of it all. John fingers, hard and dry, are touching her. Pushing inside her. She hears her voice crying out, and watches her fingers twisting the handtowels beside her. He is going to make her come. Right there, yes, right there. Her mostly bare and heated back is chilled against the cold glass, and she is looking at John giddily. His face is panting with his desperation. Marlena tilts her head up, looking sideways, to glance in the mirror just to her right. Watching John as he fucks her with his hands in the midst of all the towels and soap. With her coworkers, mere feet away, only a door separating them. Oh fuck, she’s gone. So gone she’s letting John fuck her with his hands in Tuscany’s bathroom.
Rising, rising, rising.
He is trying to make her feel. To transmit all of his emotion, his passion for her, into her body, through his fingertips. The pressure of his big palm on her back. The pressure of his fingers, the pleasure.
He watches the emotions pass across her beautiful face, and his heart bursts from the overload. This is all he ever wanted; her, her happiness, her pleasure, her love. And he feels it all, so much his body aches. It washes over him in ripples. She feels her body climbing slowly, then quickly, towards the apex of her desire. And John is there, feeding from her energy, pushing her forward, yes, yes, yes. Then all at once, her body goes rigid, and she must bite her lip to keep her from crying out loud, but even that is not enough to stifle the sound completely. She moans, long and wantonly, her body wet and throbbing wildly, as she rides the waves that crash over her and drown her in their murky depths.
John aches just looking at her, his cock straining against the now tight linen of his pants. Hands, not his, fumble with the fastenings, struggling to set him free. After a long agonizing moment, he feels the cool air hit him below, just before Marlena’s hands begin a slow stroke of it with her purposeful hands, teasing it until it becomes fully erect. Watching it intently. A bit of pre-cum weeps from the slit of his penis, and Marlena takes her finger to wipe it clean, bringing it to her lips to taste him.
Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod. He’s moaning. Squirming. Just watching her is almost too much.
His hands join hers, and together, they guide his member to her wet entrance. Slowly, he teases her, rubbing her clit, sliding the head in, just a bit, in and out, making her whimper and sweat with the anticipation. This is torture, she wants him, she wants it all. To be stretched and filled and fucked by him.
Marlena is bucking her hips, attempting to impale herself with his cock, but he holds her steady, his hand putting pressure on her belly, keeping her in control. And then, just as she has begun to mewl with want, and managed to slow her bucking, he takes her hips in his big hands, reigns her in, and thrusts into her, hot and hard. The unexpectedness of it makes her cry out, and John briefly wonders if someone can hear them outside. The thought that they are vulnerable to other patrons, separated by a mere bathroom door excites him further if it’s possible. Marlena opens her legs around him further, urging him on, meeting him thrust for thrust, wanting it, loving it. She hisses her pleasure, “Yes, yes, fuck, yes,” alternating between licking and biting her lips. She curls her leg across his hip, a lovely, purely feminine gesture that makes the blood pulsing through his penis quicken in time with the rapid pounding of his heart.
John feels her tighten her muscles around him, and it’s all he can do to keep from erupting right there and then. He strokes her face and brings her closer to him, kissing everywhere. Returning to make her nipple wet again, then to her mouth. Like he is looking for his Marlena’s breath in her lipstick, sucking from her. Marlena groans into his mouth, encouraging him to increase his speed as she feels herself hurling towards the apex of her desire and John continues smoothly at first, but his movements become jerky and erratic. Yes, it’s coming, this long awaited release. Together they rock in time, trembling, crying, the pleasure pumping through them in waves.
He pulls her hair and makes her look him in the eye as it starts, and every part of him, every emotion and sensation inches its way to the tip of his cock. And Marlena never falters, she is with him every step of the way, just as she always is.
And then silence. Awkward, disturbing, silence. Marlena doesn’t know what to say, and John merely awaits some sort of reaction. His worry mounts with each passing second that she does not speak. But though she’s quiet, she does look him in the eye, curiously.
She doesn’t know what he’s doing here. What does he want with her? Why now, why this? Why, after all the words that have already passed between them? All of the questions filter through her mind at once, a vortex of chaos, but the only thing she can manage to utter is a faint and trembling, “why?”
John sighs. He knew she would be confused. After Marlena came clean to him about her liaison with Roman, John had gone into a blind rage, calling out to her all sorts of unsettling and unflattering words, throwing them at her like knives, partly due to jealousy, and partly due to the fact that she waited so long to tell him. At some point, he knew he’d crossed a certain line, but all logic had escaped him, and the only thing he could think about was making her feel some measure of the pain he was feeling.
At first, Marlena took it quietly, recoiling from him as if she had been struck with his own hand, and all without a word. But then, something within her snapped, and with a heavy slap, and a heaving sob, she called him on his hypocrisy, and released some of the pressure that weighed on her heavy and bruised heart. And when she could cry no longer, she gave him a final look, and never looked back.
John would never forget her pain, all caused by his own doing.
So naturally, she should wonder what he was doing here, pursuing her, trying to make her feel things, trying to love her.
He hesitates briefly, “I’ve been stupid–“
“You’re damn right you’ve been stupid,” Marlena snaps suddenly. She straightens her body, still sitting on the sink, leaning as far back into the mirror as possible. After a beat, Marlena softens a bit. “I’ve been stupid too,” her admission just above a whisper. Her body slumps a little, and suddenly she feels tired, so damn tired; the cold from the glass seeps into her bones.
John notices the fatigue, and reaches a hand to brush her flushed rosy cheek, “You’ve been drinking,” his voice is soft, and lacks any reproach. It’s merely a statement of fact.
Marlena bats his hand away like a child, “and?”
“I didn’t say anything!” he raises his hand in mock surrender, “You always were cute when you drank,” a cheeky grin.
“Is that so?” comes the wry reply.
“Mmm hmm,” he nods, “I think Wesley thought so too tonight.”
The sly bastard. Marlena is instantly alert, “Is that what all this is about? *Craig* *fucking* *Wesley*?” She jabs a perfectly manicured nail into his shoulder in time to her last few words. Now she can’t fathom to be near him, and begins to scramble to her feet, “I can’t believe this,” Marlena mutters, “I should have known…”
John braces two big hands on the tops of her thighs to stop her decent, “What are you talking about?”
“All of this,” she gestures to the bathroom, “us. It had nothing to do with me, or you, and everything to do with the fact that you can’t *stand* to see me doing anything more than mooning over you–“
“–Marlena you know that’s not true–“
“–and not to mention that Craig is *married*–“
“–that didn’t seem to stop you before.” The moment the words leave his mouth, John knows it is a mistake. A big, fucking, disaster of a mistake.
The sudden stinging in his left cheek is sudden proof of that. He turns to see Marlena staring at him, her eyes aflame with hurt and distrust. “Asshole,” she says slowly, “Don’t talk to me about *marriage* when I watched you fuck your whore of a nurse-maid in our home. *Our* home! *Our* bed!”
John tries to intercept the oncoming storm he knows is about to erupt, “Marlena, I didn’t mean–“
“–Did you know what it was like to have to sit there, and watch the two of you, day in and day out, acting like sick dogs? To have to watch you and know you were powerless to stop it? And to believe that I would never again know that kind of love?” She breathes in, shakily, but determined. “The first time, it wasn’t so bad, you know?” She laughs a little, “I tried to rationalize it, tried to make excuses for you. But that only works for so long before the despair starts to set in. And then came the realization that you were never going to find me.” She blinks back tears, and turns her head away, “I think that part was the hardest. Because really, what motivation did you have? What use did you have for me now…?” Her voice cracks with emotion.
“Oh Doc, you’re wrong, so so wrong…” he reaches for her again, but she once again bats him away.
“I don’t want your pity!” She explodes suddenly.
“What do you want, Doc?”
“I just want to stop feeling.” Her eyes settle closed, and sighs, tired of it all.
John settles his forehead to hers, encouraged that she does not recoil from his touch.
“But then you wouldn’t be you,” his smile is sad.
“That would certainly make things easier,” she closes her eyes, and breathes in his scent and his utter maleness, “if I was someone else.”
“Never,” John braves to touch her, sliding his fingers up her neck, to cup her cheek, “Never.”
“John we can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep loving you one minute and then hating you the next,” she clutches the lapels of his suit jacket, holding them in tight little fists, “I can’t live like this anymore John, I can’t… I can’t… I just…”
“Do you love me?”
“That’s not the issue John.”
“*Do* *you* *love* *me*?”
“Alright! Yes! I Love You!”
“I love you.”
“But what does that solve?”
“Nothing. But it’s a start.”
Finis
The Jarlena Journal 