The Hardest Thing

PARKER

I told her I wasn’t looking for this, and I wasn’t. I definitely never expected to find someone like her. Online connections almost never work. It’s too different from real life, especially with so much distance.

I hate how early she has to go to bed, that I can’t talk to her late into the evenings. That goodnight text she sends every night before she goes to bed makes me miss her.

I love how easily she listens, how compatible we are. She turned her camera on instantly. She looks cute in her glasses—less sultry than in the pictures she’s sent.

I wonder if she’d send a naughty picture, without her face. I’m going to ask. I’m going to keep pushing, see how good of a girl she can be for Daddy. Something tells me she wants to be a good girl.

I don’t think I could ever physically cheat on my wife. I love her, love my family, but something is missing. We’re fighting, not connecting. I connect with Lyric.

There’s no stress—no life. We don’t have to worry about paying the mortgage and bills, about raising kids; we can be versions of ourselves our everyday lives don’t allow us to be.

I can’t decide if I should thank God she’s so far away or be upset about it. Or wish I’d met her years ago.

If I was closer to her, if there wasn’t an ocean between us, I’d want her more. No matter how much I tell myself I’ll never cheat on Alison.

I am though; that’s what this is. Emotional, but still… Lyric is serving me in a way Alison can’t…won’t.

I’m not sure if it’s a choice or just circumstance, but I’ve been open and honest with her about it. She says she wants more sex, too, but what can you do when your kid refuses to sleep anywhere but between you?

She deserves better than this.

But when my phone beeps and I look, seeing I’ve got a message from Alison and one in the messaging app from Lyric, it’s not my wife’s I look at first. It’s Lyric’s.

I stop dead in my tracks, clicking on the picture. My heart beats faster as it loads…too damn slowly. The service in the office is shit, and I’m not close enough to be on the Wi-Fi yet.

I wait, ignoring a second incoming message from Alison. She’ll be mad it takes me so long to answer, but I can’t close the app. I need to see what Lyric sent.

And then it pops up. I glance up and behind me, making sure none of my coworkers are around. I groan when I click the message. It’s her tits.

Goddamn, she’s a good girl for Daddy.

Her tits aren’t huge but a healthy handful. It’s the nipples that are really doing it for me though. One look and blood is rushing to my cock. I groan, ignoring it. I do not have time to jerk off to her tits before I walk into this building.

I close out the messaging app, triple-checking the person I’m texting is my wife and not Lyric. Although, texting Lyric something for Alison wouldn’t be nearly as bad as texting Alison something meant for Lyric.

My phone beeps again, but I’m already inside, so I don’t look at it. If it’s Alison, she knows I don’t usually text while I’m working. And if it’s Lyric, if I start texting her, I won’t be able to stop.

I can’t believe she sent me a picture of her tits unprompted.

I’m not falling for her. I can’t be.

Wrong.

Because I think I might be. I can’t be.

Saying I’m not isn’t going to stop it from being true though.

***

I text with Lyric a little throughout the day. She responds almost immediately, but she’s already said she has her phone in her hand ninety percent of the time, mostly for work.

She’s got this thing where she has to answer a message as soon as she sees it, but I’m not going to complain about it. I like how quickly she responds, like I’m always on her mind.

I’m not jealous she’s going to fuck her husband, not really. I can’t be. Whatever I’m feeling, it’s not jealousy, but it’s…something. Something I can’t describe, something I shouldn’t be feeling, and definitely something I don’t want to think about.

I hit Send and stare down at the words. I’m so far gone when I can’t be. I switch the sound on my phone to vibrate so I won’t be tempted to see what she says. Do I even want her to say yes? She should say ~no~.

Of course she should, but knowing she doesn’t get to call him Daddy, but that’s what she calls me, makes me want to know she’s thinking of me while she fucks him.

I force my eye to focus on the computer screen in front of me, figuring out how to manipulate this advertisement to make the beer stand out. The company I work for is multifaceted, and usually I’m not involved in the ad campaigns.

I hate them, but the deadline is approaching and the head of the project had a family emergency, forcing it onto my plate. My specialty is magazine and website layouts. I prefer making things cohesive, not forcing something to stand out, especially when it’s as mundane as flavored peanuts.

Seriously.

By the time lunch rolls around, I’m itching to talk to Lyric again, to see what her answer to my question was.

I grin down at the phone. It’s not an admission, but it’s not a denial either.

Am I gonna be able to not think about her the next time I have sex with my wife? I already know when I get home later and climb into the shower, it’s going to be the image of her tits in my mind while I cum.

I pull my lunch out of my bag while I wait for her to reply. If she wasn’t going out, she’d probably be cooking dinner, and an image flashes in my mind: her in just a sweatshirt—preferably one of mine—and panties, standing in front of a stove. The shirt falls over her ass so it looks like she’s naked.

Every fantasy I’ve ever had seems to still be there, but Lyric is the star of the show now. I take a bite of my sandwich, barely chewing in my hurry to see what she has to say.

I understand her answer, but I don’t like it.

She adds a kissy face to the message. Fuck, I’d give anything to kiss her.

We talk through most of my lunch, but I’m trying to be a decent person and make small talk with my coworkers too. It’s hard though when I know she could be texting me.

When I ask her what she’s making for dinner, she reminds me she’s going out. I completely forgot. I wish her a good time, knowing she won’t be able to text as much.

Sure, we have a connection, but we’re both married, and neither of us is looking to get out of our marriages. We’ve both said that.

We might not be acting like it, especially since Alison will leave me if she finds out. That’s why I’m careful, why we’re using a discreet messaging app. It’s fingerprint-locked on my phone, and I don’t save any of the pictures she sends me.

As tempting as it is, I’d love to have a picture of her pretty face saved on my phone. I just can’t risk it. I know she’s deleting the ones I send her too.

We can’t get caught.

I text her intermittently throughout the day, whenever I need my brain to focus on anything other than the peanuts staring back at me.

She always answers quickly, sending me little snaps of what she’s working on, and complaining about social media—which makes me laugh since she’s a social media manager.

By the time my workday is done, and I’m ready to go home, she’s texting me telling me she’s going to bed. I wish her good night, already anxious for when I wake up in the morning, knowing I’ll get to talk to her again.

Yeah, talking to her is the best part of my day.