The Hardest Thing

LYRIC

I stare down at my phone, waiting for it to ring. He didn’t say if he was going to call again, but I’m hoping he does. We’ve exchanged a few texts already this morning, just like we’ve been doing.

Yesterday, after our call, I was in a good mood all day. I know it’s not going to last. The guilt will enter my life eventually, and I’ll have to carry it right beside the feelings I’m rapidly developing, but I’m enjoying this while it lasts.

And avoiding the questions that want to creep their way into my mind.

How long can this realistically last?

You know you’re going to get hurt, right?

And the chances of getting caught get higher and higher each day.

I ignore them, focusing on my work. Yesterday, Parker asked about my daddy kink, but he got off the phone before I could ask him about how it was for him. I’m going to ask today, and there’s already a flutter in my stomach; I’m nervous about it.

I love my husband, but our sexual needs don’t match, and that’s getting harder and harder to ignore, even when sex involves multiple orgasms for me.

I’m typing an email to a client when my phone rings. I don’t even finish typing the sentence before answering it.

“Hello,” I say, trying to keep the anxiousness out of my voice. I’m trying to be reserved—play it cool. I don’t want him to hear how much I like talking to him.

“Morning, baby girl.”

My heart stammers at the words.

“Hi,” I whisper again, and then he’s chuckling at me.

Texting is so much easier than talking to someone on the phone. I’ve got time to figure out what I want to say, to read it. On the phone, the words just tumble out of my mouth, and once they’re out there, there’s no getting them back.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to call again.”

“Called you before I even got out of the driveway.”

My heart does that stupid thing again, getting all out of control for him. “There was something I wanted to ask, but we ran out of time yesterday.”

“You can ask me anything,” he replies.

I hear the blinker in his car, and I’m trying to picture where it is he’s driving, what type of road he’s on. I know he’s close to Cincinnati, but in a rural town outside of it. Country boy. Absolutely not my type, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping me from falling for him.

I cannot be falling for him.

“You asked about my daddy kink, but I didn’t ask about yours. How’s it work for you?”

I hear him inhale and I wait.

“It’s about control.”

I nod my head—stupid since he can’t see me.

“Like a BDSM thing?” I interrupt before he can continue.

“Not really, no. I can get into a little light bondage, and I like spanking with my hand, but I don’t want to inflict pain, just blur the line of pain and pleasure. But the whips and chains? No. Not that kind of dominance.

“It’s about having a woman trust me so much she’ll do whatever I say. No hesitation, no questions, just complete and total trust in her daddy.”

God, that sounds nice.

“But you still want submission?”

“Yeah, I guess in a way. But still, it’s more so about trust for me. That someone knows me so completely, so wholly, and trusts I’d never hurt them. Does whatever I need while knowing I’ll give her whatever she needs too.”

“Give me an example.”

This conversation is making me wet and achy. Does he understand the effect he has on me even though he shouldn’t?

Why do I react like this for him?

I can’t get too deep into the question before he’s answering. “Turn the camera on for Daddy.”

I don’t think. I just do. There’s no hesitation, just complete trust. It doesn’t matter that my hair is in a messy bun, that I’m not wearing any type of makeup, or that my outfit leaves a lot to be desired since I’m working from home.

He knows what I look like, and I do trust him. Stupid as it may be.

“Good girl.”

The praise washes over me, filling me up, making me blossom for him.

“Like being Daddy’s good little girl?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

His camera turns on, too, the interior light of the car illuminating him for me. And it’s the same guy from the pictures, no doubt. I’m definitely not being catfished.

He’s so cute. I have to call him cute. I can’t call him handsome; it feels wrong since that’s one of my nicknames for my husband.

“This isn’t innocent anymore, is it?” I ask, biting my lip.

Tears well in my eyes. I’m not sure how I got here, and how I got here so fast, but I still don’t want to stop. How do you tell a man you’ve known ten days that it’s like he breathed life back into your dying soul?

You don’t. Not if you’re smart.

“No,” he whispers. “We’re in emotional affair territory.”

My heart cracks at the words. Who am I? I don’t recognize myself anymore. The me from a few years ago would never do something this reckless—risk my marriage.

My husband isn’t a second-chance type of guy. If he finds out, it’ll be over, and I’ll lose everything.

I know that’s the truth, but why then can I not end this? The words are right there on the tip of my tongue: “Thanks, Parker, this has been great, but it’s not worth the risk.”

It’s not, but I’m still going to risk it anyway. I’m going to risk it for the fluttering feeling in my stomach whenever my phone beeps. I’m going to risk it for the way hearing his voice makes my heart and pussy flutter. A reaction I should only be having for one man.

I’m staring at the camera and he’s looking back at me, smile on his face, warm and inviting. I want to dive in headfirst, not giving a damn about the consequences.

“What’s going on in your head?” he asks.

How am I so easy for him to read? No one would ever describe me as an open book, but for him, it’s like I’m a book, wide open and written in a language only he can understand.

“What would your wife do if she caught you?” I ask. I can’t look at him while I ask.

“Divorce.” One word. Instant answer, no hesitation. “Your husband?”

“The same.”

We stare at each other, and the distance between us—the literal—doesn’t feel like it’s there. It feels like I could touch him if I wanted to. And I really, really want to.

“If you want to end it, you can. I don’t want you to.”

“I don’t want to either,” I whisper.

There’s so much I think I should say, so much I can’t say: Talking to you is the best part of my day. If he’s smart, he’ll be able to read between the lines, figure out the words I can’t say, but still weigh heavy on my heart and mind.

“Yeah, me either, baby girl.”

My face flushes when he calls me baby girl. How far is this going to go? Sexting? Phone sex? This is how it starts, right?

We share a kink, one we can’t get fulfilled at home, and we’ll use each other to get it, risk everything for that momentary orgasmic high. What’s the afterglow like when it comes from someone you shouldn’t even be talking to?

“I wasn’t looking for this,” I whisper.

“I wasn’t either,” he says, catching me off guard.

“I’m glad it’s me then. Who you found,” I whisper.

“I love that blush in your cheeks.”

Said blush worsens as he mentions it. A wide smile tugs on my lips, so broad it’s nearly painful. He laughs, and I know he can see it.

“I’m almost at work,” he says, the tone of his voice changing.

Neither of us wants to get off the phone.

“Have a good day,” I say.

“You too, baby girl.”

“Bye, Daddy.” It feels natural to call him that, like he’s the only person worthy of saying that to.

The call ends and I take a deep breath, standing and walking away from my phone. When it beeps again, it’s not him, but my husband’s ringtone, pulling my attention back to it.

Fuck. My head falls back, guilt filling me. I love him. Maybe no one else would believe it, and a month ago, I would have been one of those people.

I never understood how people let themselves get swept up in affairs, thinking it was only possible if they didn’t love their spouse anymore.

I was wrong.

And even living in the middle of it, I still don’t understand it.