Done For Love

AUTHOR'S NOTE/CONTENT WARNING: This is a cheating/NTR/etc. story. If you've gotten this far into the series without knowing that, I'm kind of impressed, honestly.

Thanks for reading!

===

In, and out.

Deep breaths.

The calm yoga instructor's words had been Irina's lifeline ever since she let Tray take her. Right now, it was more important than ever that she remembered them.

Her car poked forward inch by inch into the unfamiliar driveway as if scared to intrude on it. When it came to a stop, she just sat there for a great many minutes, not unlike the little lapses of time she took to steel her resolve before going into KF Designs. This was that, times a hundred -- no, a thousand. Her heart soared at mach speeds, and even in the safe confines of her vehicle, she was already more lightheaded than she'd ever been.

After all, she'd just arrived at Tray's mansion.

"Mansion" wasn't really the right word to use. When she pictured somewhere a CEO his age lived, she pictured lavish brick walls, a grand courtyard with a centerpiece fountain, a stoop held up by Corinthian pillars. This place flourished none of those things. On the contrary, it looked more like...well, a normal, albeit very big house. It had the same beveled, off-white vinyl walls as any other modern home, the same gravel driveway and wooden front porch. It only met the definition of "mansion" by the thinnest possible margin, being three stories tall and sprawling out much more than normal.

As its shadow loomed over her, Irina couldn't help but think it was actually fitting for someone like Tray, not unlike his mundane car. The man had never been one to care about conventional tastes.

He never cared much for tact, either.

Her current situation was hastily concocted over the phone just after she'd reached a breaking point. Infuriatingly, he acted like no time had passed when he picked up her call.

"Hi Rina! What's up?"

That was all he had to say. After all the mental turmoil she'd gone through over the past two weeks because of that brutal yet all-too-short fucking, he had the gall to greet her as if all was well. Of course, he was absolutely well aware of her predicament. He always was. It just gave him so much joy to hear her say why she was calling, to rub it in. That had to be it.

Indeed, as ludicrous as she found his words, she didn't hang up on him yesterday like she once would have. She just took a deep breath and pressed on, voice shaky but resolute.

She'd made only two demands. One: wear a condom like last time, and two: she wouldn't have him at her house ever again. That would be too dangerous for a number of reasons she didn't want to confront.

So, now she was here. For "dinner." An early one at that -- it was just one o'clock. Apparently, he'd taken off early just for this, and they had a whole two hours for their date before she had to beat Flin back home.

Lucky her.

Yep. She sure was mad. She also had no one to blame but herself. She still chose to drive here after having a whole day to consider calling it off. Even after her hysteria from the encounter with Maddie yesterday wore off, she decided not to. That time had passed -- she was going through with this. For real. With no strings attached.

Deep breaths.

Just like she was about to dunk her head underwater.

She opened the car door, and the cold forest air hit her face with the scent of pine and smoke. It was so nice, it almost made her forget the reason she'd come here for a moment. Like her and Flin's neighborhood, Tray's big house was just outside the city, though tucked within the rolling mountains on the opposite end forty minutes away. She had almost wondered if she made a wrong turn somewhere on the drive here given how much the road looked like any other scenic route. However, since it was winter, she eventually spotted the gigantic houses peeking through the naked tree branches, occasionally dotting the duff.

It was all so alien to her. Eerie, unlike the outwardly well-off atmosphere of her neighborhood. As unassuming as Tray's house looked alongside the others, this quiet, barren place was for sure where the real wealth slept.

She made her way to the front door, heart beating faster with every step forward. She felt her conscience tugging at her back despite its wretched state, still trying to reel her to the comfort of her car. She stepped onto the front porch anyway, ignoring it. It didn't matter how wrong this was.

As had been the case for the entire day, she was soaking wet.

She pressed the doorbell, hearing the sound resonate through the house just beyond the walls.

She waited.

At first, she was left to the quiet rustle of wind against the trees. She knew Tray had to be in this house -- his car was right next to hers in the driveway -- but she wavered again the longer the stillness went on. Perhaps, she thought, it really was best if she disregarded her urges. She'd just been about to overcome them yesterday before bumping into Maddie. It was a shame to leave herself hanging like this, but it was ridiculous that she was even here...

The instant she backed away one step, footsteps came. Booming, approaching thuds from inside the house shook her to her core. Even though she was the one visiting upon another's space, she locked up at once, hoping they would somehow turn the other away and forget about her. Instead, they stopped just past the front door, mere feet away from their source. He didn't open it to answer her right away. They both just stood there, separated by a flimsy barrier of wood, soaking in the still respite, letting the air settle between them.

Only then did Tray reveal himself.

They took a single moment to regard each other, and Irina tensed up just at the sight of him. The two weeks she'd spent obsessing uncontrollably over him were already coloring their reunion, something his current attire wasn't helping at all. He wasn't in much of anything today -- just a tank top and basketball shorts. It was even more...casual than the outfit he'd worn during his last visit, and her wanting body immediately appreciated it. The top was just a little too small, revealing a sliver of midriff alongside his arms, and no one as endowed as him could ever hope to properly hide themselves in shorts, no matter how loose they were. Not that he'd ever once intended to.

Her gaze wandered up to his face, and as always, she was taken aback by its uncanny allure. He'd clearly just been sweating, but that somehow only intensified it. His bangs were slightly wet and frizzled, falling messily over his piercing eyes, and little beads shimmered in his clean stubble like jewels.

She still didn't get it. How was this older man so perfectly crafted? He shouldn't have been able to pull off that attire, but her body absolutely approved. In hindsight, she struggled to understand how she resisted him when they first met. That feeble resistance she'd once mounted was becoming harder and harder to recall.

But it wasn't gone completely. That was, paradoxically, why she was here.

So that she could be happy for Flin. Yes, that was it.

Little did she know that as she toiled with herself, Tray was doing the same, though his perfect poker face did well to conceal it. She was extra stunning today, and that wasn't just the two weeks talking. She was done up in a slit sundress and everything, no longer bothering to be even the slightest bit modest. This was practically lingerie -- her hips split the part far wider than intended, juxtaposing her soft, milky skin against the red fabric.

It was all he could do to stare in that moment. Already he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and hoist her to his bed, but he contained himself. Two weeks was two weeks, after all. This wouldn't be worth it if he didn't savor every second.

After letting the silence between them sit, he was the one to break it. He threw his arms wide open and took her in a hug before she could react. "Rina! I didn't expect you so soon! It's so good to see you again!"

She yelped as her feet left the ground, her whole body pressing tight against his. His grip, as usual, was firm but not crushing. His musk, fresh from sweat yet sweetened by deodorant, filled her nose. She felt like a cat being cuddled against its will, but at the same time, the feeling was far from unwelcome. "W-we agreed to meet at one, though..."

How she managed to even shakily question him in this position, she had no idea. Her pussy was screaming at her by this point. It screamed even more as he slowly let her down.

"Ah. That's right. I always show up fashionably late to everything," he mused. He gestured inside, his smile almost glowing. "Come in, come in! Dinner's not quite ready yet, but make yourself home in the meantime."

He retreated to the foyer, leaving the door open. Her conscience and womb tugged against each other so hard she felt she'd be ripped in half. Ultimately, however, the latter won out, and she followed into the dragon's den.

Deep breaths.

Just like she'd done a thousand times before.

It backfired. The moment she crossed underneath the threshold, an absolutely divine aroma hit her. Something savory yet not too powerful wafted through the halls, alluring even over Tray's scent. He really was serious about this whole dinner thing, it seemed.

As he led her through the many rooms on the first floor of his house, she couldn't help but boggle at how odd their layouts were for someone so rich. There were so many, and they were all so big, but he owned so little in the way of decoration. The few furnishings he did have were as black and gray as the corporate entity he owned -- a 100-inch flatscreen, a black leather sofa, black coffee and side tables, gray carpet... It was like all the color had been sucked out of the place, which was confusing given how distinctly Tray tended to dress. This went a bit beyond minimalist.

Then again, it made sense the more she thought about it. Despite his age and attractiveness, there was only one car in the lot, and he seemed alone. If he could stick with just one woman, she would fix this bland place up in a heartbeat.

Just as she was about to tune out her surroundings, a glint of metal caught the corner of her eye. She paused midstep and realized it was the gym, chock-full of weights, exercise machines, and equipment she didn't even know the purpose of. This was the only place where Tray's musk rose above the delectable, meaty scent in the kitchen.

She gulped. It was also where he sculpted that body of his.

Tray noticed that she'd stopped following him to the dining room and chuckled. "You actually caught me right as I was finishing up my last set. I'm gonna take a shower upstairs real quick before dinner, but you can use this room if you'd like. Though you'll be getting a workout in a few minutes anyway..."

She glared back at him. She hated how smug he always was. She hated that it worked.

"I didn't come here for 'dinner,' Tray," she huffed. The aroma tickled her nose again. "Just...just let me in the shower with you. Let's get this over with already. Please."

She tried to avert her gaze from him, but he took her by the chin and turned it back up. A full body tremor took her from head to toe. "Now, now, baby. Hold your horses. I know you're starved, but we haven't seen each other for weeks. Let's take our time with this. You'll appreciate it -- trust me."

Her pussy hummed in agreement, and she had no choice but to begrudgingly go along with it.

He sat her down in the dining room, then hurried upstairs just as he said he would. As she listened to the water start running above her, she looked around the room and frowned. It was the only one so far to have any character whatsoever. There was an old liquor cabinet and grandfather clock nestled in one corner, both bathed in rustic lighting by the chandelier. The dining table beneath it was complete with candles, folded napkins, a bottle of champagne, and likely the nicest china he owned. It was nice, but it clashed hard with the rooms just outside. Irina could literally turn and see the abrupt cutoff. This place was a ruse meant solely to impress.

Her unease faded when Tray finally came back after fifteen minutes or so. He was dressed properly in a suit, and he even had a red rose pinned to his coat, which did earn a scoffing puff of a laugh from her. He returned a smile as he passed her by into the kitchen, and she squirmed in her seat. She wanted him to take her now, but the smell coming from that room was almost equally as irresistible. He reemerged holding two large plates, setting one down in front of her. "I hope you're hungry."

She looked down, inspecting the meal: pot roast, potatoes, and carrots, each glistening in a generous slathering of broth. Steam rose from the plate, infiltrating her nostrils once again, more fiercely this time. She couldn't wrap her head around it -- she'd made pot roasts more times than she could count, and it was far from her favorite meal, but she was confident in admitting she'd never smelled anything better. As she pondered this, Tray poured them both a glass of wine with a victorious smirk, then sat down in front of his own plate -- right next to her.

She glanced at him apprehensively. He scooted closer to her in response. "What? Don't tell me you've got a problem with me sitting next to younow."

She rolled her eyes, but her attention quickly turned back to the dinner. She felt his eyes on her as she took her first bite. She chewed, and chewed, and chewed...

And then took another. And another.

She couldn't stop.

In truth, it wasn't fitting for a dinner date at all. The taste wasn't subtle in the slightest. But to his credit, this man could cook.

He must've seen her expression. Not that she minded. She could always appreciate skill in this aspect, even if it came from someone she hated. "Good, right? Discovered this little recipe way back in college. Well...at least I 'discovered' how to actually follow directions. It was my mother's brainchild. Just stick a chuck roast in a pot with beef broth and every fancy seasoning you can find, shove it in the oven, and you get this. Fed me and pa real nice."

"Your mom was a cook?" The question came out before she could stop it. She couldn't resist when it came to matters like this -- or, perhaps, being in this position just disarmed her. It had been a long time since she had been the one served instead of serving.

"Ooooh, yeah. Would've given you a run for your money, even, if I do say so myself. Although, pa never much gave her the respect she deserved..."

"Hm." Her little grunt damned the room back to the tense ticking of the grandfather clock as she sank into deep thought.

You're not here to get to know him,her conscience blared. She heard it loud and clear, but her aroused, interested mind only settled on a half-measure.

"You're one to talk about respect. You ever think you took too much after him?"

"All the time," he said without a hint of shame. "Like him, I can't really help myself around beautiful women. I suppose I should thank the bastard for that."

"That wasn't a compliment. God, how did you even get like this...?"

"I come from money. Pa made it big in the stock market, and I followed suit. Your husband's company ain't my first rodeo, baby."

She balked, not knowing what to say at first. After a few more bites, she set her fork down and went on in a low voice. "I don't come from money. Flin didn't either. But we're both successful now, so I think you're full of shit. Money doesn't make you a bad person."

"Ha! I suppose you're right. After all, you are here... By your own volition..."

She gaped at him indignantly, but she couldn't find an answer for that no matter how hard she tried.

"Look," he sighed. "Loving sex doesn't make you a monster, Rina. It makes you human. And if there's one thing I've learned in my life so far, it's that women never meet the man that makes them human. That makes them alive."

"Shut up. I was living perfectly well before you came along. Flin's good enough for me." She regretted her choice of words as soon as they left her mouth, sensing the trap too late.

"'Good enough,' yes. But you've never screamed for him the way you did for me, have you? None of them do. I was just born gifted, Rina. I was born better. And there's nothing wrong with that."

She kept eating, trying to ignore him. It was no use talking to him -- appealing to his sympathy just made him dig his heels into the ground harder. He was too old, too stubborn to change his ways.

What was worse was that she didn't want him to.

"And speaking of the others... I heard you had a run-in with Maddie yesterday. Do try to be easier on her. The girl's more sensitive than she looks, you know."

"I don't care what happens to that bitch. She's as guilty as you are."

"As you are," he countered.

Once again, she was stumped. All she could do was go to take another comfort bite of his pot roast; however, as soon as she did, he fork clinked against the plate, finding nothing.

He gestured to her champagne. "Go on. Wash it down."

She grabbed the glass to take a sip at first but froze mid-motion, scrunching her face to take a cautious sniff.

Tray just laughed. "Oh, please! I'm about to fuck the shit out of you in my bed, Rina. What use is there in using such an underhanded tactic now of all times? I like when my women actually want me."

Her body rumbled at the simple yet incomparably lecherous statement.

Hiswomen.

The idea used to disgust her. Now, after going so far with him, it seemed scarily natural. As if a man like him deserved as many as he wanted.

She downed her entire glass in a few gulps, then slammed it down on the table next to her empty plate. With nothing left to occupy herself with, her heat was free to wreak as much havoc on her brain as it wanted. She could do nothing but wait patiently for Tray to finish his meal, not having anything more to say. The shape he'd imprinted deep within her throbbed wantonly, seeking him more than ever. Her eyes drifted beneath the table to his already swelling bulge, and she had to resist the gravity pulling at her hand to join in.

By the time she looked back up at his face, he had finished his own plate and glass of champagne and was focused entirely on her. He laid a hand gently on her shoulder, ushering her up to her feet along with him. Her heart tremored. Her pussy ached like mad.

Right away, their hands got to work -- his, slipping into her dress's slit to fondle her butt, and hers, rubbing up and down the rapidly growing distension in his pants. She was the first to relent to the pleasure. She shivered, stopping her work and coiling her arms around him, breathing heavily into his rippling abs as his strong hands kneaded her ass.

Eventually, he, too, paused, resting his palms on both cheeks with a tense, reluctant grip. She could feel him trembling, too. She could feel him losing control.

In, and out.

They stared straight into each other's eyes, neither of them saying a word for a whole minute at least. Her head spun the longer it went on. She doubted she even needed the alcohol.

Then, after prepping her as easily as he had any other, he leaned down and muttered huskily in her ear.

"Why don't we take this upstairs?"

===

"Oh, fuck-! Mmmmph!"

Irina's face hit the mattress as the strength in her arms gave out. Tray's grip around her waist only tightened, letting him fuck her even harder. "Yeah... You like that, don't you?"

It was a good thing her words and moans were muffled by the sheets.

She did.

Oh,god,she did. And right then, as she arched her back for him and hit another climax, she would've said it.

She'd underestimated how good having him inside her again would feel. The dreams gnawing away at her mind didn't even come close. Her pussy welcomed his girth back like a long lost keepsake, and though she'd already taken him before, she clung to him even tighter. Her body didn't want this feeling to ever go away. Naturally, this coaxed no small amount of pleasured sounds and twitches from Tray, which, in turn, only spurred her on more.