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eBook Category: Erotica
eBook Description: A weekend trip to Carlsbad Caverns turns into Melanie's Brook's own sexual odyssey when sexy biker Jake Marrs ignites a passion she believed long dead. Can Jake master her wanton desire the same way he's conquered the desert highways?

eBook Publisher: Whispers Publishing, Published: 2006, 2006
Fictionwise Release Date: December 2006

14 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [383 KB], eReader (PDB) [108 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [81 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [72 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [141 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [141 KB], hiebook (KML) [219 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [151 KB], iSilo (PDB) [66 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [83 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [144 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [113 KB]
Words: 24593
Reading time: 70-98 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

It's amazing how easily our lives can be dismantled, torn down and put away in boxes, Melanie thought as she folded and packed away the last few pieces of clothing lying on the bed.

With a sigh, she smoothed out the wrinkles on one of Phil's shirts. She'd picked this one out. Was that why he'd left it behind? He no longer wanted the things she'd contributed to his life? So it seemed. She ran her hands over the fabric, enjoying the feel of the cotton under her palms. The shirt was one of her favorites, and it was easy to remember how her husband had looked wearing it. Absolutely fabulous. How well it had fit over his broad shoulders, its crisp style and bold color only serving to accentuate his sandy blond hair and deeply tanned skin. More than good-looking, Phillip Brooks was model handsome.

And for eighteen years he'd been hers.

But no longer.

Now they were separated. And it was breaking her heart. Her mouth twisted at the ease with which she recalled every detail of their recent arguments.

Trying not to think about the bitter scenes that had passed between them, her thoughts returned to the many boxes she'd been packing lately. Interesting to think how boxes represented and contained people's lives. Boxes carried pieces of yourself from place to place, to be rearranged to fit your life. She remembered the boxes she'd packed when she moved out of her childhood home and into her first apartment with the man she'd eventually marry. Young and desperate to escape her parents and the hate they'd developed for each other, moving in with Phil seemed heaven sent. In retrospect, she would come to believe she'd jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. It only took hindsight for her to figure it out.

Time had passed and more boxes had come into her life. Nine years ago, they'd moved into this house. Those boxes had been so full of happiness, hope and pride. Life was good for them, was getting better all the time. Phil had graduated, and his practice was really starting to take off. The struggle, it seemed, was all behind them. They were young, in love, and had a blooming future.

But her dreams were gone now, and in their place was cold, hard reality. Her lips pressed tighter together as resentment wound itself around her heart. Now, the boxes are being packed again, but only one of us is leaving.

That's what she was doing today. Boxing up the last few remnants of his life in their--now her--house. She supposed they'd have to sell it. The house had four big bedrooms, not to mention an exercise room with an attached sauna and Jacuzzi. It was too big for one person. Though they'd been trying to talk their way through a tentative reconciliation, they weren't really getting very far. For two people who'd been together for so long, they had little to say to each other. Married too young, they'd grown up and grown apart.

Phil was the one who had chosen to walk out. How easily he seemed to be adjusting to the transition. For her? It was sheer hell. Finito? For him, yes. Sometimes it seemed like she'd been blown to bits by a bomb, only her brain wasn't registering any pain. Deep down the hurt was there, but she was numb, absolutely numb. Sooner or later the pain was going to hit. And when it did, she'd feel every bit of it. Right now she was only doing what she needed to do, functioning..

Boxes also reminded her of coffins. She wanted to crawl in one the day Phil had told her, quite calmly over dinner, that he was leaving her for another woman.

No, she thought. It isn't me who belongs in a coffin. It's Phil. Him and his twenty-one-year-old slut, Tammi.

Tammi with an 'I', not a 'Y'. Tammi with her pert, upturned nose and her perky tits, the nose and tits that Melanie's plastic-surgeon hubby had constructed.

"A forty-one-year-old man running after an ex-patient," she fumed, jealousy stabbing at her heart with its sharp, poisonous blade. "That little girl is barely old enough to drive, much less know what love is. It's obscene for a man that old to be running around with a girl barely out of her teens."

An angry tear trickled down her cheek. She swiped it away with an impatient hand. At thirty-seven, she felt older than dirt. Useless. Worthless. For the thousandth time, she wondered what she'd done wrong, why she hadn't been able to keep her man satisfied at home instead of having him wander off sniffing out younger pussy at work

It wasn't as if she was fat or frumpy. She'd never had kids and had kept herself slim, trim, and firm. She swam, played tennis at the country club--she worked to make herself attractive. Her shoulder-length blond hair was fashionably streaked and styled, her nails beautifully manicured. She wore her make-up in a subtle fashion, not painted onto her skin the way some women wore it. She believed that she'd been the picture-perfect wife in every way. Supportive and loving; a lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedroom. What more had he wanted? How exciting could a marriage be after eighteen years?

Of course, she knew the answer. Phil wanted something fresh, new and exciting--

Something out of the ordinary, a break from the same-old routine. He'd even gone so far as to suggest a partner swap with some of their friends. When she'd vetoed that idea, he'd tried to wheedle her into a threesome with the man or woman of her choice. Again, she'd held her ground and said no. She'd believed their sex life was fine. Trouble was, Phil didn't. He liked sex. Anytime, anywhere. And when he couldn't get what he wanted at home, he went looking elsewhere. More than once, he'd taken a lover. But he'd never before given any indication that he'd be willing to bust up their marriage. Until Tammi came into his life.

And so he walked out on me.

It wasn't the first time a marriage had grown stale, that partners had grown apart. Happened every day and the divorce courts across the nation were clogged with similar sad stories. People simply got bored with each other. The heat had gone--the fire burned to ashes. Their marriage hadn't ended with a bang or a whimper, just a sad sigh.

If I had said yes, would he have stayed? Or would I have been delaying the inevitable? With hindsight, she realized that there had been something wrong with their marriage for a long time; that he had been spending less and less time at home with her. She wanted to believe that it really was the pressures of his work. In the back of her mind, though, she knew the bombshell was coming, that Phil didn't really love her anymore, didn't want her anymore. No, there were other women in his life ... and he'd finally met the one for whom he wanted his freedom.

Unable to stop herself, Melanie picked up his shirt and pressed it to her face. Though freshly laundered, she thought she could smell his masculine scent still trapped in its fibers, the lingering scent of his tangy aftershave. Without thinking about it, she lifted her tank top over her head, let it drop to the floor then slipped into his shirt. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that Phil was pressing his body against hers.

Even though they were separated, she still dreamed about him, about making love to him. And when she awoke, her body's response to those images was so acute and so sharp that it was impossible to believe that it was all just a dream. It was almost as if her subconscious was trying to will him to come back to her.

He said he wanted to see another man make love to me. What would that have been like, having another man put his hands on my body? It was a fantasy of his. I remember how he'd whisper it in my ear as he touched me.

Cupping her breasts through the material, she ran her thumbs over her nipples, enjoying the feel of the pebbled tips. Closing her eyes, she pushed the material aside and began to trace the pink aureoles with the soft pads of her fingers. As a doctor, a surgeon, Phil had great hands, and he handled her breasts as if they were something precious, squeezing them gently as his fingers worked their way to her hard nipples. It felt so good when he made love to them. When he touched her, the sensation ran all the way down her body, to between her legs.

Imagining that her hands were his, she rubbed her breasts and sighed softly. It was easy to remember their wild lovemaking, the way he'd assume control of her body. She loved it when he circled her nipples with his tongue. The sensation of a man suckling at the hard tips could make her climax.

Almost panting from the memories playing across her mind's screen, Melanie's hands traced over her flat belly, her hands sneaking between her legs until her fingers were stroking hard against the crotch of her shorts. She was so wet that the material slipped between her lips and rubbed against her clit.

Memories drifted in and out of her mind as she touched herself, whispering silken promises, and her body started to relax. Phil had often told her that she was unbelievably sensual and when he said it his eyes would light up with passion, revealing to her how much he enjoyed that side of her personality. It was an aspect she'd never suspected existed inside her until she'd met him, something she'd shared with him and him alone. It was as though her love for her husband gave her the freedom and confidence to show him all the gifts of womanhood.

Lost in her fantasies, she didn't hear the door downstairs open, the footsteps coming up the stairs, or the bedroom door swing open. A man's voice sounded behind her.