Rated M for Language and Mature Sexual Content
II. The Accused
He should have been working. Filing papers, bossing his secretary around, making important phone calls. He should have been doing anything but think about her.
Dragging both hands through his hair, Trunks leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, thankful he was alone. It was only when he was alone that he would allow himself to behave like this, to drop his defenses and think about this woman who was slowly beginning to work her way into his dreams.
That wasn't good.
Married men were suppose to dream about their wives, not about the sexy women they were fucking on the side. And fucking was really the only word for it. They never made love and they certainly weren't in love. Trunks loved his wife, but lust was a totally different issue. It was like the difference between hot and cold.
Marron Briefs was the picture of a perfect wife. She was beautiful, faithful, smart, funny, and she loved him.
Pan Son was the picture of a perfect mistress. She was sexy, racy, smart, funny, adventurous, and she wanted him for nothing more than his body. And it was this fact that made him want her so desperately, made him fantasize about her while he should have been working.
Pan was the opposite to Marron and a mirror of himself as he had once been; rebellious, cocky, and hungry for nothing more than a quick fuck with no strings attached. Then Marron had waltzed into his life, all flowers and honey. She had showed him the softer side of sex and relationships and had ultimately showed him how to fall in love.
He didn't regret marrying Marron, he had convinced himself of that. He was in love with her and it was pure infatuation that drove him back to Pan. There had never been a time when he had considered leaving his wife for Pan. Not only did Trunks not want that, but neither did Pan. The city's leading prosecuting attorney didn't have time for complicated relationships. Her job ruled her life and that was the way she wanted it. Heating the sheets with the world's richest man was just for fun.
And that was all he wanted as well, Trunks told himself as he scrubbed his hands over his face. Any man in his right mind would want the same thing from Pan. She was exceptional in bed, willing to try something new, and she certainly didn't object to fucking in a dirty old warehouse on an uncomfortable mattress.
Marron was beautiful and Pan was sexy.
Trunks hadn't realized there was a difference until he had started his affair with Pan.
He remembered how they had met. It had been through Marron, which made him laugh now. His wife had introduced them at one of those fancy parties that he hated attending but was often forced to do so to keep up his image. He supposed that Marron had befriended Prosecuting Attorney Pan Son in hopes that if Trunks's company ever got tangled up with the law he'd have a way of squeezing out of it without much trouble.
It would pay to have the city's leading PA in his pocket. But it was even better to have her in his pants.
Trunks could remember her exactly as she was that night, a glass of champagne in her hand, her hair pulled up in some fancy twist, framing her face and teasing her shoulders where it had been let down. She had been wearing green, a forest green dress with that naughty slit up her right leg. It reached her hip, if he remembered correctly; and it was the first place that had drawn his eyes after he had managed to get past her face.
Those cat-like eyes, outlined in smoky black and deep green to match her dress. Her lips had been painted with a simple gloss, and had a sharper look to them than his wife's did. They were the kind of lips that always seemed to be smirking, the kind of lips that could find that certain spot and make a man shiver.
She was shorter than his wife, but they were both equally as slender, though Pan's physique and posture screamed athlete. Marron was slim in the rich type of way, taught how to present herself and told how she should look. Pan was different. Her style was roguish compared to other women at the party she radiated sexuality, whilst the other women had been more subdued.
He remembered that she had been dateless, the only one at the party who had come alone. She pulsed with confidence beneath the sexuality, and that was another thing which had attracted him to her.
They had shaken hands, holding on for seconds longer than was necessary, had barely had to make eye contact to know what each thought of the other. But Marron had noticed nothing, she had always trusted her husband.
They had both heard of each other before, seen each other on television countless times. Pan's business was murder and his was money. She preferred dealing with criminals, she had told him when Marron had left them to chat. She thought it was more exciting, you could never get bored when you were dealing with a man who had blood on his hands.
And he wouldn't forget the first time he had made her laugh, that smokey chuckle that seemed to hang in the hair, seducing you and fogging your mind until you couldn't think straight anymore.
It had only been hours after they had met each other that were fucking against the door of his hotel room, unable to make it to the bed.
Marron had gone home, leaving Trunks in the city as he had a meeting to attend to early that morning.
It had made him feel reckless, to have his way with a woman he barely knew, to tear her clothes away and put his hands on her body, make her moan his name.
Trunks couldn't remember how many times they had done it, the sessions blurred together. He only knew that he had slept very little and went to his meeting feeling very tired but oddly relaxed. He had barely felt guilty for cheating on Marron, the sex had been too good to feel guilty about. Of course he knew that he shouldn't have done it, but he certainly didn't regret it.
Pan had been adventurous, even dominant on that night, whispering things that Marron would never even think, letting him take her in positions that would make Marron blush.
He made love to Marron, but he certainly fucked Pan.
That had been six months ago. They had continued seeing each other sporadically so Marron wouldn't pick up on a pattern. He often did have late nights at the office, as his work was demanding. Marron had never questioned any of them.
Trunks's intercom beeped at that moment, jerking him from his reverie.
"What?" he snapped as he slammed his finger onto the call button.
"Your wife is here to see you, Mr. Briefs," came his secretary's voice, smooth and calm as always, unperturbed by his snappish demands.
"Send her in," Trunks said, forcing himself to calm down. He was thinking about fucking Pan while his wife was on her way to see him. Lovely.
He stood up and straightened his blazer, ready to welcome Marron with a kiss. However, he sat down again when Marron breezed in, temper etched across her face. She slammed the door and glared at him for a moment.
Trunks opened his mouth, then closed it again, deciding it was best not to speak. Marron was angry, that much he gathered from the icy glint in her blue eyes and the thin line her lips had formed. So instead of speaking he tried a smile.
"Don't try to charm your way out of this, Trunks," Marron snapped, stepping away from the door and approaching his desk. The smile slipped from his lips and he cleared his throat, racking his brain for some occasion that he might have missed. Discovering none, he spoke.
"What's wrong, Marron?"
"You know damn well what's wrong, Trunks," she sneered, suddenly reminding him of Pan. Marron scarcely lost her temper, and it had been ages since he had seen fire smouldering in her eyes.
"No, darling, I don't think I do," he said calmly, not getting up from his seat but watching her closely from where he sat. He was tense, worried about what her last words might mean. But she couldn't know about Pan, they had been too careful.
"Don't darling me, Trunks," she spat. "Five a.m. Five a.m. What in Christ's name could you be doing here until five in the fucking morning?" She lifted her arms, a gesture which encompassed his office.
Cursing, another bad sign. Her temper was through the roof and she had resorted to cursing at him. He didn't feel threatened quite yet, though. She may have been spitting fire, but he knew the soft side of his wife too well. Standing there, hair and make-up done, clothes immaculate, flowery scent wafting towards him, Marron Briefs appeared anything but threatening.
"I had a conference via phone in America, Marron. You know what the time difference is, it's the other side of the damn world," he said, doing his best to sound irritated. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "You know my job is demanding, you accepted that when you married me."
"Well it was a hell of a lot less demanding when we were newlyweds." She was close to yelling now. "These late nights have become more frequent and they're later every time. Christ, maybe I should just move in here with you, then maybe I'd get to see you for more than a few hours a day."
There was hurt smouldering under the anger now and Trunks felt the sharp pangs of guilt in his gut. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. But he was snapped from his thoughts in a few seconds, when Marron spoke again, her voice low and icy now.
"I don't even know if this where you are during all those late nights. Maybe you're out fooling around–"
"I WOULDN'T LIE TO YOU!" he yelled, leaping from his seat. Marron didn't flinch, but merely stared back at him, anger and hurt simmering in her eyes.
They stared at each other for several moments, neither daring to speak. Then Marron nodded slowly, still not breaking eye contact.
"Yeah, we'll see about that," she whispered, then she turned and strolled out of his office without a backward glance.
Trunks remained standing, even after his office door had slammed shut. Then he dropped back into his seat. He rubbed his temples, realizing his mistake.
His meetings with Pan had become more frequent. He was always desperate to see her, just as he had before Marron had showed u today. He had been arranging their meetings more often over the last month, still sporadically, but more often. A week, ten days, six days, four days. It had started out as a monthly thing, and now they were seeing each other on nearly a weekly basis.
Though it still shouldn't have raised Marron's suspicions that much. He often did need to stay at the office several nights a week in order to close business deals and check up on his companies on the other side of the planet. But those meeting rarely ran past one a.m. He supposed last time had been the final straw for Marron. He and Pan hadn't parted ways until nearly four a.m., and then it had taken him close to an hour to drive home. He should have left when Pan had said that Marron was probably getting worried.
That meeting had been spur of the moment and it had been past twelve when they had finally met. He had been wanting her all day and had made the late phone call to suggest the meeting. She had pretended to be annoyed, but he knew she wouldn't say no.
He heaved a sigh, wishing desperately for a cigarette. His gaze fell on the phone, and after several minutes of struggling with himself, he snatched up the receiver and dialed the number.
A deafening silence engulfed the room as it rang. Then the connection clicked on.
"Counselor, we need to talk."
---
Trunks sat at the sticky bar, tapping the ashes of his cigarette into an already overflowing ashtray. The barman was missing several teeth and was polishing a glass with a rag that look as though it had never been washed.
It was mid-afternoon and the crowd was sparse, though Trunks was sure the dingy pub wouldn't have been packed regardless of the occasion. A grubby looking, unshaven man sat in a booth at the far end of the pub, his stained ball cap pulled low and his greasy hands cupping the tall glass of beer; the plastic jug sat next to him on the table, half-empty.
The other occupants included a middle-aged couple who were arguing over money in whispers in a booth near the door, a greying man who was mumbling into his scotch at the far end of the bar, and Trunks himself, looking seriously out of place in his pressed suit.
He took a long drag from his cigarette as the barman continued to polish the same glass with the filthy rag and stare at Trunks through narrowed eyes.
The door of the pub creaked open and Trunks glanced over as he exhaled. Pan stood in the doorway, dressed in a black suit and heels. The only color in her outfit was the sunset orange blouse she wore beneath the blazer. Her dark eyes traveled around the pub, eyebrows raised in detached interest. Her gaze fell onto Trunks and she shot him a dry smile before she approached, her heels clicking across the scarred hardwood floor.
She slid onto the stool next to him, placing her purse on the bar. Her dark eyes fell on the barman, who had stopped polishing his glass and was currently surveying Pan with interest.
"Classy place," she said dryly, turning to Trunks. "You keep pampering me like this and I might ask you to leave Marron."
"That's what I'm here to talk to you about, Counselor," he said, stamping out the butt of his cigarette before pulling another from the package that sat in front of him on the bar.
"You're chain smoking," she said, watching him. "You only do that when you're pissed off." She looked up and down the bar, studied the dusty bottles that lined the wall in front of her. "Do you think they have anything to drink in this place that won't poison me?" she asked him, obviously unconcerned that he wanted to talk about Marron.
"She accused me of cheating when she barged into my office this morning."
"Hm," she murmured, eyeing the scotch through narrowed eyes. "It's a good thing we weren't fucking on your desk, then."
Trunks rolled his eyes and exhaled his smoke in Pan's face. She gagged, coughed, and glared at him through watery eyes. "Alright, keep that cancer to yourself. So she accused you of fooling around, I can assume you denied it."
"Of course I denied it," he said, taking another heavy drag. "That doesn't mean she believed me. She said we'll see about that." Her words were still echoed through his mind and the chill in her voice made him want to shiver.
"Wow, a threat. I didn't know Marron was capable of threatening anyone, especially her rich husband," Pan said, still sounding thoroughly unconcerned to Trunks's ears. "It's your precious little wife we're talking about here, Trunks. She's not going to run to the media and announce that she thinks her husband is fucking around on her. If your image gets sucked down the toilet hers goes with it. She has no proof, Trunks, there isn't really much she can do. I think you're overreacting."
She was indulging him because he had been worried, and he appreciated that. She did have a point, though. Marron had no proof that he was fooling around on her, and going to the media with an accusation like that would be bad for the both of them. But still. . .
He took a long drag from his cigarette, willing himself to calm down. For once smoking wasn't settling his nerves.
"Please remember this is Marron we're talking about here," Pan said, taking the cigarette from his fingers and stabbing it out in the ashtray. "She organizes and attends charitable auctions for the fun of it. She loves you and your money too much to chance fucking it up over something like this."
Trunks stared at her for a moment. "I'm still not sure, Pan. She sounded serious about digging deeper. Maybe we should. . .stop seeing each other for a while."
She didn't flinch at the suggestion, merely continued to stare at him. Then she slid off her stool and stepped between his legs, placing her hands on his thighs. Her scent filled the air around him, stirring things within him that Macron's flowery smell did not.
"Maybe," she said quietly, "but I doubt it." She kissed him lightly once, twice, then took him deeper with the third one, guiding him in a gut-wrenching kiss, her nails digging gently into his thighs.
"I think we're both in too deep to back out now," she said against his lips, her taste lingering there. Her nails pinched into his thighs once more before she stepped back and grabbed her purse from the bar. "But it's up to you," she said, wetting her lips as she swung the purse over her shoulder and dragged a hand through her hair. "You know how to reach me." She turned and left without a backward glance.
Trunks watched her go, unable to prevent his gaze from trailing to her hips. He sighed again, knowing she was right, and picked up his half-finished cigarette as the pub door shut with a bang.
"Nice ass," the barman said gruffly, and Trunks looked over at him as he flicked his lighter open.
"Don't I know it."
Well, it's been a while and I apologize. November is the month from hell at university and I'm still trying to get my bearings. I'm smack in the middle of exams right now, but I couldn't prevent myself from writing this. So even if I fail math at least I can come home, read this chapter, and feel happy again. I'm very pleased with the way this turned out and I hope you all like it as well.
This whole story is outlined, so hopefully I'll be able to finish it without much trouble. I should have a T/P Christmas one shot posted after I get these exams off my back, so look out for that.