Unfaithful - (Part 2)
At a high school reunion, Jamal finds himself face-to-face with his old crush, Greg Jefferies—a charismatic CEO with a multi-million-dollar baking empire.
Last time on Unfaithful…
At a high school reunion, Jamal finds himself face-to-face with his old crush, Greg Jefferies—a charismatic CEO with a multi-million-dollar baking empire. Sparks fly, and their chemistry erupts into a fiery encounter in a secluded washroom stall.
But beyond the heat lies a deeper challenge: Can Greg convince Jamal to abandon his untamed, promiscuous ways? Or will their passion only fuel Jamal’s insatiable desire for more?
"Why did I ever agree to bring you along?"
My sweaty palms gripped the steering wheel tighter as I cut a glance at Shayla rummaging through her purse for lipstick.
"I hear you. There is no need for the dagger eyes," she shot back, smirking as she swiped a crimson streak across her lips.
Shayla was my best girlfriend, who has stuck with me since college. We met when I was the wide-eyed small-town boy, fresh in a new city, new school, and entirely out of my element.
Our origin story was legendary—we still laughed about when I mistakenly wandered into the women’s restroom and found Shayla powdering her nose. She’d chased me out with a plunger, and somehow, from that chaos, we became inseparable.
"Are you even watching the road?"
I nodded, taking a curve a little too sharply, which sent Shayla bouncing against the passenger-side window.
"Oh, you’re real funny."
"I try," I replied, turning the windshield wipers up a notch. The weatherman’s promise of clear skies was as reliable as a used-car salesman.
Rain poured relentlessly as we sped toward Montgomery for my high school band reunion. We were late for cocktail hour but might make dinner.
"Jamal, honey, I’d rather get there alive than not at all," Shayla griped. "And why didn’t we just fly the whole way down?"
"Cheaper to fly into Atlanta and drive the rest," I explained, feeling defensive.
"You’re such a cheap bastard," she teased with a laugh. "I could’ve bought the tickets and flown us first class."
"Careful with money, not cheap," I corrected, though her laughter said she didn’t buy it.
The truth was that people assumed being a lawyer meant rolling in dough. Meanwhile, I was barely scraping by. Things needed to change, and tonight could be the spark I needed.
Shayla flipped down the visor mirror as we pulled into the hotel parking lot. "Go ahead, I’ll catch up."
The music thumped through the walls as I navigated the dimly lit hallway, my heart pounding harder with each step. At the check-in table, two women in hotel polos greeted me. I exchanged pleasantries, scanned the room, and sat at the far end.
When Shayla finally strolled in, heads turned, as they always did. Her presence was magnetic.
"You’re catching eyes," I teased, standing to pull out her chair.
"They can look, but they can’t touch this thickness, honey," she quipped, settling in.
"See him yet?" she asked, leaning in.
I shook my head and kept scanning the room. There he was—Greg Jefferies, leaning casually against the bar.
"How do I look?" I asked, adjusting my tie as my nerves ramped up.
"Relax. Just go say hello."
Before I could protest, Shayla had me by the arm, dragging me to the bar. I barely had time to resist before I found myself on the stool beside him.
"Greg," I started, tapping him on the shoulder.
Greg was still running his family’s bread empire—a success story I’d always admired. He smelled like cedar and spice; his deep laugh was just as intoxicating as I remembered. He turned, and his smoky gray eyes locked with mine momentarily.
"Jamal? Is that you?"
"The one and only," I replied, extending a hand.
His handshake was firm, nearly pulling my arm from its socket. "Time’s been good to you," I added, unable to look away.
He smiled. "It’s been a while."
“What are you drinking?"
"Apple martini."
We talked, the conversation flowing as freely as the alcohol. His gaze occasionally wandered, but it always found its way back to me.
“You still have those dimples,” Greg remarked.
“Still here,” I replied, gesturing to my cheek. I leaned in, voice low. "Remember senior year? That band trip to Orlando? I snuck out of my room to come to yours. You were tipsy, and I figured, why not take a shot at the hottest band booster to ever live?"
Greg chuckled, shaking his head. "You were a kid."
"I was legal," I countered, my hand sliding to his knee.
"Why now?" Greg asked, his voice dropping an octave.
I leaned in, my confidence bolstered by nostalgia and desire. "Because some chances are worth taking, even if they’re years late."
As the air thickened between us, I whispered, "Let’s make the night un-funking-believable."
The sharp clunk of my shoes echoed across the tiled hallway as I glanced over my shoulder. The coast seemed clear until a strong hand gripped my wrist, yanking me into the nearest restroom.
Greg's other hand pressed firmly against my throat, his lips crashing against mine. His tongue darted past my parted lips, hungrily exploring, as the scent of his cologne filled the air between us.
There wasn’t much time—just a stolen moment before the evening’s program kicked off. His hands worked with urgency, tugging at my shirt while fumbling to unbuckle my belt.
The intensity in his eyes said it all. No words were needed.
We moved into an empty stall at the far end. I pulled my boxers down as he turned me and pushed me against the wall. His weight bore down against me as he slid his cock up and down the crack of my cheeks and then into my opening. I gasped as he thrust himself fully into me, stretching my walls as I accommodated his thickness.