"Martha," I said, trying to pull back. "Maybe you've had enough . . ."
She turned abruptly and pulling my head with one hand, kissed me hard on the mouth while her other hand groped between my legs! I struggled free but she pushed me down.
"Please, Ben. I need you!" She tried to put my hand on her breast.
"Martha, you're drunk!" I stood up but she did as well and grabbed me in a tight hug.
"That bastard Quinn left me here all alone and I have needs . . ."
"Martha, I'm married. I love my wife." I held both her hands in mine. "You don't want to do this; you never cheated on Quinn; you told me so."
"It won't mean anything, Ben. Fuck it; I don't care anymore. You've wanted this all your life; admit it. Just this once; just now, then you can go back to Betsy. I won't tell." The baby monitor crackled to life with a sharp cry. "Oh, god!" she said, flopping down on the sofa and looking up the stairs.
"Claire, honey, you're such a dream baby; please, not now. Martha downed the rest of her glass, rose and stumbled up the stairs. I followed.
I had not been to the second floor in the LeBlanc's house. Claire's crib, not in her nursery, was in the corner of the master bedroom, next to a large king size bed. Martha lifted her daughter from her crib, cuddled her briefly, and sat in a corner rocker. In a single motion, she tugged open her robe and nightgown, baring both breasts, pressing Claire to her right side. I turned away, about to leave the room.
"Stay. Please." I did so, until Claire was sated and burped. Martha made no move to cover herself. She remained by the bed, tears seeping down her cheeks. Giving birth had no way diminished her beauty.
"Go to bed, Martha. I'll stay the night; downstairs." I turned and left the room with my friend weeping on the bed.