Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 125962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“All good, babe,” he responded, his voice lazy, cheerful and infuriating. “I’ve got a business meeting that will run late. Coffee date tomorrow?” He grinned, showing off straight, white veneers.
My stomach turned, and I nodded once before retreating to the bedroom. The bed wasn’t made. Pete relied on me to do things like that and never acknowledged that I actually did it. He was used to having someone clean up after him, growing up with a maid. Being back in this space didn’t increase my guilt. It only illuminated the lie I’d been living for the past five years.
It didn’t feel like cheating. Not really. Not when the woman lying in bed with Pete was a stranger. A figment I’d constructed when I decided I’d try being normal.
It wasn’t cheating, no.
It was rebirth.
One Week Later
Pete hadn’t tried to touch me all week.
I was glad about it too. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. His familiar, soft, selfish hands going through the motions, only getting me wet enough so he could get inside. Fucking me the same way he had for the past five years. I usually came, but only because my body liked sex, fucking loved it, even mediocre sex, and I was one of the few women who could orgasm from penetration.
At the start of our relationship, we fucked all the time. We were insatiable. I couldn’t get enough of him. As time went on, Pete started getting busier with his businesses, started coming home later and becoming less interested. He wasn’t cheating on me, I knew that much. He’d just gotten far too comfortable. He was on anti-depressants which gave him a low libido, he had a really big dinner, he was tired, he’d just jacked off in the shower because he thought I wasn’t going to be home until late. All kinds of excuses.
We fought about it. When I had the energy.
For the past year, I hadn’t had the energy to fight or to even care.
I got used to it because I figured that’s what happened in relationships. I had an excellent vibrator that more than satisfied me. I fantasized about cheating on him, fucking someone else in our bed until he came home and found us. I did that more and more the less attention he paid to me, the more he started to annoy me with the way he wanted me to shower him in constant approval like I was his fucking mother.
I never did it. There were plenty of things I still liked about the man. He was kind to me, he’d never raise his hand to me, he offered a lifetime of safety and security. He’d helped my mother when I had no other options. I owed him a debt for that. Beyond that, I’d given him my word. That I’d be his wife. And I took my word very fucking seriously.
My word was part of who I was. A keeper of promises. Someone who had a moral compass, who had left her sordid past behind her.
Yet the man whose name I didn’t know had shattered all of that. Stripped away all the goodness from me that had taken years to acquire. He’d obliterated the identity that I’d created, that I’d thought was so solid, but in reality was nothing more than tissue paper.
And I didn’t hate myself. Not even a little.
I stayed awake long after Pete went to sleep and made myself come thinking of his hands on me. Of his dick in my pussy, my ass. His hands around my neck. His arms tight and painful around me as I divulged my deepest secrets. The tenor of his voice as he spoke filthy words while he was pumping inside of me.
My orgasms were nothing compared to what he had created, but they were powerful from the forbidden act of masturbating with my fiancé sleeping beside me while I thought about the man I’d cheated on him with.
I had changed.
Fundamentally, in less than twelve hours. He’d taken me apart and hadn’t given me any tools or instructions on how to put myself back together. Pete didn’t notice. Because he was more withdrawn, narcissistic, than ever.
I barely noticed.
All I thought about was him.
That I didn’t get his name or his phone number.
But I knew where he lived.
Knew that he would be at Bella’s this coming Friday. He’d told me. He hadn’t asked me to meet him there. He’d merely given me the information to do with as I wished. He did not betray whether he wanted me there or not. Though I suspected that if he didn’t want me there, he wouldn’t have said anything at all.
He was cold. And I loved that. Loved that there was a brutality to him. That he was like marble, until he touched me, put his mouth on me. I fucking loved that there was no tender bullshit as he fucked me. No compliments about how beautiful I was or how tight my pussy was, how good I felt.