We needed help conceiving. We asked the wrong man for help.
On paper he was perfect. Rich and handsome and strong and virile. My best friend for decades and the obvious when we found out that I was inherently flawed and couldn’t give my wife the child she wanted. It was him that we turned to for help.
But I forgot what he could do to women. I forgot that he’d proven, time and again, just how capable he was at stealing them away.
The moment I see her melt in his arms I remember everything. I remember that night all those years ago with the other woman I loved. The woman used to be mine, who spent one night in his bed and was lost to me forever.
And I remembered how I watched then. How I just sat back and watched it all unfold in front of me, marveling at the way he could work her body. Amazed at the way that he could satisfy her. Just like I never could.
Tonight it’s going to happen again. Tonight he’s going to steal her from me. Tonight my wife will be pregnant with another man’s child.
And tonight is the last night she’ll ever wear my ring.
Excerpt
I have, at times, contemplated the nature of desire in a way that is almost philosophical. It has occupied me in the way that trauma often does, lingering beneath the surface and forcing a confrontation with a reality that discomforts me.
I am not a philosophical man. I am not a contemplative man. I am a math major and a business major and I failed out any kind of liberal studies class, so maybe that’s why I am so fucking in over my head when it comes to this.
But the question eats away at me. It festers in the heart of me. It curls its talons in, digging them into my heart and making me shudder and sneer at myself.
Why do I need this?
Other questions follow afterward, cascading down one before the other until I am overwhelmed by it. The last time I let myself wonder I was struck by it, struck down by it. I was pulled beneath the waves by an undertow that I only barely got the better of. I knew, then, that if I let it happen again I could lose myself forever.
But then I went and had it happen all over again.
I watch as Ryan lets my wife recover. He doesn’t give her enough time to recover fully, just enough that she isn’t gasping as his hands reach for her and grab her and move her. Enough that she comes back to a sort of half awareness just as he pulls her down to her knees and her eyes flutter open, focusing on the cock that is throbbing hard in front of her.
And everything that happens next is automatic, is instinctual. Parting her lips and tasting him is inevitable.
Don’t ask me how, but I know what his cock looks like. I’ve seen it throbbing hard before, know that it puts me to absolute shame. Even in the dim cold light of the room tonight it looks enormous, far more than I ever thought I could offer or have.
And the reactions that Amanda gives to it, the way it makes her come back to life and makes her moan. The way it makes her heat palpable even from my place across the room. Shows that she feels exactly the same way about things.
Ryan is good to her, at least. He makes good on the unspoken promise to make this a night that she will not regret, even if it’s not the night that she anticipated. When she wraps her lips and her fingers around his shaft and she worships at him, the sounds of her sucking and licking pleasure echoing in the air as she dedicates herself to his pleasure after he gave her his, let me know that the last thing she’ll be able to say is that she didn’t have a good time tonight.
Amanda wants this. Amanda isn’t going to stop this. Amanda needs this, and that need is familiar to me.
My cock is throbbing hard, pulsing in my pants as I squeeze my thighs uncomfortably and stare across the room at my wife on her knees sucking the cock of another man. My hands clench the arms of the chair, my fingers tensing to the beating of my heart which pulses in time to the bobbing of her head. I hear her moan around his cock, I see her shiver and gag a little as she takes him as deep as she possibly can. I hold my breath as she holds her, as she buries all of him in her and then falls back with a giggle while she gulps in air and though she’s breathing I’m not.
Not as she turns suddenly serious, staring up at him and biting her bottom lip in the instant before he decides he’s had enough of her mouth and decides to take more.
Ryan pulls my wife to her feet and he spins her around. He pulls her back against him, his hands roaming possessively up and down her body as he squeezes her breasts and pinches her nipples and bends her over the edge of the bed and lines up to take her hard from behind.
He holds, for an instant, the head of his cock throbbing against the heat of her mound. He waits, but I don’t know what he’s waiting for. He doesn’t move and it takes everything in me not to be the one to beg.