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They can joke about secret desires all they want, but none of them will ever truly know how agonizing it is to keep yours in forever because mine will never, ever come out. I won’t let it.
And she does, but it’s not enough to drown out the sounds of the woman in the next room. The one I should not be hearing, thinking about, or getting off to.
How could I promise one person that I would love only them for the rest of my life? How on earth could anyone make that promise? Like we can see the future. Like any of us knows what’s waiting around the corner.
When I met him, I was a doe-eyed seventeen-year-old virgin. He was a twenty-three-year-old tattoo-covered criminal who did what he had to, to survive. We came from two different sides of town, two different worlds, two different paths. But those paths became one, and although our histories were different, our futures were the same.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I know the reason I let her cry out is because I want him to hear it. Not because I’m showing off but because, in some way, I feel like he should be involved too. He always is, where she and I are concerned.
“Maybe the reason my marriage is so sacred to you is because you’ve always been a part of it. And maybe what I’m asking you isn’t so crazy, after all.”
“Did he touch you?” he asks. I nod. His fingers tighten. “Did you like it?” My heartbeat picks up speed as I nod again. Pulling me even closer, he takes my bottom lip between his teeth, biting enough to make it hurt, and I whimper against his mouth. “Then, be a good little slut and take out my cock, Isabel.”
“You can be rough with her,” Hunter says from his place across the room. “She likes it.”
Not a moment in our ten-year relationship have I ever felt an ounce of anything missing. Not love or attention or lust or desire. Hunter signed over his entire soul to me the day we got married, and I hold it dearly, like it’s my own.
