and reading the Hollow Ridge Post, I headed downstairs. I was a little late to the office, having to handle a few loose ends.”
Her face falls, a little horrified, as if everything she worked to ice over has melted, and she’s showing every expression she wished to hide from me.
“Loose ends?” she strains, pulling her lip between her teeth. At this rate, she’s going to chap it. It’s her biggest tell. She’s beyond upset and on the verge of breaking.
I scratch my head uncomfortably. How do you tell your wife that you cancelled the room you kept for your affairs? Or that you told the women you used to fuck that it wasn’t going to work out and that you loved your wife?
Would she understand?
Would she berate me?
Would I drown because the deep-seated hatred I have for myself overwhelms my very existence?
“That room,” I start. Biting the inside of my cheek, I nearly drawing blood at the pressure. I hate admitting I had my very own sex pad. It’s not exactly something you boast about.
“Yes, your sex dungeon,” she gripes, folding her arms and forcing distance between our bodies.
“I canceled the room today. Called the women to meet up there and told them it wouldn’t be happening again.” Tears spill from her. I want to taste them, see if her pain matches my own.
“Did you fuck anyone of them goodbye?” Her tone is filled to the brim with bitterness. Trying to keep my face neutral instead of bursting like I want to, I cup her chin.
She jerks it away, needing an answer from me.
“I haven’t fucked anyone since that night, Sous. No one.”
Her pained expression is enough to make me hate myself even more. The acrid taste of bile rises, and I’d do anything to ease the distress she’s showing me. I’ve absolutely ruined every shred of trust we had. She can’t even bury that expression from her face, but she shouldn’t have to.
“I don’t believe you,” she says in a broken hushed whisper. Her chest heaves harshly, reminding me of Lo and her panic attacks.
“Joey,” I gently murmur. I need her to look at me, brand me with those eyes of hers, tear me to bits if that helps her, but no matter what, I need her to breathe. “Look at me, sweetheart.” She does. Her forehead scrunched in displeasure. “I told her today that it was over. I didn’t touch her, didn’t say more, and I sure as hell didn’t fuck her.”
She grimaces at the word. How will I ever fix this? What have I done to us?
“Why do I hate you and love you?”
The question throws me off. She still loves me?
“How do I love the hate out of you?”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Past
Joey
“I fucking hate you. You’re such a prick,” I seethe, practically spitting the words at him as we make it to the kitchen. I don’t dare to think of the maids overhearing us because I don’t fucking care who knows how big of a piece of shit he is.
Even if I still love him.
“Do you fuck your husband with that mouth?” he sneers, callous and bastardly as usual.
“Hard to do when he’s dead to me.”
“Are you sure you’re not just jealous that he’s shared his body like you’ve shared yours?” I want to correct him, to yell at him and tell him that I haven’t shared a thing and that he’s the fucking cheat, but I don’t. I think half of it is knowing I deserve this pain since our child died before it got to live. The other part—while small and meager—tells me that if he knew, maybe he’d treat me right.
Maybe this is what we were supposed to be all along—hormones, lust, and simple fucks.
“I’d be jealous, but your cock isn’t anything special,” I fire back, biting his throat where his heart beats. He growls and pins me to the wall. He forces my legs open, and I only fight him to let the fire back in that I’ve missed. He’s such a fucking dick, but he has the best dick, which means he’s my dick.
“You keep challenging me like that, and you’ll bruise my cock’s ego.”
“That’s okay, husband. Your head has enough ego for the both of you.” He hisses as I sink my claws into him, wanting to dig deep and leave my brand. So, when he’s fucking those bimbos, it’s me that has him marked all over.
“Is your cunt wet for me, Sous? Is it dripping with the knowledge that your husband’s