A Rush Of Blood To The Head Ch. 03 free porn video

Lucy is backed into a corner and has a few decisions to make.

I was in the bathtub when Mark came home.

He found me there, his tie undone and his shoes off. Men looked so vulnerable to me in their socks. Naked, or still in a suit, the sight of their socked feet made me ache.

Mark leant against the door and smiled. Bubbles covered my body, making the tips of my nipples and knees seem extra pink, and his eyes devoured the sight of me. I searched his face to see if he'd received a joyous message from Patricia, or a smug voicemail from Bruce.

There was nothing in his expression besides the simple satisfaction of seeing his wife naked in a steamy bathroom.

Slowly he took his clothes off, his eyes fixed on my breasts. Then he sank into the tub with me with a long sigh.

"This has been a shit week."

Mark looked tired. Blue-colored shadows hung beneath his eyes. For the first time since my life went off course, I let myself sit there and stew in guilt. He seemed so exhausted, so innocent... so vulnerable. So undeserving. He was alive to me there beneath the light, slick with water and red with heat.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

He ran a hand through his hair and then rested his head against the wall. "We haven't seen much of each other lately."

"No, we haven't." I took a breath. "I've been wondering something. This is probably going to be a weird question."

His eyebrows lifted. "I'm intrigued."

"I think we have the most sex out of all your friends' relationships."

He laughed and rubbed my leg. "There's no question we do. Are you complaining?"

"When did we last talk?"

I was desperate for something. Always desperate, lately. I wanted more than I gave.

Mark's face sobered. "We're talking now."

"We're talking about sex. Do you think, sometimes, that maybe we are more physical than...sentimental?"

He ran a hand up my leg. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm just trying to talk."

"So talk."

I groaned and pulled my body up into a sitting position, moving my leg from his grasp.

He rolled his eyes and rubbed his face. "You do this all the time. You sit and think of a problem to fix, and you invent the problem more often than not, by the way. So what is it today? That our flow of communication sucks?"

I didn't respond.

He blew out a deep breath. "I work hard. You sit here. What can we talk about right now? I'm tired. I worked all fucking day, while you apparently sat and thought about something to fight with me about." He stood and wrapped a towel around his dripping body. "I wanted to just sit with you and I can't even fucking do that. I'm exhausted and I don't want to fight, so I'll just go to bed."

I waited until the water got cold before I stepped out and wrapped my robe around me as tightly as I could manage. Mark was sprawled out on the bed, watching ESPN. I climbed up next to him and nuzzled my cheek against his arm. He didn't move.

"Did you eat?" I asked softly.

He made a noise in his throat and looked at me. "I grabbed something on my way home."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop being sorry and just say what you want to say. You've been acting weird for a few weeks now.."

I pulled my body up so we were face to face, nose to nose. "I'm afraid."

Mark's eyes were alert as they scanned my face. "What is it, Lucy?"

"We started physical. We are always physical. Is that it? Sometimes I think we're not even friends."

His hand skimmed down my arm and took a hold of my hand. "You're not usually so mushy."

I lowered my eyes to his neck. "I just want a real conversation. A real answer."

"No. You want a fight. An excuse to be angry at me for something. And I don't want any part of it." He let go of my hand and rolled away. "I'm not perfect, Lucy, and I'm not a fucking mind reader. Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

"Do you love me?"

He sat up slowly and he looked even more innocent than before because he looked beyond confused. "What are you talking about?"

"You wanted me to get to the point. I can't remember the last time you said you loved me."

He studied me for a minute. "I don't talk about shit like that. You knew that when you married me, just like I knew you were a neurotic over-thinker when I married you."

"You had to marry me," I reminded him, for the first time perhaps ever.

He froze and his gaze moved from me to the wall.

"We're polite. We fuck. Maybe you respect me, maybe you don't. We get one another. But we don't love each other, do we?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Lucy? What is this?"

I got off the bed. "Answer the question."

He stood on the other side of the bed, looking at me as if it were the first time he ever saw me. "What difference does my answer make? You've already said you don't love me."

"Don't you dare do that. Don't deflect. Just tell me what you're feeling, for once in our marriage, without it going back on me or ending up with your cock in my throat!"

He watched me, waiting, I supposed, for my next outburst. But I'd said all I wanted to.

"I am going to watch the game downstairs," Mark said slowly. "Tomorrow morning we'll wake up, and you'll remember you and I are exactly the fucking same—no matter how much you want to make me the villain."

__________________________________

The next morning I climbed down downstairs, bleary-eyed and desperately in need of coffee. Throughout the night I'd played a horrible game in my head. It consisted of me fantasizing about different ways to get myself out of this mess. I could break it off with Luke, grovel to Patricia and go along with Mark as I was always meant to.

Or I could say "fuck you" to Patricia, break it off with Mark and pick Luke. The problem with this scenario was I had a strong belief Luke wouldn't pick me. He seemed detached, as if fucking me really had removed the desire for me from beneath his skin.

I wondered what Luke was doing. Was he sleeping? Fucking someone else? Thinking of me? Had Patricia told Bruce, who had gone after Luke?

I hated not even having his fucking cell number.

And in spite of everything I'd done and said and thought, it would be difficult leaving Mark. Beyond difficult—nearly impossible. He'd been in my life through so much. We were practically the same person, he'd said the night before. We weren't gooey and we didn't own pairs of rose-colored glasses. He typically understood me better than I understood myself. We had it better than most marriages. He accepted me at my worst.

Maybe we didn't have a storybook romance, and I suppose that's what always bothered me. Now I was sleeping with his coworker, cultivating drama. Was it on purpose, my attraction to Luke? That was an unsettling thought.

I found Mark standing in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the paper.

He put the paper down and watched me grab a mug and pour the coffee he made—always strong like I liked it.

"I fell asleep in the living room," he said.

"I noticed."

He came over and put his hands on either side of me, so that I could only retreat into the counter.

"I married you because I had to, you know that. It was the same for you. We never loved each other, no. We didn't have to, and we still don't have to. But we are friends, in spite of what you say. We have an amazing sex life. You could have anything you want—and you get whatever you want. My bank account always assures me of that." He wrapped his fingers around a lock of my hair and pulled. "What the fuck were you looking for last night? Want me to woo you? Do you want me to be sappy and artificial? Because you know I can be. I can be whatever you want. But I've never been anything but myself with you, and I think that's pretty fucking decent."

He put his hand between my thighs. "I love this. I love fucking you. But no, that's not all, and if you think that then you're more out of touch with reality than I think you are."

Mark backed away from me and straightened his tie. He picked up his briefcase and gave me a piercing gaze, one that made me shudder.

"Whatever is going on with you, whatever has you so itchy and weird... fix it. Get rid of it. Burn it. Forget it. It ends here. I don't care what it is. I don't even want to know what it is." He shook his head when I didn't answer. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I whispered, and then he was gone.

___________________________

It poured for a bit after Mark left. I drank coffee and watched the sky spasm with lightning and bursts of rain and wind. It didn't matter how much it stormed; I would go to Patricia's regardless. The sun came out as I packed up and grabbed my keys. I felt like it mocked me, burning down on me so intensely that beads of sweat collected at the tip of my hairline.

I drove my car slowly, as if by catching every red light I could somehow avoid the confrontation surely coming. And I thought about Mark, about what he said. Was our life really so bad?

At yet another red light, stretching almost long enough to make me impatient, I wondered idly if he'd ever been unfaithful. We'd been married nearly seven years. I remember somewhere around the four year mark being suspicious, but I'd accepted the ring on my finger along with the life my husband belonged to. Everyone cheated and lied.

It didn't alleviate my guilt, or excuse what I'd done, but it comforted me to know—or hope—that perhaps Mark experienced torment for a few days, months, years. Did he ever feel guilty? If he had, he'd buried it down with any other emotion that could tear him open and make him bleed like the rest of us.

And this guilt I felt, that ached heavily in my chest and made me want to cry merely because I was reminded of it every time I inhaled, wasn't because I fucked another man other than my husband. Or only that, at least. It was that I'd sunk down to their level. I'd let lust run my life for a man who I really knew nothing about. And it wasn't any fault of Mark's, and it wouldn't be any fault of Luke's. Why was everyone always so concerned with fault? Who gives a shit about fault?

But yes, it was my fault and I owned it. It was mine, this fault, this horrific decision to spread my legs for someone who didn't own me in any way. How terrible I was to sniff at my bank account with disdain, to begrudge my husband his inability to make me feel like a real companion even though he had sex with me regularly. It was downright unforgivable of me to hyperventilate when faced with a future I thought I knew so well, to have a life crisis, to crave human affection and conversation, to wonder if I'd really made all the right choices, to look to another person in hopes they'd be my salvation. Remember, I wasn't a person or a man or even a woman—I was a wife.

I thought about the two men in my life. Mark treated me like a shiny trophy and he made no bones about owning to it. Luke fucked me and he had every capacity to say no. I had glared down at the dazzling diamond on my left finger when I met him and had decided to take the path most dangerous, and also most traveled.

The pain that life wasn't what it promised to be, what I'd wanted, and that I'd gone along with it with eyes wide open was far more terrifying. And interesting. I could turn around and fuck another man and feel only a faint burn of regret that Mark would finally have proof I could be a villain, too. What did that say about any of us?

When I parked my car in front of Patricia's perfect house, I realized I was doing just what Mark accused me of—I was forcing him into the role of the villain, blaming him for fucking some faceless woman he'd never love, either. Someone I didn't envy, if she did exist, because I'm sure she loved him, the gilded illusion he was. She probably figured he was displeased with me, that he turned to her because of carnal need rather than boredom, and maybe she even let herself hope he'd leave me for her. How happy she'd be in this life, she probably dreamt.

The sprinklers on Patricia's lawn turned on, jerking me from my fanciful imagination.

The door was unlocked. I let myself in when no one answered. I walked out towards the back and saw her sprawled out, two martinis on the patio table next to her.

I joined her. She had to have heard me open the sliding door, my heels on her stoned path, the loud pull of the seat against the ground, but she ignored me. We lounged under the sun for at least an hour before she spoke.

"I won't tell, you know."

I touched the martini glass to my lips. "Why not?"

"Because I want something from you, and you need something from me."

She smeared some tanning oil over her arms.

"If he found out, he probably wouldn't divorce you, you know."

I looked over at her but she hadn't bothered to turn towards me, or to take her sunglasses off. "I know."

"He'll probably just make the rest of your life as miserable as possible. He'll fuck all of us, probably in front of you if he can manage it. He'll encourage all the men to come on to you. He'll make you feel like you're no more than just a pussy after a while." Then a corner of her lip lifted. "I know from experience. Bruce caught me with someone, a guy you never met."

"Why stay with him?" I asked, mildly curious. I had a disgusting idea where this was headed.

"I like money. I like this life. What does it matter? But I know how much better you think you are than all of us. How you like to sit around at parties and smirk to yourself when you hear us talking, how you look at us when you think we're not paying attention. God, you have no idea how finding you in that staircase made my fucking day."

I talked myself out of punching her in the nose. "How do you know I don't want Mark to find out? How do you know I don't want a divorce?"

She snorted and finally turned her head towards me, whipping her sunglasses off. "You're an idiot. What the fuck else would you be if you weren't Mark's wife? Think about it. Divorced, and penniless because I'm sure Mark had you sign a prenup as soon as that little pregnancy test showed its plus sign. What the fuck would you do, go 'find yourself'?"

"What do you want?"

"I want you to know that when it comes right the fuck down to it, you're no better than I am. Than Denise is. Than any of us are. You're actually worse because you walk around all fucking snarky and you think you're something special because everyone wants to fuck you. They want to fuck us all, you snotty bitch, but you're the most tempting because you are the best actress I've ever seen. I'll give you that." She laughed. "They think you're special. Mark probably even thinks you're special. And deep down inside in that little superior piece of shit heart of yours, you think you are, too."

I put the martini glass down. "Is that it? You want to rant and rave and put me in my place? And me listening is guaranteeing your silence? Fabulous."

Her lip-glossed lips sucked in a deep breath. "Bruce wants to jerk off onto your tits. Maybe get a blow job, I don't know. He couldn't make up his mind. Definitely wants to cum on you, though. He's gonna get such a kick out of marking Mark's wife." She snorted again and I wanted to shove my glass into her nose. "Doesn't want to fuck you, though. The novelty's worn off, and between you and me? I think he's a little disappointed in you for stalking after the unavailable, and the inevitable."

I fought off my nausea at the thought of Bruce—corpulent, sweaty, leery Bruce—over my body. "What do you mean 'unavailable'? It's not like Luke's married, too."

Patricia almost looked sorry for me. "You don't know?"

The heat was making me dizzy. "Know what?"

"He's engaged. To some girl back in Boston. He started dating her a little before he moved here and apparently they kept it long distance. Probably doesn't hurt that her father and his father are best buds. He'd marry into exactly what he was meant to. He's moving back out there, actually, I think before the year's over. Told the firm about a month ago. Don't know why he bothered coming here in the first place. All he did was stir shit up, but maybe he's the type to like that."

I could hear her pool's filter humming. Somewhere in the distance k**s played and shrieked, and a dog barked along with them. Wind s**ttered leftover raindrops from the trees. I swear I could hear every insect winding its way through the earth below us.

And then someone was touching my shoulder, steering my body to the right. I was confronted with a dick—literally. Bruce stood there, business slacks puddled around his ankles, and jacked off. He must've run home for lunch. For me.

His heavy breathing and wheezing drowned out the rest of the sounds of the world. His cock was hairy and thick, and surprisingly long, too. Somewhere inside me I couldn't believe I had the presence of mind to notice such detail.

He pushed himself closer to me. I got the hint that he wanted me to blow him, but my mouth didn't move. He moved the spongy head against my lips. My eyes flicked up to his and his lips turned upwards in an open-mouthed smile. A piece of spittle dripped from his lower lip.

"Open, slut."

My life flashed before my eyes. Clichéd saying, perhaps, but it did. I know they say it happens to you before you die, or you almost die, and here I was merely confronted with a blackmail blow job. I wasn't facing death; I was facing a fate far worse than death. I was facing life as a ghost. I'd die right here, my heart torn and burned by getting just what I deserved, and I would face the future as a war trophy, a sex machine. A Stepford Wife. This was meant to be my indoctrination, I realized, or perhaps that was my first dinner with Luke.

And Luke had lied, or left things out. Something shifted. I wasn't worth it, the decimation of his career wasn't worth it. Maybe he'd never had anything more in mind than having sex with me. And telling me about his mother, his last fiancée Ramona. What was a lie and what was a truth? He was a hurricane, a torpedo. Maybe it was as Patricia said, that he enjoyed fucking with people and watching the chaos. Or maybe he was oblivious to what he did. Somehow that was worse.

So I was sex to him. Easy sex. Needful sex. Sex with a side of just the right amount of illicitness to tip over the edge of ecstasy. It wasn't a surprise to the rational part of my brain, who knew this train wreck was coming some day.

As my life flashed before my eyes, I saw myself as a little girl imagining the great things I'd do with my life. I saw myself as a teenager who played harder than she worked. I saw myself as a scared college student, pregnant and suddenly engaged to a stiff, cold rich guy who resented me.

Then I saw myself as I was for the past seven years, and I really didn't like the woman I'd become. It was as if I didn't learn anything at all from past experiences—and I guess you could say I hadn't. I could also see myself as the woman I'd become if I accepted Bruce's cock into my mouth and I hated her even more.

I wasn't aware of punching Bruce in the nuts. It just happened. His cock was ripped from sight as he fell to his knees, cursing and moaning. I stared down at my outstretched left fist, my wedding ring glinting in the sunlight. Patricia gasped beside me.

"Don't you ever, ever do that to me again."

Patricia spoke up. "He won't have to. We're telling. We're telling Mark today." Her tone was hysterical, and that gave me the strength to stand.

I got myself together and picked up my keys. I can't say I was indifferent to the news. My knees shook, my heartbeat sped and my breath fell short. But he'd have to be told, and I'd have to face what I'd done.

"Go fuck yourselves," I said, before letting myself out.

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The doorbell rang an hour before Mark was due home. I straightened my dress and peeked out the window. It was Luke.

My stomach churned as my wrist turned the doorknob.

I was shocked when we were face-to-face. He had a black eye and his nose had been bleeding. His suit was all wrinkled and torn in a few places, as well. He'd had the shit kicked out of him, apparently.

"He knows," was all he said.

I leant against the doorjamb. "I see."

"I thought I'd warn you..."

"Very noble of you, Luke."

And then he knew I knew his own nasty surprise. His body straightened. "And I see that you know, too. About Sarah."

"I know about a girl. I didn't know her name was Sarah."

He wiped a bit of blood from his lip. "I didn't think it would end up like this, or I would have told you." When he saw my confusion, he added, "I thought I could ignore you. I didn't think an affair would be possible. I told myself it wasn't, anyway."

"Was the story about Ramona true?"

His face twisted in confusion. "Of course it was. I loved her."

"What was this, Luke? Between you and I?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "A distraction. Escape, maybe."

My heart broke a little more. "You're moving to Boston?"

He stared at his feet. "I didn't see any other choice. We can't keep our hands off each other and—"

"The rats always flee a sinking ship."

Furious fire ignited his black eyes.

"Fuck you, Lucy. Fuck you. I can quote shit to you, too. 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned', right?" He snorted, but from his flinch I could tell the action hurt him. "Like you have anything to say. You're married. You have a ring on your finger. It's fucking different for you."

It was amazing we could stand here and talk like this. I'd almost convinced myself we were soul-mates, that I loved him, that we could make each other happy. We'd had such deep conversations, I'd thought, but I supposed it didn't mean I knew him, the Luke beneath the flesh and bones. I didn't know him at all. The spell was broken now.

I stepped out of my house, closer to him. "You're right. It is. And it's different for you, too. How does it feel to fuck another man's wife? A man you probably laughed with throughout the day. Talked about sports with, or some TV show. It must have been exhilarating for a time or you wouldn't have done it. God, I really pity Sarah if she has to face a life with a fickle, weak, sniffling piece of shit like you."

His lip curled with disgust. "This conversation is over. You're sick. I'm leaving. Don't come after me, don't do another stunt like yesterday. I don't even want to hear your name after this." He snickered. "I probably won't have to worry—Mark is going to divorce the shit out of you. You'll be back to living with your parents, and you'll have to get knocked up by another rich asshole. Wonder if you'll be able to succeed with that this time around."

He turned his back on me and headed back for his car.

"One good thing came out of this," I called out.

He stopped and heaved in a deep breath before turning to face me. "What?"

"I'll never have to wonder what it would have been like to be with you, really be with you, because you're a spineless, conniving loser who isn't one-tenth the man my husband is. And God knows he's full of flaws." I turned but not before giving him one last disgusted look. "And you're right. I'm furious, and scorned. I'm no better than you. But at least I wouldn't kick you when you're down. You're lucky Mark got to you first today, otherwise I'd have kicked the shit out of you so hard that when Sarah fucked you it would be like scissoring each other. I'd have eviscerated you. Think about that at night and thank God serendipity intervened."

I went back inside and slammed the door behind me.

_______

Mark came home exactly on time. He had a cut on his cheek and walked with a bit of a limp, but he otherwise looked perfect.

I sat on the couch. The TV was on but I wasn't watching it. He didn't look at me as he set his briefcase down and sifted through the mail.

And then it seemed he made a decision to look at me, because he turned his head slowly and caught my eyes. He was expressionless. Blank and seemingly innocuous, and still frightening just the same. His abilities to hide his emotions, to wait things out, to always scheme, were what made him an excellent attorney.

"I'm sorry," I said. "A thousand times, I'm sorry."

He came over and sat on the other side of the couch, resting his head against the back of it. He stared at the ceiling.

"Bruce told me what happened. I gleaned bits of the truth from what he didn't say." His head turned my way but he wouldn't look at me. "Did he try to seduce you with the cock in the face thing?"

"How do you know about that?"

"It's worked on greater women than you. I'm impressed."

"Mark, please. We need to talk about this. Really talk about this. Please."

His dark eyes met mine and he let me see the pain. I was astonished how much agony he held there. Never, ever in our years of marriage had he ever let me see him so emotive, so broken. I reached out for his hand but he snatched it away.

"You wanted to leave me for him, didn't you?"

There was no point in lying. "For a while."

He smirked. "All you women, fluttering around him like idiots. You had no idea who he really was."

"No. I didn't. I was an idiot."

He rubbed his face. "I'm at a loss at what to do here. I've gone over different possibilities since Bruce told me. I'm not going to lie—some of these fantasies involved my gun."

My body froze and he nearly smiled.

"On one hand, I want to strangle your little throat. On the other, I want to drag you over to me by the hair and figure out how the hell this happened. Luke. Someone I parked next to almost every morning. I keep thinking about how he would smile at me and I swear to God there was smugness in his face."

He turned his whole body towards me. "Do you regret it?"

God, how I wanted to lie! But this was the most important moment, the most important conversation, we'd ever had in our marriage.

"Yes and no. We couldn't keep on going the way we were, or at least I couldn't. We were due for an explosion."

He slapped my face and I flinched backwards, putting my hand atop the flushed skin.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I've wanted to do that since I walked in. I kept trying to talk myself out of it. I didn't want to hit a woman. Even you."

He got up and paced. "So instead of trying to talk to me, or doing anything productive, you fucked Luke. So I would—what? Notice? Get jealous? Confess my undying love for you? I don't fucking buy it, Lucy. Tell me a different story."

"It was everything! It was that, and it was envisioning something different. It was about me being bad, it was being with someone who I thought was good. Goddamnit, it's too complicated to look at one reason and go 'There, that's why I did it!' because it would be a lie, or it wouldn't be the whole truth. And who cares why?!"

Mark exploded. He threw the glass coffee table over and it shattered into billions of shards. "I care! I fucking care!"

I brought my legs up and sat on my feet, staring at the fragments of glass now imbedded in the carpet.

He stomped over to me, shoes crunching the glass, and put a hand on my chin. He roughly pulled my face up so that I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"Why?"

"I fucked up."

"Why?!"

"Because I was greedy. Because for the first time in seven years there was someone around who could seemingly see through my bullshit. Because I needed a break and an escape. A fucking vacation from this artificial life we lead. I was so tired of it..."

"Poor you, Lucy," Mark whispered. "Poor you. Life is so difficult for you as you sit there in your designer dress, your hair perfectly done, nails manicured. Should we drive to the bad side of town so you can see what your life could be like?"

"Stop it," I whispered.

"And what do you think of Luke now? Packing up to go back to a never before heard of fiancée?"

My eyes shut tightly.

"Like goes with like, Lucy. We were the exception. Maybe he liked you, maybe he didn't, but a guy like that would never like you for long. You'd embarrass him at parties. He couldn't control you. If I couldn't, he'd probably die trying. He never would have gotten that far with you, though, married or not."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

He stepped back from me. "Get up."

I looked down at the pieces of table all over. I was barefoot. "I can't."

"Get. Up." He pulled at my arm.

I did, immediately feeling a sliver of glass pierce my foot. A dozen others cut my feet. I could feel the burn and the flow of blood coming from the wounds.

He lead me over to the table against the wall where a great mirror hung on the wall. He roughly pushed me against the long table and yanked up my skirt. He tore my panties in his rush to get them off me.

"Mark," I breathed.

We stared at each other's reflections as he hurriedly pulled down his own slacks and boxers. Then he was inside me and it hurt because I wasn't ready, because his cock was demanding and angry, because seeing us in the mirror—me, in particular—was tearing me apart.

"I almost fucked your friend Angela years ago," Mark said between thrusts. He slowed down when my eyes widened.

His arms reached around and he toyed with my nipples. I felt myself grow wet. My body began to enjoy his ministrations and I hated it for it.

"That's why she stopped speaking to you, you know. Your last friend from the outside world and I ruined it because I flirted with her." He pulled out of me and slammed back inside. My whole body jolted forward, and I had to throw out my palms on the table to stop myself from going headfirst into the mirror. "She was so sexy, and she had these little dimples that drove me wild. She was a poor man's version of you, but God I wanted to fuck her. She knew it, too, and she became obsessed. She was going to tell you we were having an affair. She wanted me to run away with her and I wanted to. I wanted to divorce you and marry her, because it felt like I was finally going to be able to make a decision about my own life for the first time ever."

His mirrored eyes dropped to my mirrored lips. "And then we went to some party, probably at Denise's, and you brought Angela along because you thought she really was your last friend in the world. And someone was talking to you and you were being hilarious—I think it was Bruce, actually—and you were destroying him. And he was laughing but we all knew he didn't think it was funny and that made us laugh even harder."

Mark's other hand moved to my clit and my hands clenched as the pleasure set fire to every cell in my body.

He pushed his cock into me in slow, deep plunges.

"Then I looked at Angela," he continued, "and she was suggestively sipping her martini and looking at me like I was hers. In that moment I knew I could marry her and I could control her and she'd fit the mold. I'd never be able to control you. You tamed yourself over the years but you still can flay people alive with that attitude."

His breath was starting to pick up. His cock swelled inside me, and I thought with alarm I might come soon.

"I picked you. I told Angela to go away. I bought her a sapphire necklace and she vanished. You were devastated, and officially isolated. You were only mine."

Mark moaned when he felt me tighten around him.

"You're going to come, aren't you?" he asked me.

He fucked me harder and I let out a long whine. "Mark, please."

The fucking turned basic and brutal as he thoroughly thrust in and out of me. My hips would surely be bruised after enduring being slammed into the table every second.

Then I was coming, spiraling out of control as consciousness s**ttered into millions of tangled threads. He cursed as I came, muttering things I couldn't hear and didn't want to understand.

When my body settled down, I watched Mark's expressions in the mirror. They went from smug and confident, to helpless and desperate, to strong and lustful and back again.

He moved back a little and squeezed my ass with greedy hands. "I thought you were special," he grunted. "Like a little protégé. I knew you were bored. So was I. I thought we had each other. I found someone who was exactly like me, entirely accidentally."

He slipped out of my soaked pussy and let his cock slide between my ass cheeks.

"I hated you when you told me you were pregnant. I had to have five shots of tequila before we got married. I hated my father for throwing words around like 'duty' and 'honor'. It was the right thing to do, everyone told me. And I hated everyone for it, especially you. Mostly you. I felt trapped."

He rammed back into my pussy and I let out a cry.

"You can't imagine my surprise when it occurred to me one day that I actually liked you. That I thought we could do this marriage thing, this long haul, and do it well. I thought you felt the same."

He glared at my reflection in the mirror. "I want to watch you watch yourself get fucked. I want you to see me use you. I want you to know this is the last time you'll ever have the honor of feeling my cock inside you. I hope it was fucking worth it, your little foray into a cheating wife's world."

His pace grew frenzied. His face was red with effort, his eyes crinkled with pained pleasure, his mouth open with a soundless groan. He made me see it all, and I watched, entirely enraptured. I always loved his face when he came. To see my own expression—awed, respectful, proud—as he came was startling.

Then I felt his cock stiffen and pulse, stiffen and pulse. He pulled himself out of me and I could hear the slick sound of his hand furiously jacking off his slippery cock. He pushed the head against my ass until his cum exploded all over my skin and he was able to moan out loud again. He pushed against me a few more times and my body swayed with the movement like a rag doll.

His hand ran over my ass, smearing his cum all around, and then he slid his sticky hand up my back. I could feel him dripping down my ass, over my thighs, to the floor and undoubtedly on my clothes.

Mark's lips touched my ear and he stared at our reflections. "You'll leave tomorrow. I don't care where you go. I advise you to get the best attorney you can. I'm going to be relentless. I'll tear you apart. I'll bring you to your knees, Lucy."

Then he moved off of me. He thoughtlessly wiped his messy cock on my thigh and then pulled his pants up. He peered at his reflection only to smooth his hair back. He might have even been whistling.

He moved back out towards the front door. I heard him pick up his keys.

"I'm going out for a while. By the time I get back, I expect most of your shit—and most importantly, you—to be the fuck out of here. My lawyers will be in touch."

Mark slammed the door. Only then did I notice my erratic breathing, which sounded much more like wheezing. I felt frozen, like if I moved all of my body parts would disassemble and I wouldn't exist anymore.

Slowly I pulled my soiled dress down over my bottom. My destroyed panties lay next to me on the glass-filled carpet. My feet had bled all over the place. I wondered if Mark wanted me to clean that up. I decided against it, and figured it behooved me to get my shit together.

My eyes caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked awful. Entirely annihilated. Wrecked. Over.

I took giant backwards steps, desperately eager to get away from myself. I didn't care about pushing more glass into my feet. The tangible pain was welcome.

My mind rolled around and slowly absorbed every word said.

I let out a sharp burst of air, my best attempt at a laugh that could have been a laugh. The things we did to each other. The ways we loved to hurt the other. What broken people we were.

I got up, body aching, intent on bandaging myself up and packing away a life I'd hardly lived.