How could I have done that? Treating Jackson the way I had? I was a disgrace, and had fallen further than I ever thought possible.
“Fifty quid,” I said, remembering how much I’d paid him to bend over for me. I was appalled with myself, plus I’d driven whilst over the limit. What if I’d hit somebody, or been stopped by the police. Not forgetting the fact I’d fucked somebody in an open car park, like it was the most acceptable practice in the world.
I just wanted to go back to bed and forget everything, but I had to shower and get out of this room. I’d only just woken but felt like I had cabin fever already.
*
I stood under the steaming jets, washing away the night before.
A momentary panic about whether I’d used protection hit me, but then I remembered pulling the condom off and dropping it. I scrubbed myself clean with the abrasive side of the sponge. By the time I’d finished the water stung my skin, but I couldn’t stand the thought I’d been intimate with somebody else—well, intimate is pushing it.
Chapter Nine
My phone rang.
I answered, wondering who the withheld caller was.
“Hello, Jenna Michaelson speaking.”
“I know where he is,” Chad said.
I hadn’t expected to hear from him.
“Where?”
“The Hilton, near Deansgate,” he replied.
“How do you know? Have you seen him?” I asked.
“No, I haven’t seen him,” he snapped. “But I drove past earlier, and his car was parked up. I called the hotel, and they confirmed what room he was in.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Why was I even admitting this to him?
“That’s between the two of you, now I gotta go.”
“Chad,” I said, quickly before he hung up.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He ended the call.
*
An hour later, I was standing in the hotel’s reception, arguing with the receptionist.
“I know my husband is staying here, his car is parked just out there.” I gestured to to the car park outside. “Now, are you going to buzz me through, or do I have to stand here and waste the rest of my day arguing with you? In fact, get your Manager in here right now, and he might have a better understanding of customer service.”
She was pissed off, the flush of her cheeks betraying her so called professionalism. There was no way she was going to call her Manager and risk being overruled in front of me. “I’ll call Mr Michaelson’s room,” she said, trying her best to sound polite, “and see if he’ll come down for you.”
“Ridiculous,” I said, getting angrier by the second. “I’m quite capable of finding his room.”
She lifted the phone and after a few seconds, she spoke, telling who I assumed was my husband I was waiting for him.
“Very well,” she said, hanging up the receiver.
“I’ll buzz you through—you know the room number, but before you go, I’m warning you, any disturbances and we’ll have no choice but to call the police.
I wanted to scratch her eyes out, rip the extensions out of her head. Snotty cow.
“Just buzz me through and keep your comments to yourself,” I replied.
“Listen here…” the receptionist said haughtily, before I cut her off.
“No. You listen to me,” I interrupted. “When I want your opinion, I’ll put a suggestion box outside the door, now keep your mouth shut and buzz me through.”
I half expected her to call security and have me escorted out, but I held my gaze. She glowered at me, and upon seeing the look on my face, she didn’t dare reply.
The door buzzed, and I pulled it open, making my way to the elevator.
I was nervous, but why? Was my husband alone up in his room, or did he have company?
I’d soon find out as I hammered on the door.
The door slowly opened a crack, and then I heard footsteps walk away.
Furious at his less than acceptable behaviour, I shoved the door open and it banged against the wall, the smell of stale alcohol offended my nostrils as I stepped over the threshold, and my husband stood before me looking worse than I’d ever seen him.
“Look at the state of you,” I said, livid I was having to chase after him. “This place is a shit-hole. Disgusting pig.” He looked at me and I could see his lack of interest in what I was saying. “Are you happy living like this? Well?” I turned my nose up. “A man your age dossing about like a student.”
“And?” was his only reply. “What if I am? Nobody asked you to come here and stick your nose in.”
He picked up a bottle of scotch from the side of the bed and guzzled it.
“Is that all you have to say? Well, is it?” I stared at him, waiting for more, but nothing. Just dead eyes staring back at me. “You disappear, not a call to your daughters, nothing. Don’t you think we deserve more than that?”
“What else do you want? It was your choice, Jenna—live with it.”
And for the first time ever, I lost control. The anger I’d kept down inside burst from me like a nuclear explosion. He didn’t see it coming. I slapped him so hard across the face, he lost his balance and landed in a heap on top of the bed, then crashed to the floor.
I rushed over, my anger vanishing as quickly as it appeared, terrified I’d hurt him. “Zane, are you alright?”
I tried to pull him from the floor, but he pushed me away.
“Get off me, you stupid bitch – I can get up myself.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you,” I cried.
Zane struggled then climbed to his feet. “What’re you doing here, Jen?” He cradled the side of his face.
“I don’t know, but I needed to make sure you were safe.”
“Ta-dah,” he answered, his arms outstretched, and suddenly, I wanted to slap him again. “Safe and sound, now you can go.”
“And what about your kids?”
“Tell them you threw me out. I. Don’t. Care.”
I was stung. I wanted to scream and shout. Hell, I wanted to knock his teeth out, but he was drunk, and I knew there was little point continuing with the conversation.
“I’m going, but when you come to your senses, call me. The girls are missing you, and I’m not lying to my family, or yours, forever.”
I stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut. Leaning my head against the door, I couldn’t stop the tears, but then I heard it—him sobbing.
Should I go back in?
I wanted to comfort him, but fought with myself not to.
It wouldn’t do any good the mood he was in.
Shattered, I walked along the corridor, wiping my tear stained cheeks.
Chapter Ten
I woke up and staggered into the bathroom.
My face was sore. What the hell had I done to myself now?
Checking my face in the mirror, I had a massive bruise down the right side of my face.
I wondered how I’d done it, and stumbled back to bed, flopping down hard.
Jenna, I thought, remembering. She whacked me.
*
I woke again a few hours later, more miserable than I’d ever been before.
Lying on the big empty bed, I felt so alone and needed company, but I was in no fit state to drive anywhere. I’d learned my lesson on that score.
Grabbing my phone, I clicked into the App Store, quickly finding what I was looking for. Grindr.
Setting up a profile, I quickly showered and took a couple of pictures of myself, sending them to other users I liked the look of.
It wasn’t long until I got a reply, and minutes later, we’d exchanged a few more pictures and arranged a meet.
He was versatile, which suited me. It was my turn to take a pounding tonight.
How long? I messaged. Send your location.
My fuck for the night was close to Piccadilly Gardens and would be with me in a few minutes. I told him to message me when he was
in reception and I’d come down to him.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed. He was waiting for me.
I pulled my Tracksuit bottoms on and a T-shirt, then made my way down to reception.
Pushing open the security door, I nodded at him. He looked even better in the flesh than his pictures—handsome face, stubble, full sleeve tattoos on both arms, blond shaved head, blue eyes, and by the looks of him, he worked out, a lot.
He followed me into the lift, and as soon as the doors closed, he hands were all over me. He kissed me, his stubble grazing the skin on my face. It felt odd being kissed by him, and a part of me wanted to shove him off, not liking this level of intimacy with another guy, but I went with it anyway.
“I can’t wait to shove my cock inside you,” he growled. “I’m gonna bang you all night long.” He flicked his tongue over my lips.
“I hope so,” I said, flirting a little in my response.
“Trust me, I like fucking straight lads.”
“What makes you think I’m straight?” I asked, my hands wandering, feeling for what was going to be inside me soon.
“The ring on your finger, mate,” he said in his broad Mancunian accent. He smirked. “Don’t worry, lad—I’m totally discreet, I’ve got a bird myself and I don’t want her knowing I fuck lads on the side.”
The lift shuddered to a halt, and the doors opened.
I showed him to my room, and he sat on the bed.
“I’ve got some coke to help the party along. You up for it?”
“No way,” I replied. “Not my thing.”
“Okay, but I’m having some anyway,” he stated. “Sometimes my dick doesn’t do what I want it to, but with this…” He tapped his pocket. “I’ll be solid and ready to party all night.”
I’d never been comfortable with drugs of any form, but I couldn’t take the moral high ground and nodded my agreement. Whatever he did, I’d get what I wanted. “Sounds good to me.”
“You’re in for a good fucking, mate.”
Suddenly, whatever sense I had left crept gingerly into my thoughts and I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing.
The buzz of excitement I initially felt was fading fast.
He lay back on the bed. “You gonna suck my dick then?”
I wanted to say no. I actually wanted him to leave, but decided I’d make him cum quick and then hopefully, he’d feel guilty, then make his excuses and go. Looking at him now, he repulsed me -- his arrogance and the sneery expression on his face turned me off.
“Yeah,” I said, kneeling, pulling his trousers down, and grabbing his semi-hard cock in my hand. I hesitated for a moment, then wrapped my mouth round it.
“Don’t worry, it gets much bigger than that,” he said, laughing, and at that moment, I wanted to sink my teeth into it. He wouldn’t be laughing then. Stupid arrogant prick.
He was right though. It did get much bigger. A lot bigger in fact. As I felt it grow in my mouth, my doubts vanished, and I felt my own cock bulging.
“Can I fuck you too?” I asked.
“Nah,” he replied, “But, I’m up for banging you still.”
“Do it now,” I said, desperate to feel him inside me.
He didn’t argue and got off the bed, kicking his Tracksuit bottoms off.
“You want it rough?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I replied.
I got on all fours and he smacked my arse--hard.
“Do you like that?” he asked.
His cocky tone annoyed me, but I went with it..
“Yeah,” I replied again.
“All married men are the same,” he said, and I picked up the hint of judgement in his voice, despite the fact he had a girlfriend himself.
“Just fuck me.” I wanted him to just shut up and use me. I didn’t want any conversation with him.
“You got jonnies?” he asked.
“No, thought you were bringing them.” Suddenly, I was cautious.
“Don’t matter anyway, bareback is fine.”
And I froze. Turning, I sat on the bed, the blood rushing out of my dick.
“No chance,” I said. “I’m not risking it.”
“I’m clean,” he replied. “And I won’t spunk inside you.”
Like that mattered. Hasn’t this idiot ever heard of pre-cum?
“Sorry, I’m not into that.”
“Come off it mate, I came here for a fuck and now you’re not into it.”
“You better go,” I said. “You’re not fucking me bareback.”
“Fine, but I’m not going until I blow my load,” he said.
I could tell by his face, he wasn’t going to leave until he got what he came for. I didn’t want to do it, but it looked as though I didn’t have much choice. I’d got myself into this situation, so I had to get myself out of it as quickly and easily as possible.
“I’ll suck you off till you cum,” I suggested, hopeful he’d taken me up on my offer.
“It’s okay. I’ll finish myself off. Lie back on the bed and open your mouth.”
In my heart, I didn’t want any of this, and tried for this one last vestige of control. I was nervous, wondering if he would be happy wanking off over me and then go without making a fuss, or if I’d be forced to throw him out and call security? Don’t get me wrong, I’m no wimp and can certainly handle myself in a fight, but I didn’t want or need the drama. I’d have to give him what he wanted, and learn a lesson from it.
But, I had a nagging doubt that wouldn’t be silenced.
Don’t do it, I kept saying to myself. I couldn’t shake that voice in my head. This would hammer the final nail into my coffin. Yes, I knew my marriage was dead, but I didn’t want to bury it any faster than necessary.
If this guy was practicing unsafe sex, I didn’t want his bodily fluids anywhere near me. I know how hypocritical I was even thinking that way as I’d had unprotected sex with Chad, but in my muddled mind, I knew him, and that was okay, right? But, no, it wasn’t right—not under any circumstances.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I know I’ve wasted your time, but I want you to go.”
He was openly hostile. “I fucked off a regular shag to meet you,” he snarled. “What is it—worried your wife will find out you’re a dirty faggot?”
“Get out,” I replied, angry, “Or I’ll throw you through the fucking window.” I was off the bed in a heartbeat. I wanted to smash him in the mouth and let him go home and explain that to his girlfriend.
“Go for it.” He laughed in my face, and I wasn’t expecting it, but he shoved me and sent me flying backward over the corner of the bed. I landed with a thud, winded, terrified somebody on the floor below would hear and come up to query the noise. I tried to get up, but a brutal kick to the ribs on my right-hand side forced the breath from my body. I gasped at the shooting pain as he kicked me again, in the same spot as seconds earlier. I felt my ribs crack. Then, without warning, he stamped on my leg and I screamed out in white-hot agony.
He knelt at my side, grabbed my hair, and spat in my face. I was in too much pain to do anything about it.
“Not the big man anymore, are ya?” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “Queer little bastard.”
“Just go,” I stammered, in agony.
“Not until I get what I came for,” he spat.
And that’s what he did. He took what he came for—taking any choice away from me.
He groaned—his last thrust inside me took a part of my soul I’ll never get back, but it was a turning point for me.
He didn’t speak another word, climbed to his feet, wiped his cock on a towel from the bathroom, got dressed and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
I rushed into the toilet and vomited fiery yellow bile into the bowl. Then the floor rushed up to meet me.
Chapter Eleven
I brought my legs up to my chest and cried like a baby. No matter how many times I tried to pull myself together, the tears still fell, and I could do little to stop them.
The physical pain was indescribable. Every part of me hurt, and for the first time in my life, I realised what grief stricken felt like. I was grieving for what I’d lost and what had been taken from me.
Mentally, I was hanging by a very thin thread.
I sat and rocked, trying to stop my mind from whirling like a merry go round. I didn’t feel safe.
Images of Macy and Naya flashed through my mind. What would they do without me, and what would they think of me when they were older?
At that moment, I knew I’d survive to see them grow, and in a split second, my survival instincts kicked in. There was no way this was how it was going to end for me.
I picked up the phone and called the only person that would be able to help me.
“Hello,” I said, as the phone clicked on the other end.
“Zane, is that you?” Chad asked.
“Help me, please.”
I heard the concern in his voice. “What’s happened?”
“I need you,” I sobbed. “I’m at the hotel.”
“I know where you are, I’ve spoken to Jenna.”
I did register what he was saying, but it didn’t matter there and then. I needed him to help me.
“I’ll tell Reception to let you through.”
“I’m on my way – just stay there. Fifteen minutes at most.”
*
“Yes, let him up,” I said, placing the receiver down. I lay back down on the bed, clutching my side, my head pounding, my leg throbbing.
A few minutes later, he strode into the room, a look of horror on his face.
I watched as his eye was drawn to the patch of blood on the cream coloured carpet. I’d tried to clean it up before he arrived, but any slight movement sent white hot pain soaring through my body.
The colour drained from his face. “My God, Zane, what’s going on?” He rushed toward me and knelt on the bed.
I couldn’t hold the tears back, collapsed into his arms and told him everything.
He cried as he held me. “This is all my fault.”
I didn’t want him to blame himself—that wasn’t what the call was about. He was the only person who could help me put my life back together.
Till Death Us Do Part Page 3