Behind His Back

by Stranges, Sadie

  Chapter 19

  After showering at Hunter’s, doing my best to rinse his sweet smell off of me without getting my hair wet, I put on my same clothes and walk back home to greet my husband after my supposed date with Cassie. The vigorous fucking I’ve just endured has left me famished, so I stop on the way for a smoothie at Pump Juice. Only instead of my usual açai-whey blend, I go for a peanut-butter-and-banana shake that’s so tasty it should be illegal. It has about fifteen hundred calories, but for all I know this could be my last-ever indulgence. This is the first time I’ve fucked another man without the safety net of David being on the other side of the country. Unless he’s found something to do with his Saturday, he’s waiting for me at home, and I’ll have to face him.

  I slow my pace as I picture all the things that could go wrong when I walk through the door. Somehow, I convince myself that everything will be fine, and I decide to hunker down for a period of boring connubial bliss. I’ll go back to my gluten-free muffins and pastured bacon and lingerie ordering. But deep down I know that soon enough, David will leave again. And my urges will return.

  When I step through the front door and kick off my flats, something feels different. I chalk it up to my nerves, but my mind can’t help playing a flickering reel of scenarios. Will all of his stuff be packed up and gone? Will there be a note? Will I walk into the kitchen and find a seasoned divorce lawyer smoking at our table in a wide-lapelled suit and a power tie?

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I see David alone in the kitchen. He’s just as I left him, in a white T-shirt and a pair slim-fitting cotton sweatpants that I bought him during one of my online shopping benders. He’s standing at the counter with his back turned to me, washing strawberries and slicing away their stems with a paring knife. But as I watch him, a sense of unease creeps back over me. Even staring at the back of his head, I can tell that something’s off. But whatever it is, it’s also strangely alluring. I feel a familiar rush that has no place in my kitchen with my husband so close.

  He senses me in the room and shuts off the tap. “You missed breakfast,” he says. “Come have a strawberry.” He’s deadpan and calm, and his voice seems to have plunged an octave. He still doesn’t look at me.

  “I’m okay. I got a smoothie,” I say. I shake my cup to rattle the straw, and it thuds faintly against the soft plastic sides coated with peanut butter goodness.

  “I didn’t ask,” he says.

  David has never spoken to me this way. Who is this man? And why do I feel like I’m in trouble?

  “Come over here and eat a fucking strawberry,” he says. Adrenaline surges through me, and I feel a tingling below.

  He holds out a red, ripe berry that he’s just sliced, and I pad fearfully across the kitchen tiles to take it from him. I reach out, but he turns the strawberry away from me, showing me the back of his hand like he’s training a dog to accept a treat gently in her mouth. My arm drops, and he turns the glistening red berry back to me.

  “Eat the fucking strawberry,” he says again. His voice is deep, almost sinister. I feel myself getting wet.

  I step toward him to take it in my mouth, and he pulls it away to tease me. His smile is pure evil. I try again, this time extending my tongue and giving it a firm lick while it’s still secured between his fingers, and he pushes it forcefully into my open mouth.

  I glance down, and I can see his cock swelling within the fitted cotton of his pants.

  He pulls his red-tipped fingers out of my mouth and then traces them down my chin toward my throat, which he fixes in a firm grip. Then he slowly bends me over the kitchen island, guiding me by his hand around my neck. Through the thin fabric of my zip-up, I can feel the cool granite of the countertop against my tits. And behind me, pressing against my ass, I feel the hot, equally hard granite of my husband’s cock.

  He leans over me, breathing warmly on my neck.

  “I know you’ve been a bad girl, Faith,” he says.

  I’m so frightened and turned on that I can’t move. Slowly, painfully, I begin to ask the only question that matters. “How do you—”

  “How do I what? How do I know that you’ve been fucking another man? That you’ve had his cock inside of you? That you’ve sucked it with your slutty little mouth?”

  His cock is still throbbing against my ass. But how can that be? How can my David be turned on by any of this? I’ve literally spent thousands on lingerie trying to make him this hard.

  “Because it’s obvious, Faith. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel his sweat on your body. I can smell his cock on your breath. And because I followed you this morning.”

  I don’t know what to say. I want to figure out how much he knows, but it doesn’t matter. Cheating is cheating, and I’ve been caught.

  “So you like to fuck in front of windows, do you?” he says. “Do you like to be watched? Did you want me to watch you?”

  “But where—”

  “Shut up,” he says. “I followed you to his building. Nice place. Good taste, this other cock of yours. I knew enough at that point, but I had to see more. I needed to see it with my own eyes. The thought of you fucking someone else—I just had to see it. The doorman wasn’t much help. Until I told him what a dirty little whore you were. Seems he’s been admiring you too, and he told me which window would give me the best view.”

  Jesus. The window. Deep down, some paranoid part of me always knew that would end badly. But maybe that was what made it so hot.

  “I couldn’t see much from the sidewalk,” he says. “But a man in the building across the street was more than happy to buzz me up and let me borrow his binoculars. He had them right there on the ledge, and he already knew which window I wanted to peer into. Now why do you think that is?”

  I still can’t speak. Everything about this scenario spells the end of my marriage. Except his throbbing cock, which is still pulsing against my ass.

  He leans into me and sniffs my hair.

  “Did you shower after you fucked him?”

  “Yes,” I whimper.

  “Then why are you still so fucking dirty?” he whispers in my ear. “Do you know what happens to dirty girls.”

  “No.” I begin to tremble.

  “They get punished.” He gives a fistful of my hair a quick tug for emphasis.

  Still pressed against the countertop, I lose control and begin convulsing against his body, shifting to my tippy toes to rub my ass up and down along his cotton-constrained cock.

  “Do you like fucking other men, Faith?” he says. “Do you like being watched while you do it? Because I have a secret too.” He leans in close and whispers, “I liked watching you.”

  Oh God. The mental image of him watching me suck Hunter’s cock nearly sends me over the edge. I begin quivering. I suddenly need him. Maybe even more than I needed Hunter to fuck me this morning.

  “So if you’re going to be a dirty little whore and fuck other men,” I want to know about it,” he says. “I want you to share every lucid detail, and I want to watch you get fucked. Is that clear.”

  “Yes,” I say, still shivering with fear and sliding my ass against his cock.

  “I’m going to watch you, and then I’m going to fuck you,” he says.

  I’m desperate for him. I’ve never been more turned on in my life.

  Slowly, his hand leaves my neck, and I feel him gripping the flimsy fabric of my gray stretch pants. The sound of the seam tearing as he rends the cloth to expose my ass is exquisite. The feeling of being naked and vulnerable and utterly under his control makes me drip with desire for this strange new man—a man whom I’ve shared my life with, but didn’t fully know until this perfect, exhilarating moment.

  I feel the shaft of his pulsing cock slide along my wet pussy, and waves of relief wash over me.

  “Now tell me about this new cock of yours,” he says while he fucks me slowly and deeply. “Tell me how much you enjoyed fucking another man.”

  The thought of telling him about Hunter is hotter th
an I ever imagined, and I steady myself to share all of my secrets. But the only words I can force past my shaky lips are “I love you.”

  <<<<>>>>

  Afterword

  First, thanks for reading. Really … thank you.

  Writing novels can be a lonely art, so it’s lovely to hear from readers. If you enjoyed this book as much as I enjoyed writing it, please take the time to leave a review. It means the world to any writer who cares about her craft.

  Sadie