One New Message (A Dark Romance Novel)

by Vivian Ward

  “Whatever you say, boyfriend.”

  Unable to wipe the smile from my face, I make my way around the department taking note of all the supplies needed at everyone’s workstations before returning to either of my boyfriends.

  Chapter 2

  And it wasn’t just what was on my husband’s computer. He said things to me, teased me about certain things, made me feel embarrassed.

  But it didn’t change the fact that I came home from work every day with soaked panties.

  Wetness that wasn’t meant for him.

  Thirteen years. My husband and I have been married for 13, long, glorious, trying years.

  From the outside, our marriage has always looked perfect, but it’s weathered some fierce storms.

  To everyone else, they’ve always seen a strong, confident, happily married couple—and for the most part, that’s what we’ve always been.

  He’s always doted over me, showered me with attention, and put me on a pedestal. There’s not a day that goes by where my husband doesn’t tell me how much he loves me, kisses me like his life depends on it and tells me how special I am to him.

  Every. Single. Day.

  I love this man more than I like to breathe air. If I had to choose between living or loving him, I’d use my dying breath to whisper how much I love him.

  There’s a certain quality about him that is very comforting. I know he always has my back and we’ve always been partners in crime together. Not that we’ve done many bad things, but there are some shady things in our past.

  Illegal things, but we had to make money. We’ve got a family to feed, kids, a roof over our head, vehicles, and other responsibilities. That’s what the grown up life is all about, isn’t it? I know it’s what the mom life is all about.

  But now we’re on the straight and narrow. We have been for a long time, that’s why I started working at the factory. But somewhere along the way, something changed.

  I changed.

  I lost myself a long time ago. It was shortly after I had our first daughter. Even all those years ago, I learned that my father had stored me on his cell phone as “Angie’s Mom.”

  I was no longer “Cathy” in his phone book, just “Angie’s Mom.” If that doesn’t strip your identity, I don’t know what the fuck does.

  The problem is there are a billion “mom”s in the world. A billion other women who answer to the same name. How do you distinguish yourself from them? What makes you different? How are you unique?

  This wasn’t even the worst part.

  I came to the realization of a few things. I didn’t know who I was anymore. What were my hobbies? What did I do for fun? Who were my friends?

  If I didn’t figure out the answers to these questions, I was going to continue being a shell of a person until after my kids were grown and moved out. It was terrifying.

  Can you imagine not knowing yourself anymore? Having to relearn who you are?

  My whole life had gone from fun and promiscuous, going on lots of dates, and being invited to clubs, after-parties, house parties, and having friends that I could call no matter what time of day to hang out with me to being “mom” or “babe.”

  But now? I was “mom,” like the billions of other women, and had no hobbies. I was no longer invited to any kind of parties, not even one-year-old birthday parties because all of my friend’s kids were starting to get too old.

  Not that I’d want to go anyway. I’ve seen enough 1-year-olds cry their way through a happy birthday song or have blue cake smashed up their noses. All of those parties were about as much fun as one of my C-sections.

  I became a married, almost middle-aged woman who works, cleans the house, does grocery shopping and falls asleep at the time I used to go out at.

  The latest adventure that my husband and I had been on was buying our new mini van.

  Who the hell calls that an adventure????

  But, I guess everyone gets stuck in a rut.

  I know that I was until I started working at the factory.

  That’s when I began to regain my identity. I was finally Cathy again. And Cathy got lots of attention.

  Standing in front of the sink washing the pans from dinner, my husband creeps up behind me and puts his arms around my waist.

  “How’d your day go, babe?” he nestles his chin in against my neck.

  “Same old, same old,” I sigh.

  “Yeah? You too tired to give me some of that?”

  He presses his hips against my ass, pushing his cock into me.

  “Brett! Can you at least let me wash the dishes?” I laugh and playfully fling some bubbles at him. “Geez, you horn dog!”

  “Go ahead, tell me it doesn’t make you wet to think about me eating your pussy.”

  Gasping, I look around to make sure none of the kids are within earshot of hearing any of this. The coast is clear.

  “Oh, I’m wet all right.”

  “Mmmm,” he moans. “Why? Were you thinking about all the guys at your work again?”

  Smiling at the thought of Jeremy and Larry, my boyfriends, I turn and grin at him.

  “Whatever,” I play it off. “You know better than that.”

  He stares at me from the corner of his eye. Very suspect.

  “Cathy, you like him, don’t you?” he asks, his tone accusatory.

  His lifts one eyebrow, waiting in anticipation to hear my answer.

  My mind goes blank. What am I supposed to say?

  Is it really that obvious? He knows.

  He totally knows. He’s a freakin’ mind reader.

  “What? No! No, no, no.” I swallow as I try to collect my thoughts. “Brett, why would you keep asking me that?”

  This isn’t the first time, or even the fifth time. He asks me this all the time!

  And like a babbling fool, I can’t hide the grin that spreads across my face. It gives me away every single time.

  He shakes his head as he leans against the kitchen counter. His long legs allow him to almost sit on the marble countertop.

  “It’s the way you talk about them,” he sighs. “Especially when the names Jeremy and Larry come up. And Randy, too.”

  Yes, Randy. He’s another one but he works in a different department so we don’t get to see each other often, and I’m not as close to him as I am with Jeremy and Larry.

  As I’ve continued working with them, our friendships have grown closer as we’ve shared stories about our kids—who go to the same school—our spouses, our families, and little details about our lives. Of course, I’ve always talked more with Jeremy since he and I typically work side by side.

  Over time, he began to flirt with me and compliment different outfits that I would wear to work. That’s when I started to put on an extra spritz of body spray or would do my makeup a little nicer because I knew we’d be working next to each other.

  I’ve caught him checking out my ass several times while he followed me back from break, but I don’t say a word. Instead, I just strut along right in front of him.

  I like the attention that he pays me, along with the rest of the guys, too.

  And it’s not that my husband doesn’t pay me attention because he does, but it’s different. The attention I get from the guys at work is very flirty, very fun and stupidly addictive.

  “Oh my God, babe. You’re so fucking wet,” my husband says with his face buried between my legs as his eyes make contact with mine and he shoves his finger inside of me.

  I fucking love it when he looks up at me while he tastes me.

  After I had finished washing the dishes, I got in the shower to avoid anymore questioning from Brett about the guys at work which happens to be what I thought about the whole time I was naked and alone.

  I figured I was going to go out of my mind if I didn’t get fucked soon. The moment I got out of the shower, I walked into our bedroom where my husband was watching the news and dropped my towel.

  It didn’t take much after that for things to heat up and that’s w
hen he started going down on me.

  “Mmmm, I know,” I grab his hair as I raise my hips to help his finger go deeper inside me while his tongue flicks my clit. “Yeah, right there.Keep doing that.”

  As he’s lapping my juices, I can’t help but think about how some of the guys at work might like a taste of me. I know for a fact that Jeremy loves to go down because he’s told me that he’s an avid pussy eater.

  “You like that, baby?” my husband asks, inserting a second finger.

  His tongue begins to pick up the pace, and I’m so close to cumming all over his goatee. He’s mercifully good at everything he does.

  “Oh, fuck,” I moan.

  Now his face—Jeremy’s—is prominent in my mind and I can’t stop thinking about him.

  This is terrible. I shouldn’t be thinking about another man as my husband has his way with me, but I can’t fucking help it. For a moment, I wish it were Jeremy’s face that was buried against my baldness; I wish he were the one licking my sweet pussy.

  And then, he does it. My husband does whatever the fuck it is that he’s skillfully mastered and pushes me over the edge. I can’t help but buck my hips as his fingers continue to fuck me, his face presses tightly against my wetness while his tongue lashes against my most sensitive areas, sending me into a frenzy.

  That’s when I come back to reality. I’m so fucking glad Jeremy’s not between my legs. All I want is my husband. All I need is my husband. He’s so fucking good.

  Riding out my orgasm on his face, my hips don’t stop thrashing until I’m done. My husband looks up at me, smiling at his handiwork. He loves getting me off.

  “Fuck! You’re so good at that. Come here,” I let my knees drop to the sides, parting a path for him. “I want your cock right here. Feel what you do to me.”

  “Oh, I know what I did to you,” he says, wiping away the glistening wetness that’s covering his face.

  He climbs on top of me and grabs the base of his cock with his hand, lining it up with my entrance before he pushes his way inside of me.

  God! I love how this man’s dick is perfectly made for my pussy. It fits like a glove and I love feeling him inside of me.

  Once he’s buried himself deep inside of me, he leans down and bites my lower lip. Returning his bite with a kiss, I can taste myself on his lips and his face reeks of pussy, but I love it. Kissing him deeply, our tongues forcefully explore each other’s mouths as he begins to move inside me.

  Wrapping my legs behind his back, my hips are at the perfect angle so he can penetrate me as deep as he wants. He grabs my wrists and holds them above my head, against the pillows, as he watches my breasts bounce with each thrust he delivers.

  I love watching him fuck me, feeling him move inside me, and looking into his eyes as my hips rebound against each of his deep movements.

  It doesn’t take long until his cock is pumping in and out of me at a wicked speed before his face tenses and I feel him swelling inside of me, my large breasts gaining momentum as he fucks me harder. I smile knowing that he’s about to cum in me and start to match his rhythm as he delivers a thick cream pie.

  My favorite.

  Nobody could ever fuck me like my husband does.

  Not ever.

  Chapter 3

  My husband started to seem overly protective of his computer, tablet, and phone which I found odd. One day while he was helping his mother move a giant cabinet she just had to buy, I decided to go through his browser history since he was gone on my day off.

  That’s the great thing about having Sunday’s and Monday’s off. I get one weekend day and one weekday.

  I couldn’t find anything of importance on his tablet, so I decided to go through his computer next.

  Nothing. It was all clear. He must have cleaned his cookies before he left. Damn.

  But then I minimized his browser, and that’s when I found my first two clues, but I didn’t realize they were clues just yet because I wasn’t sure what I was looking for.

  “Hey, Cathy!” my co-worker yells as she walks by me.

  “Hi, Judy,” I wave at her.

  Grabbing the machine schedule, I note what material we’re running today and start getting my station ready. I hate shift changeovers because the managers want you to be quick, yet not make any mistakes.

  I’ve made lots of new friends since I started working at the factory. I go to company events where I brag and like to show off my family, I’ve joined different groups within the community and started to find a new purpose in life. Hell, I’ve even picked up a few new hobbies like crocheting even though it’s very grandma-like, but hey it prepares me for the next stage in my life, right?

  Margie became my closest friend shortly after we met at work, though she started after I did. She’s short and a bit stocky, looks Italian but she’s not, has unruly brown, curly hair and is way loud. I think she runs on two volumes: mute or Metallica.

  She has a great personality and tits that any woman would kill for because they’re so big and perfectly centered on her chest. Despite being almost a decade older than me, her boobs look much better than mine.

  Some bitches have all the luck, but she’s my bitch, and I love her. She’s so fucking fun to hang around, and she can cheer you up no matter what’s going on.

  My friends at work invite me out to the bar and over to their houses pretty often. A lot of them have kids the same age as mine, so we give the kids the house while all of us grown-ups hang out around a campfire in the backyard, drinking and laughing until the wee hours.

  Sometimes we play pool, sometimes we swim, or sometimes we all get together and play cards. There is always something to do with all of my friends that I’ve made at my job, but I never hang out with Jeremy or Larry; or Randy for that matter.

  I could never hang out with any of them outside of work, not like I do with my girlfriends and their husbands.

  Bent over digging out the end caps that I need to fill the packing boxes, I hear a soft whistle.

  “You need some help with that or should I sit back and enjoy the view?”

  The powerful machines make it impossible to tell who’s talking to me, so I turn my head and look over my shoulder. It’s Jeremy.

  I should have known.

  “Are you the supply runner today?” I holler at him so he can hear me.

  I hate being a woman sometimes. Our voices don’t have the base they need to be heard over all the equipment at work, so I do a lot of yelling at my job.

  As a result, my husband and kids tell me how loud I am every time I talk, but I don’t notice it and can’t help it. Maybe Margie and I are more alike than I realize.

  “Yeah, what do you need today?”

  “Look at my supply sheet. I don’t remember everything that was on there,” I yell as I finish scooping the last of the end caps up that I’ll need until the first break.

  Walking over to my work area, I drop the end caps in a basket next to my station and step closer to Jeremy as we read my machine schedule together. He doesn’t move, and he smells so good.

  I guess I’m not the only one who can spray shit on.

  Without meaning to, I lean a little too close to him and deeply inhale his cologne, soaking in the aroma. Polo Blue to be exact. It’s one of my favorite scents, and I know what it is because I bought it for my husband for our last anniversary.

  We’re standing close enough that I can see his stubble. It’s probably been two days since he last shaved, maybe three. I like a little scruff; it adds character.

  He’s not the best looking guy out there, but I think he’s cute. Jeremy’s about 5’10 with light brown hair and brown eyes, a complete contrast to my husband.

  Brett is well over 6 foot tall, so he’s got some height on Jeremy, and he has dark brown hair that’s almost black, and his eyes change color with the season. For the most part, his eyes are blue, but sometimes they turn hazel in the fall or appear green in the spring.

  Jeremy and I are almost the same age, h
e’s a year older than me, and a bit overweight but not bad. He’s just a typical guy with an average build.

  “Looks like you’ll need some Gregory boxes,” he says, pinning my schedule back to my post.

  “Gregory boxes? What the hell are those?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “How long have you been working here?”

  “Apparently, not long enough to know what Gregory boxes are,” I shrug, pouting my bottom lip out.

  “Jesus, woman. What would you do without me?”

  “Probably get fired, but you’d miss me too much, so you’ll never let that happen.”

  “Yeah, I got your back. Wish I had more, but you know,” his voice trails off.

  I know exactly what he means.

  Out comes the blushing and grinning. I’m the worst at hiding my thoughts and feelings, but it also works to my benefit when I’m upset about something because I have no problem addressing that, either.

  Turning back to my station, I get my boxes ready and set up for the next order while Jeremy runs off to get the Gregory boxes, whatever the hell those are.

  At break, Larry, Jeremy and I go outside to smoke even though I quit years ago. I still like the smell, and it gives me a reason to hang out with them.

  The cold morning spring air bites my skin as whips past us. We’re sitting at a wooden picnic table behind the factory, and I scoot closer to Jeremy to stay warm. Since he’s a big guy, he’s good at blocking the wind.

  He sits up, straightening his back like a gentleman to shield me from the chilly wind and smiles down at me.

  “Have you seen the latest Impractical Jokers?”

  “Yeah, it was really good. I watched it with Brett last night and it was hilarious.”

  He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket, “Wanna watch it again?”

  “Sure,” I say, grinning up at him, leaning in just a bit closer .

  Larry’s busy texting on his phone while Jeremy and I laugh together until the end of break before we all go back inside and finish out our shifts.