Morally Corrupt: A Dark Romance (Morally Questionable Book 1)

by Veronica Lancet

  Vlad starts laughing.

  "Really, Hastings? Your shooter is a schoolgirl?"

  "I don't see anyone else as suspicious." I continue. "It could be a disguise."

  "A woman, really? Your shooter is a woman?" Vlad keeps shaking his head in disbelief.

  "Wait." Marcel suddenly interjects. "This sniper, whoever it was, must have known about the meeting beforehand, and they must have scouted the place to watch the meeting."

  "You're right." I agreed. "Let's check a few days back; maybe we can find something. Maybe the schoolgirl appears twice?" I add, somehow hoping to prove Vlad wrong.

  We rewind five days of footage. It takes us a long time, and Vlad is getting impatient. It's not until I see a familiar dress that I suddenly say

  "Stop!"

  "What?"

  "That... play again." We play the tape again for that specific moment three days before the event at twelve pm.

  "Is that...?" Marcel looks at me with horror in his eyes, and I can feel my stomach knotting.

  "I think so." I nod, turning my head to study the figure entering the hotel once again. She's wearing a Chanel tweed dress in blue paired with high heels. I'm still not convinced. It can't be.

  "I want the same person but leaving," I say, glued to the screen.

  We fast forward until she's exiting the hotel, her hair wet and her face uncovered.

  "That's..." Marcel whispers.

  "My wife," I add, stunned on the spot.

  Vlad chuckles and pats me on the back.

  "Came to find a shooter, and you find your wife cheating. This has to be the best turn of events of the year."

  "No, it can't be... Can I have a copy of this?" The man in charge of the footage looks at Vlad, who nods his approval.

  I don't know precisely how we get out of there afterwards, but as we go back to the office, I can’t shake the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Because this doesn’t just increase my suspicions. It confirms my worst fears. My wife is having an affair.

  It started out small, now that I think about it. At the time, it never even crossed my mind to question her actions because I was so sure of her affection. She would work later than usual, and she would make excuses that some projects weren't coming along as she'd thought. Of course, at that time, I'd sympathized with her and done my best to support her through a period of perceived stress. But it wasn't stress, was it? The thing that should have clued me in the most was her reluctance to talk about our future family.

  It must have been last year on Valentine's Day when I'd surprised her with a pair of baby shoes and told her my desire to expand our family. She'd smiled and changed the subject. I approached her with the idea of a baby again when I’d asked her if she'd be willing to stop taking her birth control. She'd once again tried to dodge the discussion by distracting me with her body. I'd been so aroused that I’d forgotten about the topic immediately. It wasn't until the third try that she’d relented and told me she'd stop taking her birth control. That had been around six months ago, and a nagging feeling told me she was still taking contraceptives. This is my wife we're talking about. The woman I'd bonded with over children during our relationship. The woman who'd told me she wanted a house full of children.

  This woman, however, does not seem to find the idea of having a child particularly appealing.

  At the time, I merely put it down to her age. She's in her mid-twenties, whereas I am slowly approaching my mid-thirties. It makes sense in a way that our priorities are different. Still, I cannot help but feel a little cheated since we'd established we'd try to have kids after a few years of marriage.

  Then the absences from work happened. Those were the ones that played on my mind most often, and I found my insecurities eating at me. Bianca usually works until six or seven each day, or so she's told me. One month ago, I wanted to surprise her with lunch at the Foundation and was told she'd left early. That was odd. I’d called her and asked her where she was. Her answer?

  "At work, silly!" She'd giggled and told me she missed me and that she would meet me at home.

  I was left dumbfounded at the blatant lie, but I still did not give up hope. I knew there had to be an explanation for it, and I waited for her to open up. That did not happen. I'd dropped by her work unannounced a couple more times, and the same lie left her lips.

  "I'm at work." When she wasn't. What am I supposed to think? My wife is an attractive woman. With her long black hair and her pale complexion, she looks like a painting come to life. Her doe-like eyes project her sweetness and innocence, and who wouldn't be drawn to that? It had taken me a full conversation with her to be in her thrall. An entire month to fall in love.

  Now, seeing the footage of her exiting that hotel with the wet hair? By itself, it might have been innocuous, but together with the other incidents? I am almost sure my wife is cheating, and the thought nearly crushes me.

  My innocent wife.

  Or is she? I'd been her first lover. That, I knew, as she'd been sheltered her entire life. Is she welcoming someone else into her bed? Into her heart? Am I not...enough? Just the thought of another man touching my wife nearly sends me into a violent rage. I tend to contain my emotions to myself, but the mental picture of my wife in bed with another man makes me want to smash something.

  Suddenly I remember that night, sometimes at the beginning of our relationship, when she'd gingerly suggested I tie her up and take her from behind. I'd been shocked at her request, given her inexperience. My immediate thought had been that she was under the impression she wasn't pleasing me in bed. I'd asked her where she'd gotten the idea from, and she'd told me from porn. I didn't want my wife to think she was anything less than what I wanted or needed. But I also didn't want her to feel forced to embrace different sexual practices for my sake. I'd tried my best to assure her that our lovemaking was perfect the way it was. After all, one didn't fuck one's wife like a whore. I wanted Bianca to feel my love for her every time I touched her. I never wanted her to feel dirty...used.

  But what if it wasn't about pleasing me? What if that's what she actually wants… craves? And for so long, I've denied her that. What if she wanted me to be rougher with her? And because I'd ignored her desires for so long, she'd sought it somewhere else?

  I’m a mess. All my thoughts are jumbled up, and the moment I get home, I close myself in my study with a bottle of bourbon. Of course, my wife isn’t in yet. Paranoia takes hold of me. Is she with her lover? I grip the glass in my hand and quickly empty its contents. I pour another. It’s after a few sips that I hear the front door open and footsteps in the hallway. I pour myself another drink, chug it, and go confront my wife.

  She is in our room now, wearing only her skirt and her bra, probably just having taken off her shirt.

  "Theo," she looks at me and smiles. I cock my head and lean on the door frame studying her.

  "Theo?" She asks again, her smile trembling a little. I don’t answer.

  She approaches me and sniffs.

  "Did you drink?" I still don’t answer her, looking at her skin for any signs of a lover's possession.

  I want to yell at her. Did you cheat on me? I want to ask her so many questions, but the alcohol is already taking over. Without a word, I pull her to me and kiss her roughly on the lips. Her mouth quickly opens up under mine, parrying each and every one of my attacks.

  "Oh, Theo…" she moans into my mouth, and suddenly I need to punish her. I jerk her around and push her with her face to the wall.

  "Theo?" Her voice is unsure, and if I weren’t so drunk, I might have felt bad for treating her like this. But I need to purge any other man from her. My hand sneaks down her legs, and I slowly lift her skirt until it lays in a bundle over her ass. Bianca gasps and thrusts her body towards me, approving of the gesture. In one movement, I tear her stockings and her underwear, and my fingers are inside her. She is enjoying this, based on her noises and the way she’s grinding against my fingers. I can’t wait anymore. If she wants rough, s
he'll get rough. I quickly unbuckle my pants, taking my cock out and guiding it inside her in one swift movement. She gasps low in her throat. With one hand, I grasp her hip in a painful hold while with the other, I sneak up her spine and towards her neck. I catch the hair at her nape and tug forcefully while thrusting mercilessly into her at the same time.

  "Fuck, Theo, yes!" her voice only prompts me to go faster, harder, my hands roughing her up in a painful manner. But she enjoys it. My hand goes between her legs, and the moment I touch her clit, she starts spasming around my cock.

  "Shit Theo, I'm coming." I pull again on her hair and twist her face around so I can kiss her. I keep thrusting and thrusting, feeling my own orgasm nearing. My mind goes blank when I start releasing myself inside of her with a groan.

  For a moment, we are both silent, breathing hard. I take my cock out of her, putting myself back in my pants. I take a step back and just look at her as if seeing her for the first time. She glides down the wall to the floor, a satisfied smile on her face.

  "That was..." she says and then whistles. I just look at her, seeing a stranger.

  "Put yourself together." I finally find my voice, sounding gruff. "You look like a whore." With a look of disgust, I leave the room and a confused Bianca on the floor.

  The moment I’m out of the room, regret hits me like a bullet in the chest.

  What the fuck is wrong with me? I keep repeating the same question again and again. How could I treat her like that? I can’t deal with Bianca now. I can’t even deal with myself. So, I do what any coward does. I run away. I leave the apartment, take a cab, and end up sleeping the bourbon off in my office.

  CHAPTER III

  I’m dazed. My body hums with the merciless possession of Theo's hands. It’s almost as if I was Pink again... Almost. But the look in his eyes as he'd stared down at me makes me pause.

  "You look like a whore." He'd said. In normal circumstances, it could be construed as dirty talk. But coming from Theo, it’s anything but bedroom talk. He’d meant it as an insult. But why?

  On shaky legs, I get up and go to the bathroom. The cum is leaking down my thighs. In any other circumstances, this would have been hot. Now... it felt sordid.

  "Fuck this," I mutter as I divest myself of my torn clothing. Taking a quick shower, I go and look for Theo, hoping to talk this out.

  Well... he certainly didn't waste any time in leaving.

  I am momentarily angry at him. Fucking me like a whore, in his own words, then insulting me and finally running away? That isn’t my Theo. What the hell happened to him? Did I do something?

  Suddenly I am too anxious to function, and with the coke in my system, I know I’m not going to be sleeping anytime soon.

  I fish my phone from my bag and dial Theo. I can’t just leave this as it is. He's never acted like this before. Tapping my foot anxiously, I wait for him to answer.

  "Answer me, damn it" It keeps ringing and ringing. I close the call and am about to check his tracker, but I suddenly remember I haven't set up a new one yet. Damn.

  "Fuck" I curse out loud. I can’t deal with this. Not with Theo like this, without any explanation. I try calling again. And again. It’s probably ten minutes later of missed calls that he finally answers.

  "What?" His voice is muffled as if he's been sleeping.

  "Theo?" I ask softly, not knowing what mood I'd find him in.

  "What, Bianca?" he barks.

  "Where are you? It's late, and I'm worried."

  "Really?" His tone is sarcastic, and I don’t like it. Not one bit.

  "Theo, did I do something wrong? Please tell me what's going on." my tone takes a pleading note. I have no scruples when it comes to this man. If I have to throw my pride away for him? I’ll do it in the blink of an eye. If I have to beg? I'll be on my knees day and night. Please don't shut me out, I say a mental prayer as I wait for his reply.

  It is a few seconds later that he whispers.

  "Bianca..."

  "Please, Theo, come home. We can talk about anything you like here. Please come back."

  Another pause.

  "I'll be there in half an hour."

  "Thank you." He hangs up, and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding in.

  I go about the kitchen and prepare a relatively easy meal. He'll definitely be hungry if he's been drinking. After I set the table, I take a seat. Staring at the clock on the wall, I wait.

  It’s like being in a trance. I focus on the clock hands moving with each second, each minute. I am so absorbed in it that hearing the front door open startles me. Lifting myself to my feet, I try to put on a smile for his sake.

  "Theo," I say, a bit hesitantly. He is standing in the hall, his clothing wrinkled and disheveled, his bloodshot eyes red.

  "Bianca... I" He starts, but then he shakes his head. He takes a few tentative steps and then suddenly closes the distance and throws his arms around me.

  "Forgive me." His arms are like a fortress around my body, holding me almost too tightly, but I embrace the possession.

  "Please, tell me what's wrong," I whisper, my eyes tearing a little. If there is one weakness I have in this world, it’s the man in front of me.

  "Shh... It's all my fault. I'm so sorry for treating you like that. It's on me. I took out my frustrations on you." He still doesn’t let me go.

  "Theo... I didn't mind the sex. But the way you behaved afterward... It was like you couldn't stand the sight of me."

  "No..." He shakes his head, fervently against me. "Never you. I was disgusted with myself. I took you like an animal."

  My mouth seeks his jaw, and I start peppering kisses all along his face.

  "It was new but... I liked it. We should do it again." He accepts my kisses, breathing deeply.

  "We're ok, no?" I ask again, not being able to help myself. Something feels off, and I don’t like it one bit.

  "Yes, sweet." He finally shifts his head and gives me a kiss on my forehead. "Let's go to bed."

  "Ok," I immediately agree, food and everything else forgotten.

  He takes my hand and leads me to our room. I take off my robe and watch as he unbuttons his shirt and then takes off his pants. Lifting the cover, he nestles inside and holds his arms out for me. I go willingly, purring when I feel his naked skin against my own.

  "I love you, Theo," I whisper as I huddle even closer to his warmth. I want to melt into him, knowing that if we indeed became one, he'd never be able to leave me. He would be mine. Utterly and completely mine. That’s my last thought before falling asleep, but not before I hear him.

  "I love you, B, more than anything."

  CHAPTER IV

  The next morning, we don’t talk anymore about what happened last night; about my abysmal behavior, or the fact that I'd gotten shit faced drunk when I rarely even drink.

  It’s only when I get to work that I start thinking clearly about what happened and my suspicions regarding Bianca's whereabouts. I get progressively pissed at myself for letting my insecurities get the best of me when I don’t have any definitive proof that she is having an affair. There has to be an explanation for her behavior these past few months, right? I don’t want to accuse her of something and break our trust, or worse, see the disappointment in her eyes.

  As much as I try to tell myself there has to be an explanation and that she isn’t cheating, I can’t help but still chew on it even hours later when Marcel comes to talk to me about a case.

  He’s sitting in the chair across from me, flipping through some documents. His perfectly put together looks just emphasize my own wrecked state. He suddenly stops and looks at me pensively.

  "Did you ask Bianca about the hotel?" He eventually asks.

  "No..." I mumble and continue to look at the files in my hand. I don’t want to lie to Marcel, but I also don’t want to talk to anyone about my and Bianca's problems. It isn’t as if I don’t trust Marcel. He’s been my friend through thick and thin. We'd met at college and had immediately clicked, bec
oming fast friends. But we rarely talk about women. Marcel's love life is a mystery that I am not ready to crack. He seems too interested in my own, however, as he continues.

  "Do you really think she's cheating on you?" I finally raise my eyes to meet his, and he has an incredulous look on his face as if I am a fool to even consider it. I agree.

  "I don't know anymore. I got drunk last night and lashed out at her. Lucky she's a sweetheart, and she forgave me. But damn."

  "I know, man." He threads his hand through his hair and sighs. "Look, I know I'm probably intruding... but I know Bianca too. She'd never cheat on you."