Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
I like the feel of it in my hand, the heaviness of it, as if it’s something that’s been missing from me.
The weight, the glint of the blade—it’s everything.
I carry my glass, bottle, and blade to the table that overlooks the pool through the patio door, and then I take a seat and pour myself a glass. It’s interesting to watch your husband fuck another woman.
As I sit here, halfway through my glass of vodka, the knife on the table in front of me, I think, Do we look like that when we fuck?
What would happen if I walked straight into that pool and slit both of their throats?
He bounces her on his cock, and she clings to him. Her moans fill the air, and I wonder how they would feel knowing I’m watching.
I can’t remember the last time I had sex with him.
I reach for my phone again and press record.
Her head tilts back, and her caramel-colored hair hits the water as he thrusts into her before he slips a finger into her mouth.
He’s never fucked me like that.
He hardly fucks me at all.
As I watch them, I wonder why it’s not jealousy that’s coursing through me right now. That would be any normal woman’s reaction to finding your husband cheating.
After pressing end on the recording, I put the phone down and finish my vodka.
Something beeps, and he looks this way.
His gaze locks onto mine, and he freezes.
My husband, Deven Davenport—fucking his co-host in our pool—freezes and then pushes her off him like some discarded object. I pour myself another glass of vodka and drink it all in one gulp as he tries to rush to the edge of the pool, looking like some panicked animal fleeing a predator. I watch as he climbs out, his dick still semi-hard, and grimace when I see he didn’t use protection.
Shit. I need to get myself checked.
Whatever has been on that dick could be inside of me.
His pretty little co-host, whose name I don’t even remember, calls out to him, but he reaches for a towel and wraps it around himself before he strides to the door. I see the panic in his eyes. The lies that are starting to form as he approaches. But there is no way he can get out of this.
You, sir, are a piece of shit.
Even when I thought I should leave him, I stayed.
Why? Don’t ask me because I have no answer.
“Lil.” He steps inside, water still dripping from his body. He looks at my glass of vodka and then at the knife still on the table. I look at it, as well, and smile.
“Do you plan to kill me?” he asks and shakes his head. Those were the first words to come out of my husband’s mouth.
I glance past him to see her stepping out of the pool and quickly getting dressed.
“It was a mistake,” he says. “She needed me, and you never do. So, one thing led to another…” Again, I say nothing. “Sometimes a man wants to be desired, Lil.”
He never uses my full name. I merely smile sardonically at him, watching him dig himself in deeper. His excuses, lies and blame all thrown onto me. But where is the accountability anywhere in sight? It’s amusing to watch him squirm.
“I didn’t start this,” Deven begins, trying to form the perfect lie.
She steps into the house, avoiding eye contact with me, but turns to face him. Her hair is wet, and I take my chance to look her over. A loose dress clings to her wet body, and she has this perfect mole next to her lips, a little like Marilyn Monroe.
She’s more his type than I am. I’ve seen pictures of Deven’s exes. And none of them look anything like me. I’m not skin and bones—I have some meat on me. I like to eat way too much chocolate, and I never work out. I don’t have the perfect hair he likes, even though he once asked me to dye it blonde. No, today I am copper. Tomorrow, I may be a redhead. Only time will tell what surprises I’ll bring home.
“Leave,” Deven tells her.
She turns to me, and I wait for her to say something. Instead, her gaze falls to the knife on the table, and her lips thin as her eyes widen.
I wonder what it would be like to slice her open and play with her insides. Would I find my husband’s cum inside of her?
At the sight of the knife and the look on my face, she listens to him and turns to walk out, trailing water behind her as she leaves.
He reaches for my hand, which is wrapped around my glass.
“Touch me, and this knife will end up in your hand,” I say with a smile, and he pauses.
“Look, Lil, there isn’t any need for this. We can work on it.”