Page 13 of Dirty Rotten Cheating Husband

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked.

I’m spare, sparse. A man of few words. That’s helped me more than once in my career as an FBI agent.

Chief Thomas is a craggy white man in his late 60s with a full head of white hair, calm and efficient.

“Because for two years you pretended to be her husband.”

The familiar prick of uneasiness, of wrongness, at his words sizzles across my skin.

“It’s fine,” I said. “It will be good to check up on her, make sure she’s doing OK.”

“You’ve wanted to check up on her before,” the Chief said. “And I would never let you. Before I give you her address, I want to make sure you are going to maintain professional boundaries.”

“Of course,” I said stiffly. “When have you ever known me not to put the good of this department first?”

Chief Thomas nodded and handed me the address.

I waited until I had left the room before glancing at it.

One thing I prided myself on was my iron control over my emotions. But I couldn’t prevent that first raw feeling.

She’s been that close this whole time?

I drove the thought down. I also prided myself on my professionalism. This was going to be good for both of us. A way for me to put any lingering feelings of guilt to sleep. To apologize for any pain Clementine had experienced. I wondered if, now that five years had passed, maybe she understood why I had done it. Why it was necessary to deceive her.

Her new house was very pretty. I was a little surprised how big it was, a huge white Colonial with columns and a big overflowing garden out front.

Clementine must be doing pretty well for herself. Or maybe she was married now and her husband was rich.

For some reason, the thought of her being married was a little uncomfortable to me, but I shook the feeling off.

I knocked on the door.

No response.

Not only was her house nicer than mine, but she also had a luxury SUV parked out front, also much nicer than the same governmental car I’d been driving for the last ten years.

I knocked on the door again, louder this time.

And then it finally opened.

It wasn’t Clementine at all. It was a tiny woman with long, silky chestnut brown hair, dark lashes and full pink lips. She was wearing a big pair of dark sunglasses and dressed like a model in white silk slacks and a tight tank top.

Her hair was partway pinned up, but it was all running down her back in messy curls.

I had been half-heartedly off and on with Vivi for a few years after the trial, and was always too busy with work for anything but casual sex. Still, when I wanted to fuck someone, it was easy to find. There was no shortage of women to slake my lust with, and Vivi was always hinting she’d like to pick things up again.

So I was surprised how intensely I wanted this random woman, lust coursing through my body at the sight of her.

Clementine must have a roommate.

I felt another pang of sympathy for her. It had been way too easy to seduce the shy Clementine, to get her to do what I wanted and give me the information I needed. And now, with this absolute knockout as a roommate, she must feel shyer and more unsure of herself than ever.

Damn, this was going to make my job way harder. Because I was absolutely going to fuck this woman. Everything about her seemed like it was constructed to appeal to me personally. The way her tits were perfectly shaped, a delicate gold necklace falling into her cleavage. The way I could see a touch of tanned stomach. The way her perky little ass was filing out those clingy slacks as she stood sideways in the door.

I opened my mouth to ask what her name was, when suddenly this absolute goddess reached behind the door and came back with a baseball bat.

I had barely any time to react when she swung it at me with both hands.

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