Page 19 of I F*cked Somebody’s Wife

Missed the way he growled in my ear. The way he made me beg. The way he handled me like he knew I was his from the jump.

And I was.

I couldn’t lie to myself no more.

I was his.

And if that made me crazy? So be it.

I stood up from the edge of the bed and walked to the closet. My heart was poundin’, but my mind was clear.

I grabbed my trench coat. Black. Silk-lined. Belted tight.

No bra.

No panties.

Just perfume on my neck and wrists, and a pair of red-bottom heels clickin’ against the hardwood floor.

This wasn’t about closure.

This was about surrender.

I was goin’ back to him.

Back to Fontaine.

10

S-S-S-S&MM

Fontaine

I was pacing the fuckin floor.

blunt half-burnt in my hand, smoke curling around my head like a halo for a devil. My silk robe hung open, chest bare, muscles flexin’ with every tight breath. I looked at that front door like it owed me somethin’. Like maybe if I stared hard enough, she’d appear—drippin’ guilt and perfume.

She left.

Slid outta my bed like a thief, after I gave her every piece of me. Wrapped around me like she belonged, now gone like it ain’t mean shit.

Should’ve hunted her down. But I didn’t.

I just waited… smokin’, drinkin’, losin’ my mind in silence.

Then came the knock.

Soft. But it cracked somethin’ in me.

I moved to the door slow, heart poundin’ like a war drum. I already knew. My soul felt her before my eyes did.

I opened it.

There she was.

Hair wet, clingin’ to her cheeks. Trench coat tied tight like she was tryna hold herself together. But them eyes—those damn eyes—shinin’ like glass about to shatter.

“Can you make love to me?” she whispered, voice crackin’.

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