Page 29 of Bittersweet Addiction

Is that why you don’t want to open it?

“Mom…” She pulls her handkerchief from her jacket pocket and dabs at her eyes. “I love her. She’s the one.”

“She was married, son. Haven’t you heard the phrase ‘once a cheater, always a cheater?’” She raises an eyebrow, straightening her suit and running her hand down her arms as if to brush off any imaginary dust. “Will, I understand that you feel a bit responsible for breaking up her marriage, but this is not your issue to take on. She cheated on her husband. It’s notyourjob to fix the mess she created of her life.”

“It’s not like that,” I tell her. “She’s the love of my life. You’ll understand when you meet her.” I’m not prepared to tell anyone that Charlotte and I are technically engaged. Even if her ring finger is still bare, she is still my future wife. When we tell our children and our grandchildren we’ll say that she was naked at a hotel in Florida, covered only by a sheet, she asked me, and I said yes.Well, something like that.

“I can’t say I’m thrilled at the idea of meeting youradulteress.”

I knew this situation would be a hard sell to my mother, who’d spent the better part of her marriage turning a blind eye to my father’s indiscretions. “Don’t call her that.” I try to keep the snarl out of my voice, but what I’ve quickly come to learn is that I’d defend Charlotte to anyone.My family included.

“Well, it’s what she is, no?”

“I’m not discussing this further with you—or anyone for that matter. Charlotte is a part of my life. That’s not up for debate. I am sure your tune will change when she starts popping out your grandchildren.”

Her eyes widen, her mouth drops open, her poker face slipping for just a moment before she corrects herself. “Is she—I mean—you’re having—?”

“She is not pregnant—yet.” There’s a spark in my groin thinking about shooting my seed deep inside of her, fathering a child.Fathering her child. A small Montgomery running around, followed by several more Montgomery’s.

She stares at me for a moment, before she looks down at the vintage Rolex that sits proudly on her wrist every day. “Well, I know you have a session soon, and I’m late for lunch at the club with Tish Reynolds,butthis is not over young man.”

FOR THE ENTIRETY OF MYsession I’m distracted, my eyes moving on their own accord to the envelope sitting on my desk. Even my patients can see I’m not entirely focused. The second that I close the door behind them, I’m in my seat pouring a glass of scotch, welcoming the burn of the liquid, but it doesn’t come.

Normally, I would make note of that, but the thought escapes me as I hold the drive between my fingers. Before I can stop myself, I’ve pressed it firmly into the side of my computer. A sound I would know anywhere, one that has a direct line to my dick comes out of my speakers first. Before I can see anything, I hear the moan of a woman—my woman. I watch as a dick, that does not belong to me penetrates the pussy I pray doesn’t belong to Charlotte.

No. It’s not her. It’s definitely not.

“Oh fuck! Matt, right there. That’s it!” she whimpers and immediately I feel the bile rising in my throat. I swallow it down, with a swig of my drink. The camera slowly moves upwards from where they’re conjoined between her legs and I take in her toned flat stomach and tits that I would know anywhere. Tits I’ve had in my hands, my mouth, tits I’ve pushed together and slid my dick between. My cock throbs at the idea of gliding between the valley of her breasts. Her nipples pucker and one hand reaches up and touches her, strokes her, rolls her nipple between fingers that don’t belong to me.

Will stop watching this. Turn this shit off now.

Turn it off before—

Her face comes into view. Except, it’s notmyCharlotte. No, this woman is much younger, her eyes wild and innocent, yet shy and unsure. That bottom lip moves between her teeth, telling me that she’s had that sexy as fuck habit for years. Her hands move up her body to rub her breasts, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t see any rings on her left finger alerting me that this was before they were married.Still makes me want to throw my computer out the window.My heart feels like it could beat out of my chest at any moment as I watch an old sex tape between my fiancée and her ex-husband.

You know they fucked, Will. They were married.

But seeing it fucking sucks.

I feel as if someone has taken a knife to my inside and is slowly carving me out. My body, which was full of love and passion and devotion to the woman on the screen suddenly feels hollow, empty and broken the second the wordsI love youfall from her plump lips.

“You are so beautiful, Charlotte. God, you make me so fucking hard. Come for me, baby.”

Don’t make her come. Don’t make her come.My mind is almost screaming at me at this point.Stop fucking watching!

“Fuck, Matt. I’m so close.”She cries out, her eyes scrunched together, her lips parted, as her tongue darts out to lick her lips. She begins to bounce on top of his dick faster, her breasts swaying more aggressively with every bounce. “Oh my God, I’m coming!”Her eyes pop open and she looks down at that moment, into the camera, and the look in her eyes shatters me.

I would know that look anywhere.

Charlotte Pierce was in love.

And she came.

The video stops sometime after that, just as Charlotte was gearing up to put his cock in her mouth, the screen fades to black. The words that proceed after make my blood run cold.

I had to listen to you fuck my wife, how does it feel to watch me fuck your girlfriend?

The rational part, the stronger part of me knows that it was years ago. That Charlotte isn’t the same woman as the one on that video, but the weaker part, the part that is currently fueled by one too many glasses of Macallan 18 and a blind, jealous rage, felt ready to attack.

---