Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 8 (complete) (Patreon)

In the bathroom, she stood staring at her reflection in the mirror, ears attuned to what her husband was doing on the other side, heard him coming into the bedroom, worried he’d jostle the door knob . . . 

She shook her head, admonishing her reflection, biting her lower lip, then moved quickly. Set the bundled lingerie onto the bathroom counter, unbuttoning her suit, the shirt, disrobing, then unzipping her skirt and hesitating. Looking in the mirror, imagining what Josh would think if he’d got her skirt down in the front hall . . . 

The skirt dropped, and she regarded her naked body. No underwear. Her underwear belonging to Devlin now. A frisky V of pubic hair between her legs. And with the skirt off, she smelled her sex. It was Josh’s actions in the front hall, of course, getting her sex motor running again—but with that renewed excitement wetting her folds, the powerful aftermath of what Devlin had done before became reinvigorated.

Right leg twisted out, she examined the inside of her thigh. Didn’t see any marks there, but didn’t see any in the cargo container either, nor checking herself in Devlin’s passenger seat on the drive home. But eagle-eye Josh had seen something on the inside of her leg. What were the chances? Why would he be looking at the inside of her thigh like that? And what had he seen? She didn’t see it. What was it? Nothing? Residue from her squirting? Did she miss a stream of Devlin’s semen that had landed there without her knowledge?

No, Josh would’ve lost it right there in the Monkey House. But holy cow, talk about cutting it close . . . 

“What on earth are you doing?” she said to the mirror. And what was she doing? How had it come to this? There in her most true self—though she avoided it—she knew that she would sleep with Devlin. But for whatever reason, nothing about how she felt about Josh was changed. In fact, somehow she loved him more than ever. Couldn’t wait to get into the lingerie; couldn’t wait to see his face when he saw her in it; couldn’t wait to skip dinner so they could make love.

The smell was too much. She covered her face in her hands, breathed into them for almost a minute, the soft scoring sound against her palms soothing her. There was so much to this, so much more than just submitting to Devlin. Submitting to Devlin was easy, it was the lying to Josh that was going to destroy her. The subterfuge . . . 

The worst part was how good she thought she might be at it. Even now, over top the sexy lingerie folded on the counter, she’d brought something else into the bathroom . . . 

But the only way she could have sex with her husband tonight, with a clear and unbridled passion, was to get in the shower. So she did . . . 

***

They’d married the summer after Kimmy’s first year of law school. An absolutely awesome time where they finally felt like adults. He’d got the job at Swanson in March, had his own apartment in Ajax. Kimmy’d been living in London for school and they only saw each other on the weekends. It wasn’t an absolutely awesome time while it was happening because they’d been used to having an apartment together in Kingston in their last year at Queens, then with Kimmy at law school out west they were separated. In retrospect, now he missed those days so filled with glowing promise.

He’d had a job in Toronto for a year, and it wasn’t going anywhere. Then he landed at Swanson, even further away from Kimmy. He’d hung out a lot with Meyer and Hyun and baby Soph; Kimmy’d studied twenty-four-seven in her little apartment off campus. But that June they got a taste of what their life might be like as they got closer to their dreams. A wedding. A honeymoon. A summer with the two of them in the first Ajax apartment together. A married couple.

A moment stood out from that summer of 2015. It was of him standing outside the bathroom door the night before she moved back to London for the start of her second year. A hollow door separated them, but somehow they shared their silent sorrow across that divide. He’d heard her crying, and he’d stood on the other side of the door with his palm on it, feeling her pain, maybe trying to absorb it, tears on his cheeks. Two weirdos who loved each other but wouldn’t confront each other’s feelings or show each other their hurt. Two people suffering apart, doing it alone so they wouldn’t burden the other. When the door’d opened, they’d both already cleaned their faces, showed smiles like nothing’d happened and went to bed together, cuddling and happy, that sick and hurting moment separate from who they were as a couple.

And now, standing here waiting for her to come out in lingerie, he had that hurt again. But it was dark and low and profound now. It was heartache and jealousy and coppery love.

Just like that summer night on opposite sides of the door, both of them lamenting the close of their long happy summer of togetherness, he stood in the bedroom, Kimmy in the bathroom, and the fear this time again was about separation. Not distance, but Kimmy drawn to another man. Not love. Never love. Not for Devlin Stone. But whatever Devlin had, the pull was strong, and Kimmy was being drawn into his orbit. He could feel it. It was crazy not to feel it.

At the foot of his bed, staring at the door, listening to Kimmy on the other side, he was naked. Shirt bundled at his side, pants kicked off, erection sticking out straight, dozing but ready for action. Kimmy was in there now, putting on lingerie for him. She’d never worn lingerie before a month ago. That was new. But why had she not wanted to do anything in the front hall? There were things that were obvious, and he was denying them. She’d been with Devlin all day. Been in the car with him all day.

She’d fucked him.

It wasn’t impossible.

Remembering her now bouncing on the trampoline with her hands between her legs, trying to keep her skirt from flying up. Was her tight pussy sore? Had she been fucked hard by a big man? Kimmy wasn’t used to it. She couldn’t bounce because it hurt between her legs . . . And, oh Jesus, here it all came now: the smear on the inside of her knee. Devlin’s semen. She’d fucked him, and he’d come inside her. It had leaked down her leg, and she’d wiped it with a Kleenex. Left a smear.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he stared dumbly down now at his own hand, looking at the curled-back pad of his thumb. He’d smeared Devlin’s semen on his wife’s knee, trying to clean her. That’s what it was. Wasn’t it?

Prove yourself wrong.

He couldn’t. Why else would Kimmy act that way?

Were they fucking when he called? She’d said Devlin was right there. Said, “He’s not listening.” Were the two of them in the back seat of Devlin’s car, both of them on their phones. Kimmy talking to her dumb oblivious husband, her skirt around her ankles, her pussy widened and fulfilled and oozing another man’s semen . . .? . . . Devlin checking the stock market, chuckling to himself about what he’d just done to that dumb nerd Josh Waters’ wife . . . Did Devlin’s car even have a backseat? . . .

Fuck.

Didn’t even need to look down, because there were new changes that should alarm him, but to which he was growing accustomed. A thundering-horses-across-the-plain blood flow raced through his cock. What had moments ago stood out right and ready, was now more fully engaged than ever. Too ready. Too hard. It hurt. Upright, pointing to his chin, plump and red and angry and ready to burst, bobbing with his heartbeat, full of lust and intent; a steely prong independent of his body, like another man in the room, a separate throbbing presence.

The idea of Kimmy with her legs open and Devlin thrusting in and out of her . . . 

He whispered, “What the fuck . . .?”

Then came the worst sound ever. The shower turning on. Kimmy whisking back the shower curtain. Getting in the tub. Needing to scrub away all of her infidelity’s evidence.

Two mindless steps back and he sat at the foot of the bed, still staring at the door. Woozy, awestruck. Harder than ever . . . 

***

The kimono hung open because she liked the way that looked in the mirror. Standing now, out of the shower and dressed, examining her reflection but avoiding her eyes. She wore the lingerie; little black triangles over her breasts, the panties with their scooped back cut, the garter belt holding up thigh-high stockings. And, for Josh’s sake, she wore the high heel shoes, too.

Her wavy hair hung in sheets on either side of her face—there’d been no time to wash and dry—and she held a grip of locks now in a hand and pressed it to her mouth and nose. Hard to say. Was there a smell? She imagined she smelled fertilizer. Imagined she smelled other things, too. Not her sex smell, but still: saliva, maybe semen . . . She held a sheaf of her hair on the other side, inhaled that now as well. Still hard to say.

So much guilt welled inside her it could take over, tell her untruths. She wet her hands under the tap, pushed back her hair again, then tied it in a tail. Her long bangs almost hid her eyes. It was good.

The two halves of the kimono hung open, showed off the long flat expanse of her stomach, her tight navel. That’s where Josh’s attention would be. And if it wasn’t there, she would get his attention in other ways.

She withdrew the kimono’s belt, rolled and plopped it on the sink. Gave herself one last look and opened the bathroom door . . .Josh sat naked at the foot of the bed with his legs apart and a bundled T-shirt plopped over his crotch. She posed, putting one foot out and pointing her toes, bracing hands on the inside of the bathroom door frame. She smiled, let him know this was going to be good. And it was going to be good. It deserved to be good.

She crossed the distance between them on high heels. Higher than what she would normally wear, but with a few days experience now, her gait was steady. The high-heeled shoes showed off the tone she worked so hard for, going to the gym and doing yoga. And Josh was mesmerized, his face frozen like mid-shock, his eyes darting all over her body, appreciating it. With slow strides, she came to stand between his open legs. Hands on his shoulders, she ran her thumbs up and down the sides of his neck. She said, “Move that shirt away.”

Josh nodded, mouth open, breath shallow. He tossed aside the shirt, and his erection wagged stiffly between his legs like a door stopper. It was a relief to see him fully and completely hard. Incredibly hard. She put forward a knee and ran it up and down the belly of his erection.

“Look how hard you are.”

He nodded.

She said, “Stand up.”

Josh rose, and she stepped back. In her heels, they were the same height, and she looked deep into his eyes and cupped his cheeks. Their faces came closer, and she kissed him. A deep and loving kiss, her heart swelling in her chest for him . . . and now it was like their mouths were conduits for that love. Her breath grew deep and hungry, and so did his. She pulled back; her smile full and wide. She bit her lower lip, looked in his eyes again. All she wanted right now was to do for him what Devlin had done for her. To give Josh what she’d received from Devlin. To make him come in that way Devlin had made her come.

She pulled herself closer, went on toes to whisper in his ear: “I’m going to get on my knees for you . . .”