Devil In The Waters, Book 5, Chapter 1 (complete) (Patreon)

So, yeah, we're into Book 5 now (not 4, ha ha)! I chopped the last book in half because it was too long, and I might take the opportunity to flesh some of the scenes out to make each of the books feel richer.

Let's get into 5! . . . 

***

Ten after eleven, she fucking gets home.

There was the sound of her high-heeled shoes on the tiles of the foyer, the banging of her keys. Then a space of silence. Probably looking around the apartment and wondering where he was. Well he was in bed. Yeah, it was only a bit after 11 P.M., but the day had drained him. Plus there was no way he wanted to have the conversation he wanted to have tonight. So as far as his wife was concerned, he was sleeping.

More clicking, moving around the kitchen now. Yeah, don’t hurry in here. The fridge rattled. And while he’d been laying on his side looking out the apartment windows at the night sky, now he rolled over so he wouldn’t have to see her face when she came in.

And it took minutes for her to come into the bedroom. At last though, she did, not being quiet. The door opening, and her whispering, “Josh.” He didn’t answer.

She was quiet for a long moment, standing in the bedroom doorway and staring at him. Then she was moving, the sound of her heels quiet on the bedroom’s carpet, going into her walk-in closet, closing the door and turning on the light. At least she was considerate not to blast light in his face and wake him up.

She was in there for minutes, then came out, walking across his field of vision, and he regarded her through very narrow eyes. She looked his way, but now headed into the bathroom. She was wearing her pajama shorts and her big Queens sweatshirt. She closed herself in the bathroom.

Now he rolled over the other way, returned his gaze to the nighttime sky. After 11 o’clock at night. That’s when she comes home. After she was out with another man . . . He knew what she’d done.

The shower clicked on.

Wash it all off, Kimmy. Flush Devlin’s smell off your skin . . . 

Then the shower turned off again. What was she doing—washing her feet or something? The toilet flushed. The bathroom door opened, the frame of the window where he looked lighting up for a second before she turned the bathroom lights off.

He listened to her soft bare feet pad to the bed . . . 

***

The remorse and regret had been intense once she’d left the Royal York suite. The IV treatment and the B12 shot had indeed been reenergizing. The wobbliness had gone from her legs, but she did ache from Devlin’s huge size.

She’d been confident with Ellie, enjoying the luxury treatment, the perks of the job as it were. Ellie had gone, she’d dressed, then hustled out of the suite. The door closed behind her and locked. That was it. Over. Even if she wanted back in, she couldn’t go in there now. And that was where the deed had been done. The door was locked, the act severed off from her life.

But as complete as she thought that sexual transaction with Devlin may have been, it was heading from the luxury suite past the floor’s concierge to the elevator doors the felt the deep dread. Because while the act was done, now she was heading home to her husband. You could compartmentalize your actions, but there would be residue. Mental and physical. She hadn’t showered. Hadn’t showered, because she had to get home. She planned to slip into the apartment, say hi, get in the shower quick. All she wanted was to get home. Then as the elevator descended, it gave her that sinking feeling in her stomach. And the sinking feeling got heavier knowing she was heading home after officially cheating on her husband. She’d danced around the truth all this time. All the things she’d already done with Devlin weren’t really cheating, she’d told herself. He’d hardly got his dick in her at the party. He’d only put his fingers in her in their apartment. In the cargo container as well. And in his car outside the gym, sure, he’d got it inside her, but not deep. He didn’t thrust. Not official sex. All that was over now. The act was done. And, yes, it was one time only, but that didn’t change the fact that there was no going back now. It was done.

Back in her car, she sat wondering whether or not to put the clean panties back on. Pulled them out from under her car seat, held them bundled in both hands, fidgeting, running her thumbs over the satiny feel. Her heart started to thud with fear. Fear that Josh would know and hate her. She wouldn’t be able to stand that. For the sake of sanity, she’d concentrated on the most imminent struggle: You didn’t shower and the panties are clean. If you showered you could put them on. You didn’t. Now if you put them on, they’ll smell like sex. And you may leak in them. Leak Devlin’s semen. You can’t put them in the hamper then. Are you going to do laundry as soon as you get home? Are you going to go in without panties? Sure, that would be great. Josh desperate for you to get home, starts getting frisky right in the foyer like he did last time and you’re not wearing panties. The best plan she could surmise was to drive home without them, put them on in the apartment parking lot and hope she didn’t leak before she got to the bathroom and threw them in the hamper. One small hurdle crossed made her feel slightly better. But driving through the city only made her feel worse. Out of place. This wasn’t really her city. She knew Kingston. She knew London. Toronto, only a little. North Toronto, where her office was, was a little more familiar. Downtown was the place now for her and Devlin. And then before she made it to the DVP something occurred to her. Mookie’s Restaurant, in Cabbagetown. She and Josh’d had a date there. It was a brightening thought, and she drove there feeling happier. And it certainly felt good to establish that connection in her mind with her husband. She parked street side, and looked in the quaint doors of the restaurant remembering that night that she and Josh—not fully committed as a couple, still just dating—had gone there. Josh paid, a nervous gentleman, and she couldn’t remember what they ordered. What else they’d done that night. They’d come down here for a movie or a show? . . . Maybe a movie. But she definitely sat with him right in the front windows, and she imagined that fond youthful time with Josh fucking Waters playing out behind the glass. A guy she really really loved. The storm clouds broke, her features wriggling and squirming and she bawled. Sobbed and heaved and cried into her hands until the tears seeped through her fingers to the backsides of her hands. It was cleansing. She tidied up with napkins, knowing she couldn’t take long because all she wanted was to be home with Josh, starting the Leaf, heading out of Cabbagetown and getting on the DVP.

Once she was on the DVP she was already feeling better. She’d had that reunion (at least in her memories) with the guy she loved. Putting the city and the fact she cheated on him behind her, she headed home. Couldn’t wait to get home. But if she thought the dread was bad walking from the luxury suite to the elevators at the Royal York, it was worse walking from the apartment elevators to the apartment door. She was taking careful steps, hoping she wouldn’t leak Devlin’s semen into her clean panties before she got them to the hamper. Came in the apartment, and it was dark and empty and everything closed off. She knew he was home and that he hadn’t gone out. That meant he was in bed. And that sunk her heart. She’d really hoped to have opened the apartment door to a cacophony of machine guns and video games and Josh and his friends yelling and having fun. Hoped maybe even Sophie would be here to.

It was too much to hope for. She didn’t deserve for to be so easy. She just hoped it wasn’t hard.

Josh’s absence provoked a distinct fear the apartment was dark because he somehow knew what she’d done. The most likely was he was mad because she was late without letting him know she would be so late. So he’d gone to bed early to send her a message. Probably watched her on Find My Phone to know when he could turn the TV off. But what if it was worse than that? . . . 

But how would he know what she’d done?

Another taunting text from Devlin?

But Devlin didn’t send that text. She believed Devlin.

And that’s where she was, believing the asshole who hurt her husband when her husband was a young man. Disbelieved her husband because she knew him, knew his nature. Loved him, but knew him to be hyperbolic. He told her Devlin texted taunts to stop her from seeing Devlin. He’d wanted her not to take the job at Stone Brokerage, but wanted her to be the one to say she wouldn’t. Now it was too late.

Shit, and Josh was right—it was a terrible idea for her to take the job. Look what happened.

She lingered in the kitchen, gathering the nerve to go into the bedroom fearing she would find him not pretending to be asleep but with arms folded, furious, ready to kick her out. Maybe he was in the bedroom right now packing her bags.

Provoked by the awful thought of poor Josh throwing her things into her open suitcases was a particular image: his puzzled face wondering why something in particular was missing from her belongings.

What if he knew you wore the lingerie to work today—to the after-work meeting with Devlin Stone?

Oh holy shit, she thought, pressing her palm to her forehead in the hallway, heart thudding, pins and needles working in her hands and feet.

***

She’d opened the door bedroom door with great fear over what she’d find. Relieved to see Josh’s huddled shape under the bedcovers. Stood and watched him for a long moment before whispering his name. He ignored her.

She changed in the closet, pleased to find her panties looking fresh, brought her things into the bathroom dressed in her sleeping sweats. Panties made it to the hamper without being mussed.

But when she turned on the shower, the hissing water signifying in her mind the act of getting clean, she heard it through Josh’s ears. Josh would know why she was showering.

Sweatshirt pulled up, she examined her body, looking for marks, stains, or any sign. She wiped toilet paper to clean in her creases. There was a musky smell but it was too late now to wash it away. One ass cheek was redder than the other, but Devlin’s hand mark had faded. Her eyes looked hooded and sad, her vibrant post-fucking color had paled and she looked pallid now. She forced a smile on her face and didn’t like it.

Now she padded to bed. Josh was turned in the opposite direction, facing the apartment window. Purposely showing her his back. She slipped under the covers, worked herself close to him but didn’t touch him. She watched him sleep for a while—or at least pretend to sleep—his chest and shoulders moving up and down as he breathed. It would be better to close her eyes and go to sleep. Deal with this in the morning. An innocent wife back from a late business meeting, tired as heck, needing her sleep, finding her husband already in bed, crawling in next to him and passing out. They would deal with it in the morning. But she missed him. Her heart broke for him. Broke for him in this weird way—like he was her best friend and she just found out his wife had cheated on him. But she was the wife, too. She wasn’t two beings. She was one. She was his friend and his wife. She put her hand out, crawling it under the covers and finally resting her hand on his back, thumbing the frayed cotton of his old Coldplay T-shirt that he slept in. It was a tender and warm gesture. Not to be construed as the act of a cheating wife, but the act of a wife who knew she was out too late without sending word. Knew she’d done wrong.

But Josh’s answer was horrifying.

“Don’t touch me.”

She snapped her hand back, her chin dimpling and her lower lip quivering. Tears filled her eyes. Josh knew. She didn’t know how, but Josh knew she’d cheated on him.