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I sat down on the bed next to him and put a hand on his thigh. He didn’t budge. Deep breaths vibrated his bottom lip. He was out cold.
As I sat with Dominic, I barely noticed the door opening to my left. Gwenneth stepped out of the bathroom with a hand raised, finger pointed at me, her words caught in her throat.
She stood there in a pair of pink panties, nearly see through, and her thatch of trimmed dark hair visible beneath. Her beautiful tits looked red and blotched, as if Dominic had sucked the shit out of them recently. Again, I was jealous.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Dominic,” I said.
“My husband you mean?”
She stepped closer to me.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” she said. “He’s in good hands.”
I stood from the bed and stepped closer to her. Where the fuck was Roscoe? Was he in the bathroom too?
“Where’s Roscoe?” I asked.
“At the bar. Why?”
He was at the bar? That meant Dominic and Gwenneth were spending time alone together.
“What are you doing to Dominic?” I asked.
She laughed.
“Doing to Dominic? You should be asking what he did to me. Look at this.”
She turned and revealed a long scratch down her back. It was tender, blood red.
“He’s a fucking wild one,” she said. “I don’t know what you showed him at your house but he’s been asking to be tied up and slapped and whipped…you must be a freak.”
She stepped closer to me and reached out with her hand, touching me gently on my face. I wanted to jump back, away from her, but at the same time I didn’t. She was
naked and sexy as hell and…and…and my pussy was getting wet. Why was I getting wet?
“Dominic should have never left you,” she said.
“He left me,” I repeated, feeling like I was in some sort of trance.
She brushed my cheek with her knuckles and circled her left nipple with her other hand. It was hard and ripe.
“Unh,” Dominic moaned from the bed.
I looked over at him and saw that he was awake, but something wasn’t right. He couldn’t raise his head and his eyes were rolled back.
“Dominic?” I said.
He tried to speak.
“Unne…” he said.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“He’s drunk as fuck,” she said. “He’s become quite the guzzler ever since Roscoe bet him he could drink him under the table.”
He didn’t look drunk. He looked drugged. He was trying to say something but I couldn’t make it out.
