Page 7 of Cursing My Cheating Husband

No, I just had to get my head in the game. I pushed thoughts of my wife aside as I stepped out into the balmy spring evening. This really was horny weather. Perfect sex night. I just had to run with that.

Not that there was anything to worry about. In my entire life to date, there hadn’t been one night, one partner, one time, where my dick hadn’t delivered, and we sure as hell would not start having problems tonight, of all nights.

Gwen opened the door completely nude. Except for a pair of high heels, which she wore because she knew how wild that made me. The way they sent those full breasts plunging out… I couldn’t wait to get my mouth on her tits.

I stepped over the threshold, and she launched herself at me. I caught her as she wrapped her legs around my waist, kissing her with feral intensity as I carried her deeper into the house.

“It’s been too long,” I said.

“It has,” she breathed. “I’m glad I had to cancel Bryce tonight.”

That pissed me off. “I don’t want to hear about your other men,” I growled.

And at that moment, her hand groped my crotch. To my utter mortification, I watched her eyes widen in surprise at what she did not find there.

Gwen sneered. “Just his name made you shrivel up?”

Ouch. That struck me as a little mean, given my track record with her. She knew I always delivered. “I just need a drink. It’s been a stressful day.”

“Sure, a drink. I’ll grab you a beer.” Gwen pulled apart from me and smoothly walked off to the kitchen, every lithe and graceful movement calculated for maximum seduction. It seemed impossible, but there wasn’t a flaw on her. She knew just how to carry herself to drive me out of my mind.

So how was I still not responding? I was watching my physical ideal, fully nude, slinking across a room to serve me. And… nothing was happening down there? Not even half-mast? It didn’t make sense.

“I’ve also had a stressful day, dealing with Bryce,” Gwen called back, eager to punish me. “I’ve had him in my rotation as long as I’ve had you, and would you believe the bastard was never even married?”

She returned to the room with an open beer, shaking her head in frustration. A shake that gave a slight jiggle to her breasts, which is where I tried to focus as she prattled on. “He’s been wearing a fake wedding ring the entire time. Can you believe that? From now on, I’m checking for tan lines.” As she passed the beer to my right hand, she grabbed hold of my left and yanked it to her. She slid my wedding ring up and sighed approvingly when she found the tan lines she was seeking.

“Well, glad you sent him packing,” I offered, in a bid to wrap up this unpleasant topic.

But if Gwen noticed I spoke, she didn’t show it. “I can’t believe all those hookups with him were lies! You know the only thing that turns me on is picturing lonely wives home alone and crying while their husbands are inside me! But his wife didn’t even exist! I feel so stupid.”

I was desperate to pivot to another subject. But I knew nothing about Gwen’s personality (did she have one?) or interests (maybe sex was it?). What was I even supposed to ask her about?

“And you want to hear something truly sick? The picture he’d showed me of his ‘wife’ was actually his sister!” Gwen fell onto the couch with a groan of disgust. “People today can be so depraved. There’s no integrity anymore. I can’t believe I wasted so many nights getting railed by a man who was available.”

I had to end this. A newscast was barely audible from the TV in the other room, and I jumped on the fragment I overheard: “record-breaking tourism numbers in Nightshade Cove.”

“What are you watching?” I charged into her TV room before she could respond, giving her no choice but to hop up and follow.

As we entered the room, a witch from the Nightshade Cove Office of Tourism and Visitors was being interviewed on the nightly news. She was hyping up the community’s recent rebranding as the “Vegas of witchcraft,” as the chyron blazed across the screen.

“Have you ever been to Nightshade Cove?” I asked. “Maybe we should pop up there for a weekend sometime.”

“A weekend? Don’t get clingy with me, Maddox. We’re not dating.” She snatched the remote and clicked off the TV. “And no, I have never been to the witches’ tourist trap. I wouldn’t be caught dead there.”

“You’re not curious?” I kept to myself thoughts of: how could you not be? It was barely five years ago we all thought magical witchcraft was just fiction, but now witches have become so public they have their own thriving tourist destination.

Gwen’s face twisted with revulsion. “I don’t need to mingle with handmaidens of the devil. We don’t know anything about what these monsters are capable of. Does anyone even check out of their hotels? How do we know they don’t just eat their guests?”

I had a few buddies who had gone there and returned uneaten, but I didn’t think she wanted to hear that right now.

“The world was better off when witches were hidden and afraid, and we didn’t have to worry about whether the waitress might hex your food if you looked at her wrong,” Gwen finished, every syllable dripping with contempt.

This conversation revealed why it had been an excellent idea to never talk to her that much. “I just thought⁠—”

“No.” Her lips pressed together, irritation sharp in her voice. “I don’t want to talk about witches, and I definitely don’t want to vacation with them.” She lowered her gaze and gave me a sultry look. “Now, are you ready to be a man and pound me senseless?”

At that, I downed the rest of the beer. “Hell yes.” I pulled off my shirt and stepped out of my pants, and as I wrapped my arms around Gwen, all my distracting thoughts melted away. The senses of her overwhelmed me. The warmth of her body, the softness of her skin, the delicate scent of her perfume. It was all so intoxicating.