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“Leave it.” I order, my thrusts are faster and harder.
Buzz. Ping. Buzz. Ping.
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
Buzz. Ping. Buzz. Ping.
Feckin’ cock-blocking phones.
“Goddamit.” I pull out and rise to my knees. My dick, wet with Ronni’s juices deflates to half-mast. “Who’s trying so hard to get ahold of us?”
Ronni sits up, pulling the sheet around her naked body. “I don’t know, but it must be important.”
A feeling of doom washes over me. Ronni’s expression doesn’t help. Nothing beneficial comes from texts this early in the morning. It’s a toss-up between LTZ bullshite or Kircher bullshite, neither one pleasant.
She twists, grabs her phone from the nightstand and swipes it on. Presses the screen. Her face blanches. My stomach lurches, instinctively I want to protect my wife in that moment of suspension where I know it’s bad but not how bad it is. Ronni taps her phone furiously. Watches the screen.
“Mae?” My voice is dry.
She ignores me. Her brow furrows and her mouth forms a little “o” but she doesn’t look away from whatever it is she’s watching.
When my phone buzzes again, I’m on autopilot. Still watching Ronni from the corner of my eye. Another buzz prompts me to glance down where I see a flurry of texts incoming from the same anonymous number.
I can’t wait to see her bitch face when she sees us fucking.
She’ll cry for days when she sees your cock in my mouth.
How will you explain your lips on my pussy?
Your wife is the biggest cunt on the planet.
She deserves everything she’s getting.
What the actual fuck?
My entire body goes rigid with horror. My eyes dart to Ronni, who’s still staring at her phone, her expression one of devastation and disgust. Tears stream down her face in rivulets. She taps her phone vigorously. Stares at the screen. Taps. Watches. Wipes the wetness from her eyes furiously with her wrist.
Yet I’m paralyzed. I have no idea what to do. What to say. Ice runs through my veins until I’m able to croak, “Mae what’s going on? I just got another batch of fucked-up texts.”
She still doesn’t answer me. I reach for her, but she holds up a palm. Intently stares at her phone. I’m going feckin’ mad. “Ronni. Talk to me.”
“All that time you were fucking Yolanda. I’m such a complete idiot.” Ronni throws her phone at my chest.
My mind goes totally blank. I’m certain I’m staring at her with a big, dumb look on my face because, what the ever-loving fuck? How could she know about the texts on my phone before I showed them to her?
Ronni tears out of bed and sprints toward the bathroom. Slams the door behind her. Locks it. I’m behind her in a flash. Thundering my fist on the door. “Mae? Mae? What do you mean? I never fucked Yolanda.Never.I’dnever.”
Through the door I hear wracking sobs. Horrible, choking, life-ending sobs. Like her entire world has fallen apart.
But it hasn’t. Has it?
What was she looking at?
I’m a crazed bull. I tear back to the bed and grab her phone. Enter the password and scroll to her texts, which are merely a series of links. I click on one.
It’s a grainy video, as if it’s been taken from a nanny cam. It’s not very well-lit. There appears to be some sort of light source in the background. Although the picture is in black and white, Yolanda, clear as day, comes into view on what looks like the front porch in Malibu. Her entire face takes up the screen as she adjusts the angle of the camera. She moves away when a man opens the door and comes into view. Tall. Wearing jeans. Baseball cap. Dark t-shirt. They talk for a while. He backs away, but she kneels to unbuckle his pants. Pulls out the guy’s cock and starts blowing him. Halfway through, he pulls off his cap. Shakes out his long, curly hair. Looks into the camera and smiles.
Every single part of my body seizes. It’s me.It’s fucking me.
