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It didn’t take much to get out of Damon which place Jac was at because Damon knew I’d know, anyway. Jac rarely goes to the family mansion. I don’t blame him. Our family fucking mansions are cursed.
Full of bad fucking juju, bad fucking decisions, bad fucking memories.
I sent Damon home, so I can sit in my self-imposed torture and watch Jac’s place from my car. He’s got a mansion in Delacroix city, so the grounds, while big for city living, are small by other standards and the modern monolith mansion takes up a lot of the real estate.
It’s dark, and the downside of fucking driving is not being able to drink.
Around ten the door opens and they emerge. Jac’s shirtless and handsy, and Magdalena’s disheveled, well-fucked and maybe a little guilty. And it fucking hurts. A knuckle duster punch to the guts that makes me want to throw up.
It’s worse than seeing them fuck.
But I know the queasy pain of betrayal, even if this really can’t be called that. It’s how it feels, and this hurts worse than anything before.
Anger beats cold in my veins, and I want to fucking punish, to hurt.
To borrow a page from the Jac Miller Book of Destruction. They’re both going to pay.
Only real question ishow.
TWENTY-THREE
MAGDALENA
Iknow it’s guilt that stops the fullness of satisfaction. Like I betrayed myself. Hendrick. And it sucks. Even if it makes no sense. I don’t owe anyone anything.
They’d both fuck the next thing around the corner, no matter what they’ve both said. Hendrick told me there’s been no one but me. Not since I lifted his wallet. I believe him. It’s just I know others are around the corner. As many others as he wants.
Jac admitted in his fucked up way that he tried to bone two girls, had them eat each other and just couldn’t get hard. And then there was the hot date who tried to stroke his cock but she bored him, too. He told me this because he figured it was me getting in his way, like some ghost of sexual fuckups coming to ruin sexual fun and games present.
And like a hot, X-rated Scrooge, he finally got the meaning of it all. He wanted me and not them.
He said all this with his arm tight around my neck as he plowed into me from behind and twisted my nipples, told me he’d take my ass next and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.
Because he was finally hard, and he was going to take advantage of it.
As I said, fucked up, but weirdly sweet, Jac-style.
For him, too, it’ll pass. Those hot women are around that corner. Swathes for both of them.
I’m not trying to make myself feel good or create wounds and reasons. It just is what it is.
I’ve no reason to feel guilty.
Still, the guilt remains, the sullied ground in dirt seems to seep beyond flesh and into bone.
Because I betrayed Hendrick, a man I might love, a man I ended things with and can’t keep away from.
Hendrick who might be able to choose from those women around the mythical corner but doesn’t want them. Hendrick who emotionally I want the most, who emotionally I betrayed.
And sexually, I…I want both men. For different reasons, some the same and with equal desire.
I’m exhausted, and it doesn’t help there’s a missed call from Hendrick. The client also called, but I can deal with him. There are a number of missed calls from Harry, and I know I have to call her back. As soon as I sort all this shit out.
Hendrick. Jac.
What the fuck do I do?
I want them and they want me.
