Obsession. Kayla PerrinЧитать онлайн книгу.
lives easily. It’s perfect.”
“All right.” I straightened. I was going to stop the mother hen act. Marnie was thirty, a few months older than me, and capable of taking care of herself. “You’re wasting gas. I’ll let you go.”
“Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” I said. “Have fun.”
Marnie backed out of the driveway and drove off. Waving, I watched her until she made a left onto a nearby street.
Whether I was depressed or not, I would call her later. Just to make sure TRULYACUTIE wasn’t a nutcase pretending to be a nice guy.
For the first hour or so after Marnie left, I was perfectly fine. I was able to put my hurt on the back burner and cook a simple meal of grilled chicken and pasta. I ate at the kitchen table with the sounds of hip-hop blaring from my stereo. I didn’t want to play anything soft and mellow, because alone with my thoughts, soft and mellow would remind me of the pain I was managing to keep under control.
Peaches sat beside my chair on the floor, looking up at me with dark, pleading eyes. I didn’t normally feed her from the table so as not to spoil her, but I dropped her a piece of chicken nonetheless. What the heck—I was in no mood to obey the rules when my husband had broken the most important one.
Every so often as I ate, I glanced at the phone. The red light was flashing, meaning there was at least one message.
Andrew?
I waited until I’d finished my food and had washed the dishes before I finally placed the phone to my ear and punched in the code to retrieve the messages. And when I did, my heart faltered at the sound of Andrew’s voice.
“Sophie, it’s me. I’m checking in on you, hoping you’re okay. Call me, please. Let me know.”
I erased the message and hung up the phone. The food I’d just eaten turned in my stomach. Did Andrew think I’d spend one night crying, wake up refreshed, and be ready to forgive him?
“Don’t think about him,” I told myself. And I certainly wasn’t going to call back.
I found myself walking to the spare bedroom and digging my easel and art supplies out of the closet. It was a hobby that gave me comfort, but one I didn’t indulge in all that much anymore. Definitely not in the past few months. Whenever I decided to create a picture, Andrew complained that the smell of the paint bothered him. As I stared at the dusty easel and paint-covered sheets, I had to admit to myself that I painted far less these days because it bothered Andrew, not because I didn’t care for my longtime hobby.
Well, Andrew wasn’t here anymore.
I set to work. Two hours later, I had an abstract painting with angry strokes of red and black in the center and muted yellows, browns and oranges around the edges. I’d used a large piece of paper rather than a cloth canvas, but I smiled as I stared at the painting as though I’d created a masterpiece.
Though the paper was still wet, I took it straight to the living room and taped it over the large wedding photo on the wall. Then I gathered the various framed photos of me and Andrew off the tables, carried them to the spare bedroom and deposited them in a large dresser drawer.
If only it were so easy to erase the memory of what he’d done.
4
Someone was stroking my calves.
Soft, flirty, circular strokes on my skin.
But who…? Confused, I opened my eyes and turned onto my back. In the darkened room, I could see his form at the foot of the bed, but I couldn’t see his face. Yet his touch was familiar, and I didn’t pull away.
The mattress squeaked as he eased onto it. His hands moved slowly up my legs, the tips of his fingers giving each part of my body they touched an electrical charge. He added his lips, pressing them to my knee. Then higher, on my thigh.
I wanted to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. Not when the sensations flooding my body felt so good.
His mouth reached the apex of my thighs. So did his fingers. He fondled my pussy, spread my folds. Curled his fingers around my hips and buried his face in my center.
My eyelids fluttered. As he licked and suckled my pussy, I gripped fistfuls of the bedspread. I arched my hips, started to scream.
Suddenly his lips were gone.
His fingers were gone.
He was gone.
No, he was still here. Soft suckling sounds still filled the bedroom. And moans. A woman’s moans.
And then I saw them. Andrew and a woman, beside me on the bed. The woman’s breasts jiggled as she writhed around. Her mouth formed a wide O, her pleasure intense. Her legs were over his shoulders and he was eating her pussy, slurping and groaning. Loving every taste of her.
My eyes ventured to her toes. Though the room was dark, the red nail polish glistened. My gaze traveled the length of her body, from her arched feet to her bucking hips to her jiggling breasts.
To the perfect O formed on her lips.
The woman’s eyes flew open then, meeting mine. She smiled.
I bolted upright, a cry escaping my throat. But then she was gone. Disoriented, my eyes flew around the rest of the room.
I was alone. Alone in my bed, my heart beating fast. My ragged breathing was the only sound in the still of the dark room.
My hand went to my throat. I was flushed. Aroused.
I’d been dreaming.
Exhaling slowly, I lay back down. I tried to get my heart to settle, but the dream had been so real. And startling.
For the next hour, I couldn’t sleep. The images from the dream haunted me. Andrew pleasuring another woman with his tongue, the expression of pure bliss on her face. I know it was a dream, but the very nature of it disturbed me. Had me wondering exactly what Andrew had done with this other woman. How he’d touched her. If he’d tasted her. The sounds she’d made while coming. The sounds he’d made.
If their connection was more electric than ours.
I needed to know.
I didn’t think I’d want to, but as I lay in bed in the dark, I realized there would be many nights like this. Nights when Andrew and this other woman came into my bed, the visions of what they could have done torturing me as surely as if I were witnessing their affair.
My imagination would be infinitely worse than knowing the truth.
That was what fueled me the next morning, got me out of bed early. I showered, got dressed and drove to the Pelican Resort.
Only to discover that Andrew wasn’t there.
“What do you mean he’s not here?” I asked Seth, the assistant manager.
“He’s with the lawyers,” Seth replied, looking confused, his tone saying he thought I knew this already.
“The lawyers?”
“Well, yes.” He suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“What lawyers?”
Seth didn’t respond.
“What lawyers?” I repeated.
A muscle in Seth’s jaw flinched. “I thought you…” He paused. “You need to talk to Andrew about this.”
“About what?” I asked anxiously, my stomach churning. So something bad was going on at work, something worse than the affair. Why hadn’t Andrew told me?
Seth held up both hands, the only response he gave me. Then he walked behind the hotel’s front desk counter and spoke to a young clerk.
She was blond, just like in my dream.
I turned