“This was a nice surprise. Thanks, babe.”
Brody sits across from me at our dining room table. His fork is dug into the giant hunk of carrot cake in front of him. It’s his favorite dessert, so I always make sure to grab a slice when I stop at the store he likes on the way home.
“Things have seemed a bit strained between us,” I try my best to sound sweet and not combative, “so I wanted to do somethingnice for you.”
He eyes me suspiciously for a moment. I can see the accusations, defensiveness, tension bunching in his shoulders. Thankfully, his phone vibrates again against the woods of the table, pulling his focus from me for a moment. His phone had been going off throughout our entire meal, but surprisingly, Brody hadn’t looked at it once. I’d taken it as a good sign.
“That detective called me again today,” he says casually, as if it were nothing.
“Really?” I ask as alarm bells blare in my head. “What did she say?”
“She still wants to talk to me. I told her again that she can call my lawyer.” He takes a large bite of cake and chews slowly. Annoyance thrumms through me at his attitude about this.
“Maybe you should go talk to her? See what she wants?” I suggest, trying my best to sound calmer than I am.
“She was your coworker, not mine, if the cops should be talking to anyone about that missing girl, it’s you.” He scoffs as his phone vibrates again.
She isn’t a girl. She is a woman. And she’s gone missing.
The detective had been hounding Brody for weeks, saying she needed to talk to him. He kept dodging her, but I couldn’t help wondering how he was even involved. I had almost called the detective up myself to ask why she wanted to speak to my husband. It’s not like he had any connection to my missing coworker, right? But I never did. And not knowing is driving me mad.
The phone vibrates again against the wood. He glances down at the lit up screen, a small smirk pulling at his thin lips before he turns his attention back to me. “Since you gave me dessert, now maybe I’ll give you some.” He waggles his eyebrows at me in what I assume is supposed to be a suggestive way.
My mind and body protest the idea. I have absolutely nointerest in that currently. Not after how things have been between us lately. But saying that would just cause a fight.
“Sure. I’ll clean up and meet you upstairs?” I say, hoping to buy some time.
I stand and walk across the table to pick up his plate and bring it to the kitchen while he starts scrolling on his phone. When I bend over the table, he smacks my ass. The crack is louder than the sting. It felt half-hearted, as did everything in our marriage lately.
“Hope you won’t mind standing all day at work because you’ll be sore tomorrow after I get done with you,” he states with hubris as he stands, still grabbing my ass with one hand. He gives my flesh a quick squeeze, his eyes trained on his phone, then swiftly crosses the dining room.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding before padding across the wooden floors into the kitchen. I can hear him above me, the floors above creaking as I start washing the dishes at the sink. I sigh softly as the warm water flows over my hands. I slowly begin to wash the flecks of food from the plates, lamenting the fact that I absolutely won’t be sore tomorrow.
The sex had been good at first, but now, it could best be described as impersonal and infrequent. Most of the time, Brody is too busy or tired to be interested, and I’d long since given up on trying to get him to make it good for us both.
Something outside the window catches my eye—a flash of red. A slight shift in the shadows caught by my peripheral vision. I glance up from the sink, peering into the darkness beyond. Cold rain pelts the pane of glass, leaving distorted streaks across the surface. I squint to try to make out what’s out there.
My phone vibrates on the counter next to me and I glance down.
HUBBY: I’m ready and waiting for you.
With a resigned sigh, I turn off the water. My eyes quickly scan the backyard out the window. I could have sworn I’d seen something lurking out there. The ever-present feeling of eyes watching me burns into my skin. But there’s nothing there. My mind is just playing tricks on me after a long week.
Padding up the stairs and down the hallway, I slowly make my way to the bedroom. Brody is splayed out on the bed, naked, stroking himself. Pale hairs cover his legs and the mild slope of his belly. The tip of his cock is red and angry and he juts in and out of his own hand.
“That’s it, you fucking slut. Eat her cunt like a good little whore,” he growls as he stares at his phone which is locked in his free hand. Sounds of porn stream through the small speakers, filling the room with soft moans and whines.
“Get your clothes off and get over here,” he demands of me, his eyes never leaving the screen, his hand never stopping its aggressive thrusting.
With as much willingness as I can muster, I slide my clothes off my body. The cold air pricks at my pale skin and I shiver. Sliding under the covers swiftly, I scoot in next to Brody who doesn’t take his eyes off the big-breasted blonde being fucked while eating out a curvy girl with dark skin and darker hair.
“Did you need me here for this or should I just go read downstairs?” I ask with a clipped tone, seething with annoyance.
He slides his eyes to me and glares. Shutting off his phone and putting it on his bedside table, he lets out a huff before shoving his hand beneath the covers and between my legs.
“Brody!” I shriek and try to squirm away. His touch is coldand harsh.
He doesn’t respond. He simply strokes along the outer edge once, twice, three times, then places a kiss along my neck.
