Work Text:
"I want an open marriage." Your husband's words take you off guard, the rhythmic chopping of your knife against the cutting board stops abruptly.
Crickets fill the silence in the kitchen from the open window as you look at him taken aback.
A colorful blend of emotions burst behind your eyes like fireworks. Pain, hurt, anger, sadness, and then betrayal. You've heard of men asking their wives for this to have a clear conscience while cheating to make themselves feel better.
He stands on the opposite side of the counter watching you closely, waiting for your answer.
Who does he want to fuck so bad?
Mentally you flip through pictures of your friends.
Then it hits you. He wants your co-worker, Mia. Young. Pretty. Basically flawless.
You grip the knife tighter and flip through his friends.
Mia even told you accidentally once that he is "Just so handsome!" Albeit she was under the influence, though the saying goes. 'A drunk tongue speaks a sober mind.' She isn't lying.
Your husband shifts his weight between both feet clearly anxious, his fingers drum against the counter as you resume chopping vegetables for the meal prep for both of you.
"John."
His eyebrows meet in the middle confusion written all over his face. "John?" He repeats.
"Yes, I want to go on a date and potentially fuck your friend, John Price." You simply reply.
Something between disgust and jealousy crawls into his expression. "No way. Why him?"
You hum and look at your husband, the man who promised you forever to be only with each other is now asking for a girlfriend?
For a few beats too long you stay silent and add the vegetables to the pot letting him suffer. "He's cute, also I like the beard." You say and hear your husband scoff.
He strokes his bare chin and looks at the floor. “You don't like beards. Why now?”
“I thought since we're trying new things out, why not? I'll be there tomorrow to ask him out for dinner this weekend.” You say.
Tension crackles in the room as your husband paces the kitchen. “He won't do it. Price would never agree to date you.”
His words come out sharp, aiming to make it hurt. It wasn't too surprising to find out what he wants, but now he's being a dick?
You click the lid shut to only your lunch container and put it in the fridge. “Oh, he'll want more than just to date me, don't worry.”
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Monday morning came a lot faster than you anticipated, as if the universe knew what you were doing. Last night you called Mia and told her about the whole ordeal that left you feeling a storm of emotions. Part of you knew your marriage was over. The relationship grew stale and while you tried to fix it, soak up some of what used to be between you and your husband was now dried up and brick hard like a dry sponge.
Anxiety pulses through your veins, making the spot below your neck throb visibly, the soft leather of the car seat barely feels real, nor does the sun shining through your windshield, which does little to warm the dread in your belly that quickly turns into an iceberg freezing you to your spot. But you were not about to let your husband show you up, get a date, and fuck someone else when he hasn’t fucked you in months.
You check your reflection once more in the visor to make sure your hair and little bit of makeup are in place even though you kept the window up on the drive over, suffering from the heat because your husband refuses to fix the AC. You snap it shut with a soft sigh. John Price is inside the building in front of you, where your husband happens to work and spends a lot of time, but where does he go after?
His words come back and hit you square in the face like a baseball, shattering everything you thought you knew about your marriage and who he is as a person. “I want an open marriage.” Who asks for one already with a person in mind? Someone with an intent to cheat but who wants permission because it's easier to beg for forgiveness than to just ask your wife to have a side relationship?
Apparently not such a good one if he wants to fuck your co-worker, who literally squealed and gushed over the phone when you told her about him asking her out. You could hear her voice still, shrill and filled with that sort of excitement you used to get when your husband asked you on your first date.
“Here goes nothing.” Gathering up all the courage you have, you push the door open and walk up the sidewalk, each step slower than the last as your hands fidget and smooth down your skirt. You tugged on a simple skirt and shirt, nothing fancy, or said, “Hey! I want to fuck you to piss my husband off!”
It wasn’t just that you wanted to piss him off, it was mostly about you taking back the power and your sense of direction you lost over the last year in your marriage and well, maybe a little bit of it was you wanting to give him his own taste of medicine, hold his nose shut and make him swallow it.
You already called a lawyer this morning because, like hell, were you staying married to him.
John is probably in his office, maybe waiting for you already? You talked to him a few times at the holiday party they have, where he was nothing but a gentleman, paying close attention to what you spoke. He even leaned in when he didn’t hear you, and his musk was strong, earthy, and all fucking man.
Did your husband tell him already? What would he think about getting involved? Would he? Your mouth felt like you stuffed cotton in it and it didn’t matter how many times you try to swallow to wet it or your lips, your nerves felt like they were flayed and then seared on a grill.
A few seconds later you realize you're inside.
The small lobby is lit up with soft buttery lamps that didn’t make your eyes strain, with a few couches in the corner and a desk. A cool breeze from the AC helps the heat that flushes through you when the secretary greets you when you see him by his office or what you think is talking to someone else, nodding his head.
You look at her, her words not registering when John approaches, and all your blood rushes to your ears from the nerves tingling all over like tiny thumbtacks being rained down on you. “Your husband isn't here. He’s at lunch. You need anythin’?” He asks kindly with a smile that crinkles.
You snap out of your trance and smile back, trying not to fidget with your hands too much. “I know, I came to see you actually.” You say and give him a look that all but begs for him to take you to his office.
The secretary is now leaning in subtly, her eyes trained on the computer while listening. “Come to my office then.” John smiles and waits for you to step next to him before he walks with you down the tiled hallway, where he reaches a heavy door that has his nameplate: Captain John Price.
When your husband enrolled in the military at the tender age of nineteen, he insisted that you two get married so he could take care of you, so young and dumb and helplessly in love, you agreed. Now it’s biting you in the ass and speaking of ass, John has a nice one, plump and very round too.
Mentally you scold yourself and let your gaze travel up his broad body, settling on his eyes that most definitely caught you checking him out, but he didn’t say anything, just smiled and opened the door, his large palm stretching out to show you to the chairs he placed in front of his desk. “What’s goin’ on?”
You walk inside and feel your heartbeat triple and the butterflies in your belly flap harder like a whirlwind of buttery soft wings that could make you float, your muscles like jelly as you walk to the chair that John pulls out for you, a broken thank you parting your lips, and then you sink into the cushion, now fidgeting.
John took his seat behind his desk and leaned back, the chair creaking. His eyes stay trained on you, warm and gentle, waiting patiently for you to tell him why you’re here, a soldier’s wife? He’s always wondered what you saw in your husband, but seeing that John didn’t even have a girlfriend, he couldn’t speak on that. “Has my husband talked to you?” You ask and pull on your fingertips, watching him.
“About?”
That fucking bastard! Of course, he wouldn’t talk to him.
Your thoughts unravel like yarn being spilt from a bowl, the colorful strands, each one depicting your emotions, left a mess in your skull as you blink and gather up the rest of your courage. “He…asked me for an open marriage the other night, he wants to fuck my co-worker and I asked about you.” You reply basically in one breath and opt to stand up now, the chair making no noise as it slides back.
John wasn’t expecting to hear that. If anything, he thought it was some type of drama at home that was being brought to work, and while it was being brought to your husband's job, it wasn’t the type of drama John was thinking of. He ran a palm over his beard, watching as you paced in front of his desk anxiously.
He stands and walks over to you, his hand resting on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. Your wide eyes meet his, your legs already quivering because what the hell were you thinking? “I think a beautiful woman like yourself deserves to be wined and dined first, yeah? Here’s my number.”
His answer brings so much relief that floods your body your knees give out and John is right there, one strong arm hooks around your waist, holding you upright. “Okay.” Is all you manage as you rest your hands on his chest, your gazes locked for a moment as you count the dark blue flecks in his eyes when he pulls away to scribble his number on a piece of paper and hand it to you with a softer smile than before.
“A man who doesn’t know his wife’s worth isn’t a man worth keeping around.” John whispers in your ear when he leans in to kiss your cheek before he walks out with you to your car, where you two stand, your eyes unable to meet his as his words replay in your head like a broken record. Does he like you?
It’s been about five years since your husband started working on this base, sometimes he would be deployed to a different one, and hopefully soon he would be shipped out again, giving you the house to be alone without him talking about Mia and how well the date went while she blows your phone up.
“Thursday at six? I’ll pick you up. I’ll tell your husband too.” John says, his voice tightening when he says "husband," and all you can do is nod again and flash him a smile before returning the cheek kiss. He opens your door and closes it and watches as you drive away, mentally doing backflips the entire ride home.
Part of you couldn’t believe he actually said yes, that he was going to take you on a date while already married and you know this should make you feel guilty, but you can’t, not while your husband wants this. His car greets you first, gleaming under the sun. Confusion and irritation seep into you as you get out.
He greets you by the front door, face blank and lips drawn into a thin line. “Mia had to cancel our date on Thursday. Do you want to keep the reservations?” He asks, watching as you hang your keys up and laugh.
Full-on bladder-bursting laughter spills from your lips, the last few days of knowing your marriage was finally over have stained your sanity only temporarily, thankfully. You wipe at your eyes and pat his chest with a mock smile. “Thursday? I’m busy. John’s picking me up, by the way. Fuck you for asking him.”
His eyes widen only for a second, then they turn into slits. “Who asks their wife for an open marriage and then, when his date has to cancel, asks her to go on it with him to a dinner set for another woman? Anyway, I came home to look the dresser for a dress, but I think I’ll go out and buy a new one.”
You grab your keys and turn on your heel leaving your husband speechless like he did on Friday night.
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Multicolored fabric pops out at you like a magician's bad trick, nothing was color coordinated, and the sizes were a mess too, making it impossible to find yours. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, another text from your husband. Ever since last night he has been pouting and stomping.
His footsteps were literally rattling the walls while mumbling under his breath so you slept on the couch because sleeping next to him was like being in bed with a stranger. You debated texting John under the covers like a teenager staying up way past their curfew, but you didn't and fell asleep, waking up with a kink in your neck.
John’s face flashed in your mind, and you remember how his arm felt around your waist. How would it feel to have him hold you as he stretches you out? Nasty images of riding him in his car or him bending you over his desk blurred behind your eyelids, making you flush with heat and grip the shirt in your hand.
Before taking the couch last night, you went to the park instead and sat in your car and ordered a pizza before going home because you were too exhausted to go out in public, nor did you really want to. You weren’t ready for that and you spent most of the night crying away the remnants of what you felt for your husband. Little does he know it, but he’s giving you the best gift he could’ve ever given you.
Now it was Tuesday afternoon and you were at the mall in one of the many boutique stores looking for a dress or at least something you could put together for your date Thursday, which felt like forever away.
He was home and you didn't want to be around him anymore so before he woke up, you bolted out the front door, hardly getting yourself together. You couldn't stomach being around him and went to the mall in hopes of finding a new outfit and maybe a new lip gloss or something.
All the ones in your closet were outdated and ones you wore on dates with him and your makeup was expired. Long ago you stopped using it to impress him, but you always appreciated a good lip gloss.
Mia's shrill voice shatters your concentration, her heels sinking into the plush carpet with her arms wide open as she strolls toward you with a smile that makes your cheeks hurt. “Hi! It's so funny seeing you outside of our work!” She squeals and hugs you, a heavily familiar scent assaulting your nose.
It was your husband's.
A sick feeling crept up your throat like vines slowly growing, suffocating you little by little until it choked you. However, you manage to speak to her so you don't do something you’ll regret.
“Mia. Hello. It's because we're there a lot.” You reply with a cool tone, stepping back.
Your eyes travel up the length of her body twice because you saw the bruise on her ankle, a lovely place your husband loves to kiss on you, well loved. She giggles and waves her hand like you told her a joke.
For a moment you stare at her, wanting to grab her shoulders and scream in her face for agreeing to sleep with your husband. The other part was glad she helped implode your marriage, exposing the snake your husband really is. Even before suggesting all this, he was slowly turning into someone you didn't recognize, taking the image of your marriage with him, what were butterflies at first was now lead in your gut.
Dates postponed, only to never happen. Conversations shift to arguments. Kissing and sex stopped altogether, leaving you pent up over the last year basically and always taking care of yourself with a toy that could never replace the touch or kiss of someone. Yes, it made you cum, but you wanted someone to talk you through it and make you theirs over and over, something John could easily do.
Him asking for an open marriage concreted the thoughts you were already having.
It’s time to divorce him.
“Are you shopping? I think that would look awesome on you!” She says, pointing at the hanger in your right hand with a grin, bringing you back to Earth.
“It seems we have the same taste.”
The subtle insult didn't faze sweet little Mia. Immediately you felt a twinge of guilt and gratitude because ultimately she was taking the trash out for you. “Can I join?”
For the next hour you let Mia tag along for some reason.
She was excited the entire time, practically glowing as if you weren't the wife of the man she was hooking up with. You knew why she was beaming like a light. Good sex with someone you love will do that.
“I'm sorry for everything, you know.” You snap your head up from digging in your purse for your keys to look at her, it was time to part ways as she wants to go home. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I love him.”
Mia's bottom lip trembles as she sucks in a breath. Her sentence makes your chest pulse with the memory of the same realization you had when you first met him. Now when you look at him, you feel disgust, and you’re not even sure who he is. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly. I'm a little sad, upset, and pissed, but now I know he truly doesn't want just me, and our marriage was on the rocks when he suggested it anyway.”
Her eyes flash with regret as she suddenly takes your hands and squeezes gently. “He told me you got a date. I say, go get laid. You deserve it.”
You try not to grin and nod your head.
“That's the plan.”
Mia walks you to your car and hugs you before walking off and pulling her phone out. You slid into the driver's seat and sigh rubbing your face not believing what you did.
What the fuck just happened?
Your emotions came swinging like a pendulum. Pissed. Sad. Happy. Shame.
It was strange to shop with Mia after everything went down, after she confessed she loves your husband.
A few times you almost asked why she canceled the date then.
But you truly didn't care anymore. You checked out of the relationship a long time ago, now it was your turn to be happy.
Your husband wants an open marriage?
He's about to find out just how open it can get. You knew about John's friends and teammates, you've met them before and seen them around a few times. Maybe you might go on a few dates and fuck them. There weren’t any rules now. As soon as you pull in your driveway and see your husband's car, you feel all the life drain out of you. There was a point when you would've fought for your marriage.
It wasn't like he was trying to fix it or spice it up either. This was him wanting to openly cheat. With your bags in hand, you get out and take slow steps until you're inside.
Thankfully the downstairs was completely dark, meaning he was upstairs. Relief floods your body and you flop on the couch thinking of John. You reach for your phone and scroll through your contacts for him.
Outgoing message
Hi. Are you busy?
Incoming message
No.
You stare at the screen and decide to call him and sit up, melting on the cushion like lava, hot and bubbly from hearing his voice.
“Are you okay, love?”
It takes you a second to respond. “Yes, I wanted to talk to you. How are you doing?”
“I'm a lucky bloke then. Doing right as rain, darlin’. Yourself?” He asks unknowingly, doing the same thing you are on his couch, sitting there with his free hand on his knee wondering what you were doing.
Another wave of heat floods your veins, your body tingles with emotions you haven't felt in a very long time. “I'm okay. Today was a day. I ran into my husband's girlfriend and we went shopping together.”
“Your husband's girlfriend? Bloody hell. How are you handlin’ this? I'm listenin’.”
He wants to know how you're doing.
You couldn't remember the last time your husband asked you that, or when you two had a conversation that didn't end ugly.
“Can you pick me up?” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them.
Immediately, John says. “Yes, send me your address.” You hang up and clutch your phone to your chest with a smile.
John's phone dings with a new message two seconds after you hang up containing your address and a few square blocks.
His flip phone doesn't receive emojis.
You two mirrored each other in your own homes. As soon as you hang up, you scramble off the couch and get ready as quickly as you can, stopping to check your reflection in the mirror.
With quiet footsteps down the hallway, you go through the clean clothes in the laundry room looking for something decent. As soon as you pull it on, you dash out to the bathroom and add the final steps. You're glad John agreed to pick you up.
John is warm and kind, but so was your husband at first too. He was charming and able to have you under him on the first date.
No! Stop. John is different.
You scold the negative thoughts. You fucking deserve this and your pussy ate.
Maybe not tonight, or maybe. You wrestle with the decision as you slip your shoes on and head outside, closing the front door.
You lock it up unsure and turn just in time to see John's vehicle pull in.
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“Hi!” You greet John with a hug the moment he steps out of his truck, gravitating to his force, you snuggle into his shirt and sigh, grateful that he came without even needing to be asked to and for how quick he showed up.
Tears prick your eyes, and the next thing you know, you're bawling into his chest from holding everything in the last few days. John's hand smoothes down your back in comforting circles, inviting you closer.
Everything has finally bubbled over, leaving you a mess of tears and snot.
Your husband's girlfriend and her saying she loves him as if she were telling her best friend and not you, the wife. “Today fucking sucks.” You cry and grip onto him tightly.
John is gentle as he guides you to the passenger side of his truck, opening the door and helping you in, making sure you're buckled. “Tell me about it then, love.”
His door clicks shut, shutting out everything, giving you a moment to breathe as John's musky scent surrounds you like a well-worn veil. “Where to?” He asks, taking your hand.
Everything felt so right but yet a little wrong at the same time. Getting in a man’s car and asking him to take you to his place? Maybe because you're still married, you look down at your wedding ring now, seeing a mini handcuff.
“Your place?”
“Off we go.”
You slip off the glittering band from your finger, roll the window down, and throw it in the yard, letting the cool breeze wash over you. “You're better off without that arse, you deserve better than that, love, someone who will love you and only you.”
Tears stream down your face like steady waterfalls, soaking your shirt. “His girlfriend told me she loves him, which means they've been fucking before he even asked about the open marriage. What the fucking fuck?” You mutter.
Anger seeps into your voice now as you dry your face and lean back into the seat, daring a glance at John, who looks calm, but his jaw says a different thing.
“He's a bloody dick for treating you that way. And her? She's as bad as he is, darlin’, you're better off without both of them." He says and squeezes your hand.
A flutter of something kicks off in your chest and rains down into your stomach. He listens and has your back? That's a change, and it feels so good you want to kiss him. “Thank you for listening to me. It means a lot.”
On the ride over you stew in your thoughts of Mia going to your house and fucking your husband in the bed you two used to share, him inviting her once you left without even wondering where you went probably.
What shitty things to do.
John pulls into his driveway. “Not a problem, love.” He murmurs, looking at you, knowing you were deep in your head.
You lean in, giving him the go to follow your lead. Your faces are inches apart as you stare into his eyes, feeling blood rush to your ears and heat pool in your cheeks, then spiderwebsall over. “Can I kiss you?” You ask shyly.
His lips brush against yours, warm and chapped. He tastes like mint, with each peck you deepen it, feeling the knot in your belly untie, and your tongue teases the seam of his lips. It was everything you want in a kiss, the longing that burns like hot coals in your throat.
Just as hungry as you are, John kisses you deeply. “I couldn't stop thinking about you, darlin', since you came into my office.” His voice is soft, laced with pure adoration, making you tremble. He pecks your lips softly, his fingers curling around the back of your neck as his warmth seeps into you like a balm that heals you.
“I can’t stop thinking about you either, since that day in your office.”
John smiles against your lips and kisses you again, growing drunk on your taste. The way you lean into him is enough to have the poor man’s cock throbbing and twitching behind his zipper, but you don’t deserve to be fucked in his truck. No, you deserve a lot better than that. “Let’s go inside, darlin'.”
He gets out of the driver's seat and rounds the hood to open your door, his hand warm and steady in your palm. John Price’s house was quaint, small enough to fit all of his belongings, which wasn’t much for a man who doesn’t need a lot. “Thank you for, you know,” you gesture to him and you.
“You don’t need to thank me. Shoes love.” John crouches by your feet and slips your shoes off one by one, his fingers tracing over the bone as his eyes meet yours, charging the moment and making your insides melt and slosh around.
You swallow the lump in your throat and lean down to kiss him again, helping him stand. Hand in hand he led you to the kitchen and pulled out a barstool.
“White or red?” John asks, pulling out two wine bottles, both half drunk.
“Sweet white, please.”
Glug. Glug. Glug.
You watch the white wine gush from the top like a rushing waterfall before John tips it back up and sets it down with a gentle thunk, then he takes the spot next to you. “Talk to me.”
His hand rests on your back as he watches you intently and clearly interested in whatever else you might need to spill.
“I feel so…stupid. I let her come shopping with me, and deep down I think I wanted to see what it was about her that made him fall in love with her and out of love with me like some sort of self-punishment even though I didn’t do anything wrong or for him to not want me anymore.”
Your confession hangs like a heavy curtain, one that suffocates. “I know our marriage was over before he asked about opening it. But why not divorce me and then go fuck someone else? We…” You draw in a shaky breath and take a sip of wine, leaning subconsciously into John, seeking out more of his steady warm presence.
“We've only been with each other in every single way, and I think he wants a new pussy to fuck, which is whatever. We haven’t had sex in months, probably close to a year, I lost track after the first month. I’m pretty and good in bed. His fucking loss.”
It's vulgar and raw, but you can't seem to stop yourself. Wine flows easily in your blood, making it easier to tell John, who tries not to think about just how pretty you are or how good you are in bed, he is a gentleman, not a horny teenager.
You slip off the barstool, hating how it took away John's touch, but you need to pace or you'll start screaming. Emotions burst free like squealing fireworks.
You tilt your head back and drain the rest of your wine before letting John refill it.
“Get it all out, sweetheart, tell me.”
His words only encourage you further. “I can't believe I let his girlfriend tag along with me! It must've been shock, I think. The betrayal of my co-worker who knew I was married! Did I tell you that before she ran into me at the mall, they fucked in our bed? Where the fuck is the class!?” You all but shout.
John stands and leans against the counter, crossing his arms, his jaw tight with the new information. Later tonight he would call his mates and tell them about your husband and make a plan to visit him and have a conversation.
“They're mutts.”
“You're absolutely right. Mia is a bitch, a sneaky little slut. I don't like saying those things about someone, but damn. She is.” You raise your hands and let them drop to your sides, then lean against John, letting him swallow you in his arms as he kisses the top of your head.
“Let's get you on something more comfortable for you, love.” He places his hand on your lower back and guides you to his living room that scarcely has any furniture, but enough for a few people to sit on.
You settle on the couch and sag against the cushions, thankful for John, who takes the end and pats his lap. “Feet.”
“You're not going to tickle me, are you?” You tease and laugh, a little wine tipsy.
John chuckles and shakes his head. “Unless you're into it.”
You giggle and cover your mouth. “Foot massages? Yes. Feet tickling? No, unless you're into getting your face kicked.”
He rubs his chin and shakes his head as if to say no as you perch your feet where his hands were open, waiting. “Good girl.”
Oh fuck.
Those words went straight to your neglected clit that throbs. You try to ignore that feeling, but John knew what he was doing as he massaged away the ache in the arch, one that you’ve been trying to get rid of yourself with cold water bottles and your own fingers that did not do the job.
“That feels so wonderful. You’re good with your hands.”
You met his gaze and flushed with heat as you smiled and tried to hide the fact that you felt like a damn teenager on a first day, the butterflies flapping so hard in your stomach you swore you could take flight right off John’s couch.
For a few minutes he works on your left foot and then treats your right the same way. “Need anything else?” He asks, making sure you didn’t want for anything. It was such a difference between him and your husband.
“Maybe another glass of wine?”
John leans over and kisses you, barely, but enough that it makes your toes curl. You watch him, your eyes glued to his ass, round and plump. You need to ask him what it is that he does to get it like that, then you glance around his living room to see a few pictures you didn’t notice before.
You stand and walk over to the frames that hung neatly on the wall, scanning each one, able to pick out his teammates when you see a picture of the four of them and Mia standing next to Simon, her hand tightly holding his as she stares into the camera. The look in her eyes tells you one thing: she hates her life. Because as someone who has been hating their life the last year, you knew.
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Confusion swirls like a raging winter storm in your head icing out every other thought, the howling of thoughts sounds anguished as you stare at the glaring glass that held the frame of John and his team, with Mia.
You stumble back and feel bile rise like floodwater, the wine sloshes in your belly as you run to the kitchen to empty your stomach trash can, hunching over it as John turns around to watch with wide eyes.
“Aye! What’s the matter darlin’?” John asks, his tone full of concern and worry and his touch is warm on your shoulder as you grab a napkin and dab at your mouth while jerking away from him with a frown. Your whole body shook as you glared at him, your lip curling in disgust.
You point to the living room, tears welling in your eyes. “You…you know Mia! Did you fuck her too? Did she hire you to make my life a living fucking hell or something? I don’t understand her problem with me!” You spit and corner yourself against the counters watching as John’s face contorts with his emotions.
“Mia? As in Simon’s wife?” He asks confused and clearly thrown off by your change of character, but he stays put by the wine glasses, the kitchen now thick with a different kind of tension, one that you’ve been trying to run away from in your own home, and now this?
Simon’s wife? His words hit you like a train. Mia is married too? She’s never said a damn word.
But it wasn’t like you two were best friends, just co-workers who idly chatted about their day, and of course, you used to gush about your husband to your few friends and sometimes Mia would listen. Has she been planning this the entire time? Your head spun like an out-of-control washing machine.
“She’s married?”
John sighs and rubs his beard like he didn’t want to tell you because it wasn’t his business to be telling anyone, but he isn’t going to waste time in calling up Simon to ask permission. “Legally yes, they’re separated, have been for months now love.”
“She’s married to Simon Riley but chose my husband to fuck and fall in love with?” You ask and grip the counter for support. Your entire body feels like it is on a Weeble-Wobble while you desperately hang on, hoping you don’t fall and crash, but it was too late. You sink to the floor in a heap of raw tears.
John is immediately at your side, his hands cupping your face, his rough thumbs wiping away the fat streams of water that stain your cheeks. His blue eyes remind you of the deep end of the pool where water cuts through. “I never liked Mia or fucked her. If she ever asked me to hurt you, I’d never do it.”
His warmth seeps into you like soil soaking up rainwater. It reaches parts of you that have never been touched before, he shifts closer and sits on his kitchen floor with you, his hands never leaving your face as he wipes away the falling tears.
He continues to wipe away your tears as your sobs turn into sniffles. “Welcome to the club of not liking Mia.”
You look at him and the both of you smile then laugh and press your heads together. “I need to brush my teeth… And I’m sorry for accusing you of trying to mess with me, the last year has been something and you’ve been nothing but sweet to me and I’m sure you’ve got more than you bargained for.”
“I understand, darlin’. You’ve been through hell and learned more about your husband’s affair. It’s only natural that you would lash out like that. I bargained for someone real, and that you are my love. Let’s get you up and get you in the bathroom. I have a new pack of toothbrushes, you can use one.” His understanding of the whole situation floods you with relief and leaves your body sagging with it.
How he looks at you and how he listens like you didn’t act crazy is mindblowing. Your brain feels fuzzy as you take his hand and let him help you up. John never lets go of you as he guides you into the small bathroom, where he shows you where everything is. “I’ll be in the livin’ room when you’re done, love.”
You stare at your reflection in the mirror and hate how lifeless you look. All because of a man.
What the fuck?
It took you a few minutes to brush your teeth and tongue before you slip out of the bathroom and back into the living room where you hear the last bit of John’s conversation. “...Mia is fuckin’ with her, and I won’t stand for it.” His eyes lock onto yours as he mutters something into the phone before putting it down.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hear that. Thank you again, John, really. You have been wonderful and I hate to ask, but can I stay here? I don’t want to go home.” You fidget with your fingers and look away from his intense gaze.
John pats the couch and holds his arm open for you. “Stop apologizin’ love. You can stay as long as you want, I’ll take the couch and you can have my bed. Whatever you need.” It takes only a second to make it over to John, where you settled in next to him. Nuzzling your face into his side with a soft sigh.
Silence fills the space of the living room, letting John hold you close to him, his fingers smoothing down your shoulder and arm. “You smell so good and you’re so kind. I think you're made up of husband material.” You tease and melt in his embrace thankful that you have someone here with you.
You know it’s not John’s job to clean up the broken pieces of your life, but having him hold the dustpan was more than helpful. It was so nice to be held again that it made you tear up, the physical release is draining. “Hopefully someone someday gets to wear me then.” He teases back.
You pull away and look at him biting your lower lip. “Will you sleep with me? Like actual sleep, I wanted to have sex, I have my favorite panties on too and everything. However, I am so exhausted.” You murmur.
“Say no more. Holdin’ you is a privilege and havin’ you in my bed is a bloody blessin’.”
A few minutes pass and John has you back in his arms after you tugged on his shirt in his bed where the scent of you is absorbed by his sheets and John finds out that your head fits perfectly on his chest too.
Sleep took hold of you like a thief in the night, never moving from your spot until you felt the cold sheets under you the next morning. Light streams highlighting the dustmotes that glitter in the sun from the open curtains, the smell of food beckon you from the warm sheets as you pad down the hall and into the kitchen where you watch him for a few seconds before stepping further in with a soft smile. “Good morning.” You tell him.
John stands at the stove, changed from last night. “Mornin’ sweetheart. Medicine and water on the counter.” He tells you with a smile that makes your tummy flutter. The last couple of days, John has been nothing but sweet to you, willing to listen, help whenever and however you need it. He’s what you want.
His shirt tickles the tops of your thighs as you settle on the barstool and take the medicine he put on a small plate with the ice-cold water. “How did you sleep?” He asks and hands you a plate full of food that steams, the thick aroma makes your stomach growl as you barely reply and start eating fast.
It’s been too long since someone else has cooked you food. It was either you made dinner or your husband ordered something from somewhere because he couldn’t be bothered to cook anything. “This is delicious. Thank you again for everything, it means a lot that you have my back when no one else does.”
“You’ve been pourin’ into everyone else but yourself, time to start doin’ that, innit?” He asks and leans over to steal a piece of food off your plate making you laugh and playfully swat at his hand before you tug him closer to hook one arm around his waist while you eat and feed him in between each bite.
You know John is right. You do need to pour into yourself. Otherwise, you’d be feeling like this for the rest of your life and you refuse to do that. “You’re a smart man. How the hell do you not have a wife?” You ask and slide off the stool to wash the plate, but John takes it from you and puts it in the sink.
“My job keeps me busy. It wouldn’t be fair for my missus to wait for me.” He replies with a shrug that makes your heart ache. John deserves to be happy and right now that’s what you want to make him since he’s been doing that for you. He takes your hand gently and tugs you into his chest, kissing you.
His lips taste faintly of tea, making you want more. Greedily, you peck his lips and wrap your arms around him, letting his tongue tease yours before they tangle together creating an eruption of butterflies deep in your stomach, their wings melt together to create a ball of desire as you deepen the kiss slowly.
John lets his hands trail down your sides, feeling and teasing each inch that he gets further taking his time to acclimate you to his touch until his fingers tease the bottom hem of his shirt. "Simon's keen to meet you. Bloody hell, my whole team is dyin’ to meet the woman who's got me thinkin' of her all the time." He whispers against your lips and you try not to think with your pussy, you really do.
Heat crawls up your neck like vines as you curl your fingers in his shirt and pull him closer until there isn’t a single inch between the two of you. “I would like to meet him too, but right now, I want to give you a little gift.” You murmur and sink to your knees, but John stops you midway and stares down at you.
"This is somethin’ you don’t have to do.” He whispers wanting you to fully commit to this when you’re in the right headspace, the last thing he wanted you to feel was used or anything but wanted.
“Good thing I want to.” You reply and smile as your fingers unbuckle his belt, the metal clinks together as you focus on the task, biting your bottom lip, trying not to moan at the scent of John when you pop the button to his jeans and unzip it, the sound crackling in the small kitchen space. Your nerves erupts in flames knowing this is the only second man you’ve done something with. What if he didn’t like it?
John’s steady hands perch on the counter behind him, his cock twitches in his boxers, which did little to conceal the thick stalk. You gently peel down the fabric and inhale his musk. “Holy shit. You’re big.” You swallow the lump in your throat and stare at his dick, all girth and the perfect size at almost seven inches, maybe closer to six and a half, thick brown bushy hair covers the base with a thick weepy tip.
Before he could say anything else and before you could stare, you wrap your fingers around the middle of him, hearing John inhale sharply. “Take your time, love, no need to rush. Just go at your own pace, yeah?”
His words wash over you like cool water after spending time under the scorching sun. You nod and jerk him off, letting your mouth part and tongue hang out. Then you slap the head of his cock on your tongue watching and gauging his reactions. “Bloody hell, love. You’re goin’ to be the death of me.” He groans.
The blowjob is messy and wet, the suctioning sounds fills the room as you bob your head up and down the length of his cock feeling the stretch in your lips, but you burn through the pain and grip onto his jeans making it messier. Spit dribbles down your chin and splatters on John’s shirt you wore but you couldn’t care less, not when he’s thrusting in your mouth lost in the pleasure of how good you feel.
“Just like that. Good girl, keep goin’.” John urges you and lets you set the pace while your hands roam his body, your hand sliding up his shirt feeling the soft layer of fat with a thick mat of hair that seems to cover every inch of his body and how bad did you want to bury your face everywhere and just sniff him.
You use everything you have, licking and sucking his cock like it was the first and last time you’d do it. Every inch of him was covered in spit as you pulled back enough to suckle just the tip.
Something about John makes fireworks explode in your brain, the fizzles showering you with warm affection. Your nose meets his pubic bone as you deepthroat him loving the way he twitches on your tongue. It’s still such a mess as you suck him off while you squeeze his ass that you grope.
It’s a sticky mess of spit and precum that mix together and gloss over your lips that wrap beautifully around his dick that it takes everything inside John not to ask you to marry him. His eyes cut downward and he groans, the loud and vibrating in his chest that you feel when you take him all the way again.
John’s head tips back as he moans your name and curses before he pulls you back and off his cock with a wet pop. He jerks himself off until he cums, using the sticky essense as a lube that drips down his fingers making a mess of his fist while his gaze locks with yours. His cheats heaves as you stand and kiss him.
Your hand covers his as you follow his movements, the pearl necklace he gave you twinkles under the kitchen light. “Bloody hell love. That was-” John broke off and groans as he kisses you back, his clean hand wraps around your waist and tugs you closer again loving how you perfectly fit against him.
“Wonderful? Sexy? Unexpected?” You tease and ask glancing at the clock knowing you have work in an hour where you might or might not see Mia and you only wonder how you can stomach that.
“All three of ‘em. Do you got to go?” John asks, his voice rough after his orgasm and edged with a soft vulentribiry he’s never willingly shown anyone, but something about you makes it easy.
You nod and wrap your arms around him, squeezing before you kiss him again and wink and pull away to watch as he collects himself and grabs his keys to drop you off at home first.
“Think of that as a thank you for everything you have done for me. You can eat my pussy tomorrow.”
John chuckles and gently grasps your wrist to pull you back in his arms, his nose nuzzles against yours as he pecks your lips. “How about tonight? I’ll cook you dinner and have you for my dessert.” His words make you shiver as you nod and splay your hand on his chest feeling how wildly his heart is beating.
You really have no clue just how much John Price is going to change your life.