Chapter 3
Chapter Three
ANGELISE
“And how did that make you feel?” Dr. Willoughby-Horton asked, in her cool neutral way.
I stared up at the soft cream-colored walls of the marriage therapist’s office.
Such soft, soothing colors to calm the many distressed and angry people who must come to her for help.
But what the fuck color wallpaper is soothing enough to help when you find out you fucked your bastard brother-in-law instead of your husband?
“Violated. Betrayed,” I said. “I don’t know Hunter very well, but we’ve always been on good terms. I thought. I don’t know what would have made him do something like this.”
“He’s always been like that,” Henry said, rubbing my shoulders encouragingly. “A deviant.”
Something pulled deep in my gut, a shameful dirty twinge of memory.
Was I a deviant too?
“It’s why he’s just a damn car mechanic instead of working in the family business,” Henry went on. “He can’t be trusted.”
“And how did it make you feel?” Dr. Willoughby-Horton asked, turning to him.
“I feel disgusted,” my husband said. “I’ve told my brother he is not welcome at our home or my business anymore. And he’s lucky I don’t report his criminal ass to the police.”
She nodded. We had seen a few different therapists during our marriage, as my husband struggled with staying faithful to me.
But precise, calm Dr. Willoughby-Horton was the first one who I felt could help us truly save our marriage.
There was something about her cool efficiency, that immaculately tailored navy blue suit, the crisp blonde ponytail, that made me feel like my chaotic thoughts and emotions were explainable.
After all, didn’t everyone make mistakes? Didn’t I sometimes forget and leave my keys in the Lexus? Or not to lock the back door? Or said something thoughtless and rude to my husband?
“If you feel comfortable, would you like to talk about what, specifically, Hunter did to you?” she asked, her pen poised over a yellow pad of paper.
I shifted in my chair, feeling a prickle of heat break out on my neck.
“No, I don’t think I would feel comfortable discussing that.”
I put one ankle over the other and looked down at my bare tanned legs.
My toes were still pink and pearly and perfect. Focus on that.
“Are you sure?” she asked soothingly. “It might help you feel better to get it all out.”
Henry’s hands tightened on my shoulders, trying to rub the tension out of them.
Slick drops of sweat slid down the back of my shirt, and I hoped he couldn’t tell.
“He did the things I told Henry I wanted. That’s all. It didn’t last very long.”
Dr. Willoughby-Horton nodded. “I see. Was there not any part of you that took pleasure in the act?”
“No,” I said automatically. “No. Not at all.”
I felt Henry tense beside me.
Well, his feelings were understandable, of course.
His own twin brother had used Henry’s generosity in giving him a company stipend to snoop around and look at the fantasy I had written out, to pry into my deepest desires to try in his own depraved way to fulfill them.
“Come now,” she asked gently. “It wouldn’t be so strange if you had taken some pleasure in it. Is Hunter not a handsome man?”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, he didn’t even make me come.”
Liar, a little conscience-stricken voice reminded me. He did make you come. Harder than you ever came in your entire life.
I mentally shoved that annoying little voice down in a box and squeezed my thighs together.
Henry seemed to relax at my words.
“My brother is a mindless brute and a savage. Of course you wouldn’t want any of that.”
“I didn’t like any of it,” I hastened to assure him. “I was just going along because I thought you wanted it.”
“You’re so sweet,” Henry said affectionately.
My thighs ached with how tightly I was squeezing them together, and I shifted my position, realizing with a shock that my panties were wet. Very wet.
Had my pussy made a dirty squelching sound? I wondered in horror, jamming my hands under my ass so my husband couldn’t tell they were shaking.
“Really you weren’t serious about all that masked man stuff, were you?” our therapist prompted kindly. “Having Mr. Santerre come in and hunt you down. Is that something you really want your loving husband to do?”
Slick heat began to drip down to my thighs.
“No, of course not,” I said.
A drop of arousal begin to slide down my leg, trail in a slow, humiliating fashion under my skirt until I moved my hands quickly to my lap to hide it.
“And how are you feeling about your husband?” Dr. Willoughby-Horton asked, straightening her glasses.
“Pretty good,” I said quickly. “I feel like we have been rebuilding trust.”
“What does rebuilding trust look like?”
“Well. . .I guess before I would have been insecure about any woman my husband interacted with.”
“Any woman?”
“Yes, any woman. Anyone he worked with. Anyone he came in contact with.”
“Even me?” she asked.
“Even you,” I said.
Dr. Willoughby-Horton looked surprised, her prim mouth pursing up.
“Even though I’m your marriage therapist?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. “It sounds like jealousy is something we do need to work on.”
“Well, you’re a beautiful woman,” I said uncomfortably. “Before I would always have been comparing myself.”
She smiled kindly and turned to her filing cabinet, rapidly flicking through the files to find a pamphlet for me.
“101 Ways Jealousy Is Sabotaging Your Relationship” it said.
“There’s some homework for you,” she ordered kindly.
“And, Henry?” Dr. Willoughby-Horton asked, turning to him. “How are you doing with your homework? Are you sticking to your Action Plans?”
“Yes, I am,” he replied, taking my hand in his much bigger one.
Why didn’t I look at his hands that night? I wondered to myself.
I would have known immediately it wasn’t my husband. Henry’s hands were big, strong, with blunt-cut fingernails and a thick gold wedding band. Hunter’s hands had scars on the knuckles, oil-stained fingers.
I should have been more cautious. Then I wouldn’t have to sit here miserably with dripping wet panties and sweat pooling in my lower back.
“Have you been able to draw firm boundaries?” she asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “Your methods have been helping me immeasurably.”
“How many times this week have you lusted for other women besides your wife?” Dr. Willoughby-Horton asked. “Please be specific.”
“All right,” Henry said. “On Monday I lusted for a woman I saw at the coffee shop.”
“Why?” she asked. “Remember, this is a no-judgment zone.”
“She had a beautiful body. Long, sleek dark hair. Very pale, almost translucent skin. Very large breasts. A tight little ass. When I saw her, I wanted to fuck her up that ass.”
“And what did you do instead?”
“I remembered my goals for the week. In the past, I might have chased after her, lifted up that skirt, and taken her in the bathroom. But I didn’t.”
He paused, tightening his hold on my hand. His eyes were serious. The rich chestnut of one, and the changeable amber of the other.
I felt uncomfortably like some response was required from me.
“Good work,” I said.
“What about other days?” Dr. Willoughby-Horton prompted.
“There’s this Black goddess who works for me. Massive tits. Tiny little waist. I’ve been wanting to bury my face in that juicy pussy. It took a lot of self-control this week to not fuck her. Especially after what happened with Hunter. I had a lot of anger I wanted to work out.”
And I sat there and listened to my husband talk about every woman he had wanted to cheat on me with, but didn’t, stroking his silk shirt and murmuring words of praise.
Good job
Way to meet your goals
And I tried not to think about how tightly Hunter had held me, how hard he had kissed me.
When it was over, we scheduled another session for next week and rode down in the elevator together.
Henry gave me a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m off to the office. What about you? Going to the gym or yoga or something?”
I looked down at my outfit, which was a little navy blue skirt and pin-striped shirt.
“No. . . no, I’m just going home.”
“I’ll see you later,” he said. “Remember, we have some meal planning to do for next week. I think it would do us good to eat less processed foods.”
“All right,” I said.
My purse was such a mess that I had to dig around for the keys to my car, but when I did, I hesitated over the door.
My conscience was pricking me again.
I was remembering how that disgusting Hunter had spoken to me.
Get your goddamn panties down
I had lied to Dr. Willoughby-Horton.
Because I had loved it.
It had turned me on, made me so fucking hot and horny that by the time my brother-in-law stuck his cock in me I was already clenching around it.
For one moment, Henry was the man of my dreams.
But it had all been Hunter’s betrayal and lies.
However, I shouldn’t have lied about it. After all, if Henry and I were going to work through this, we had to be honest with each other.
I needed to admit the truth to my therapist and get some more suggestions. Some suggestions to get the images of the way Hunter had looked in that mask, the way he had dragged me from under the table, out of my brain.
I turned around and headed back to her office, my slick thighs rubbing together.
“Dr—”
And they had been careful.
But not quite careful enough. The door was shut, but not locked.
My stomach dropped as I burst into the office and all the words died in my mouth.
Henry was grinding our therapist against her lovely color-coded filing cabinets, her neat and tidy skirt all bunched up around her waist, her elegant shirt buttons all popped open with her tits falling out.
“Oh, I got so hot thinking about you fucking all those other women,” she moaned in a voice most unlike her normal professional tones.
“You dirty whore,” he growled in her ear. “You’re such a nasty little freak. Maybe if you’re good I’ll let you watch next time.”
He thrust inside her again as she groaned loudly, her face contorted with pleasure as my husband stroked his cock in and out.
“This is so wrong!” she squealed ecstatically. “You’re my patient. I’m your doctor.”
My voice felt choked with rage, but I shoved the door open so hard it crashed against the wall.
“I want my money back, doctor,” I said. “Henry, we’re through.”
Then I spun around and left.
Why had I ever thought it would be different?
He was never going to stop cheating on me.
And finally, I was sick of it.
But I had barely made it out to the parking lot, when I felt a hard hand grab my arm.
“Don’t be a brat, Angelise,” Henry said sharply. “Come back in and let’s talk about this.”
“Talk about what?” I snapped. “Was that in your Action Plan for the day? Was that a Goal you met?”
A muscle twitched in Henry’s jaw, but for once it did nothing for me.
“Maybe if you were a more exciting lay, this wouldn’t happen.”
I jerked out of his grip. Even though the words stung, I was over trying to make this marriage work.
“I don’t care anymore. Go find all the exciting lays you want. I’m going to contact a divorce lawyer.”