10 - Monty
10
Monty
—
Every muscle in my body clenches as I watch them kiss her. Touch her. Fuck her over and over.
I drag a hand through my hair, fisting and ripping at the roots. Desperate to scrub the images from my mind, I try to turn away.
But I can’t.
I can’t fucking stop.
Darkness surrounds me, churning inside me, broken only by the moonlight filtering through the grimy, arch-top window.
I’ve never ventured into the unfinished attic space in my estate. Never had a reason. Until now.
Old furniture and forgotten belongings scatter around me, draped in sheets like ghosts in the gloom, with shadows looming in every corner.
I’m one of those shadows.
Hovering in the window with the cobwebs, I can’t look away from the open French doors of the guest house. Through them, I watch my wife. My young, vivacious, beautiful wife, spreading her legs for another man.
Two other men.
The night vision goggles make everything green and eerie, but all I see is red. I seethe. I claw at my head, grinding it against the window frame and gouging my scalp on the jagged edges.
Still, I can’t look away.
My phone is in hand, the thermostat app open. I adjust it again, making their room unbearably hot, forcing them to leave the doors open.
It’s ruthless and wrong, and I know it. But I thought it would make them go to sleep, so I wouldn’t have to watch. So I wouldn’t have to torture myself with the sight of her taking one dick after another.
Reading about it in her journal was a special kind of hell. But the night vision goggles add details she didn’t include, letting me see every graphic position, every moment of eye contact, every gutting thrust.
I see her erotic expressions as she takes them into her body, the way she blooms for them, glistening in the heat, unaware of my gaze.
Right now, Kody’s licking her face like an animal, uncouth and degrading. She climbs over him, straddling him. He wants her. I don’t have to look at the monstrosity between his legs to know how badly he fucking wants her.
I dig my fingernails into the windowsill, unable to breathe as he flips her onto her back and shoves her legs open.
It’s quick. Frantic. There isn’t a thought between them. He fucks her into the mattress while Leo watches. Not ten minutes after Leo finished in her ass.
The dirty, unfinished walls close in on me, the sense of isolation overwhelming. Suffocating. I hate myself for doing this, for needing to see her even if it’s from a distance, even if it’s like this.
My surroundings reflect my state of mind—dark, cold, filled with malicious shadows—trying to suck me in.
Kody puts his mouth at her ear and says something that makes her laugh.
The silence presses in on me.
When he finally rolls off her, she pushes herself up, wiping sweat from her forehead. Leo brushes the hair from her face and kisses her shoulder.
My heart aches with longing. I want to be with her, to hold her, to be the warmth beside her while she sleeps. But she doesn’t want me there.
She doesn’t want me.
I press my palm against the cool glass, trying to suppress the rage that threatens to turn me into my brother.
But I’m not him.
This devil doesn’t bargain.
I take.
I’m a monster on the cusp of insanity. A stalker in the night. Her silent ache, haunting her from the darkness.
But beneath the horror of my actions, there’s a man who’s just lonely, broken, and desperately in love. A man who wishes more than anything that things were different, that she still wanted him the way he wants her.
Fuck.
What am I doing?
I rip off the goggles and pace through the attic, stirring up dust. The floorboards creak underfoot, the sound amplified in the stillness.
Cobwebs drape the rafters, and an old, musty smell dangles in the air, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of cold. The temperature hovers just above freezing, unlike the sweltering heat in the guest house.
Why am I here?
What am I doing?
A chill seeps into my chest, but my heart is already cold. Split-open. Scarred beyond recognition.
What am I fucking doing?
She’s humiliating me. Controlling me. Fucking two men— two Strakh men —while I watch from the shadows. She’s a goddamn cockhold.
I have banged more women than there are days in a year. I fucked them in twos and threes. Sometimes five or six at a time. Before I met Frankie, I had a penthouse in Anchorage just to host sex parties. Women-only invites, and they came by the dozens.
I have more stamina than a horse, even at my age. My sex drive is legendary. No one can satisfy it.
Except her.
I don’t know what kind of succubus-level magic she’s wielding, but with her, the sensations are different. The chemistry, the orgasms, the connection—everything with her hits differently. Her sexual magnetism is so fucking intense it terrifies me and makes me insanely hard.
The first time I sank into her body, I knew.
I didn’t need a bed full of women to get off.
I only need one woman.
Her.
My life before Frankie had no flavor, no meaning, no purpose. It was sex without feeling. A book with blank pages.
I cannot go back to that.
I won’t.
Leo and Kody aren’t going anywhere. They’re addicts like me. But I have something they don’t.
Money. A lot of it.
She needs me.
Feeling calmer, I return to the window, set my phone on the ledge, and slip on the goggles.
A shroud of stillness cloaks the guest house. Two unmoving male bodies sprawl on the bed, passed out.
Where is she?
Moments later, she emerges from the bathroom, exquisitely naked, carrying tubes of something.
She kneels on the mattress, squirts ointment from a tube, and smooths it on Kody’s injured knee. He doesn’t stir.
When they were released from the hospital this morning, I compiled a list of everything they might need. My employees have been running around all day, gathering every item on that list.
Providing for Frankie brings me great pleasure. Providing for Leo and Kody is an extension of that, despite my desire to kill them. They’re my family, and as much as it sickens me, she loves them.
She moves to the edge of the bed and extends a slender leg. I lean closer to the window as she rubs the contents of another tube into her skin.
Lotion .
I used to watch her do this every night, greedily tracking the paths of her hands as she moisturized every dip and curve of her body. Like now.
When she spreads the cream across her perky little tits, my insides tighten. My cock hardens, and all my blood rushes south.
I came here directly from my shower, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Shoving my hand inside them, I fist my eternal ache.
How many times have I masturbated to visions of her? Nine months of self-pleasure has done nothing to take the edge off. But seeing her in the flesh? I might actually enjoy this release.
I spit in my hand and curl it around my length, stroking from root to tip.
As she glides lotion down her arms, her face looks so peaceful, so content, not caught in the lines of the anger that plague her when she sees me. Like this, her beauty is stunning, mesmerizing. She leaves me breathless.
After all the weight she lost, she’s too thin but still painfully, unjustly, indescribably gorgeous. The natural radiance that shines from her is still there, surrounding her like an aura.
My fist tightens, jerking harder on my straining cock.
I need those lush cherry lips wrapped around me. Fucking hell, she knows how to suck a dick. Never shied away from taking me deep. When I hit the back of her throat, I nearly blacked out. Every. Fucking. Time.
Hers is the only mouth I’ll ever fuck again.
Finished with the lotion, she stands and walks to the open doors, looking out into the night.
I step back into the shadows, heart thundering, fucking my fist, groaning with desperation and despair.
Look at me, wife. Give me those gorgeous eyes. See me. Come to me.
She searches the darkness, gaze roaming, each sweep never quite snagging on the small attic window.
Is she looking for me? Hoping to catch a glimpse of me staring back? Why else would she be standing in the open doorway, fully nude and on display?
Deep down, I know you still want me, Frankie. You still love me. You’re just too angry to see it.
The thought sends me into a tailspin of frenzied hunger. I kick my hips, thrusting and stroking, my love for her twisted into this dark, obsessive need.
I come with a strangled gasp, squirting all over my hand and abs, dripping the last drops into the shadows slithering at my feet.
“Fuck!” I heave, squeezing my dick, drawing out the release, chasing the high.
But it doesn’t last.
It doesn’t compare.
Nothing rivals the real thing with the only one I want.
I need her. I need to feel her mouth on mine, her eyes staring into my soul. I just…need her.
She lifts her heavy mane of hair off her neck and rolls her head from shoulder to shoulder, stretching those delicate tendons, letting the breeze caress every angle.
She’s hot.
Hot as fuck.
But also burning up.
That’s why she sought the open doors. She’s trying to cool down.
I’m a bastard. A creepy fuck with my dick hanging out. And I can’t even scrounge up a sliver of regret about it.
Stuffing myself away, I wipe my hand on my sweatpants, grab my phone, and lower the thermostat in the guest house.
Sleep, my beautiful girl. Dream of the life we had. The life we can still have together.
She retreats from the doorway and crawls into bed between Leo and Kody.
Resting her cheek on Leo’s chest, she drapes a leg over his hips and stares out the doors.
I should go. I’ve already lingered long past disturbing. But my infatuation glues me in place.
Her eyes grow heavy, and within minutes, the graceful curves of her face soften with sleep, drawing attention to the perfect bow of her lips.
Her long hair cascades around her, a fiery halo against Leo’s chest. Her pale skin and slender figure make her look ethereal. Otherworldly. A delicate, celestial creature too perfect for this harsh world.
Every ounce of me wants to drag her away from them and lock her in our room. In our bed. To feel her softness against me, to breathe in the cherry scent of her skin, to taste her mouth again, it would be my salvation, my deliverance from this damnation.
She’s the only one who can rescue my black soul.
Christ, I miss her smile against my lips, the feel of her body relaxing when I grab her hips, and the way she looked at me with mine in her eyes. Now there’s only hurt and anger, a barrier that keeps us apart.
She left a fierce ache in my chest, a burning need that never fades. Every time I look at her, I want to bend her over my knee and spank the resentment out of her. I want to choke her, bruise her, tie her to our bed, and fuck every hole in her body until her heart finds its way back to me.
But she’s too far away for that, even when she’s right here. The distance between us is a chasm that can’t be crossed until I earn her trust again.
Until that time, I’ll remain her devoted shadow, following her, watching her, never leaving, if only to feel close to her even when I’m not.
I despise what I’ve become and the lengths I’ll go to get her back.
Guilt festers in my gut, turning sour and foul. It morphs into something darker as the images of tonight replay in my mind, taunting me, unraveling me.
Every time she lets them touch her, she inflicts another wound, another scar inside me. The pain is ungodly, making it impossible to keep a clear head.
I start to turn away until I catch movement in their room. The bed stirs behind her. Kody rolls against her and buries a hand between her legs, groping her while she sleeps.
That’s all it takes. My boiling veins erupt, spewing venom and rage. Unable to contain it, I toss off the goggles and swing my fist, sending it into the half-moon window.
A crack splinters across the glass as pain shoots through my knuckles and shatters up my arm, making me angrier.
I lose my fucking mind, overturning furniture, the heavy wooden chairs crashing to the floor with a satisfying thud. Boxes go flying, the contents scattering across the room.
She was pregnant with our baby. A baby she lost because of me.
A son or daughter I’ll never meet.
My breaths come in ragged gasps. My vision fogs with fury. I grab a small table and hurl it against the wall, the wood splintering on impact. I attack old paintings, tearing the canvases with my bare hands.
I had a son. Wolfson . A son she loved and lost because of me.
A son I’ll never meet.
Because I refused to accept him.
I kick over a trunk, the tumble of books echoing in the room. The sound of destruction fuels my anger, pushing me further into madness.
All the money in the world won’t bring them back.
They’re gone.
Panting, seething, I collapse to my knees, surrounded by the chaos I’ve created.
I need to get out of here. Away from this house. Away from the memories. Away from the woman who’s driving me insane.
My body trembles as I force myself to stand and head for the door.
Moving on autopilot, I slip out of the crawl space, into the guest bedroom closet, and cover the opening with the shelving unit.
In my bathroom, I wash my hands, gritting my teeth against the hot sting of broken skin.
I pull on running shoes, grab the boat keys, and bolt outside.
The rain stopped, leaving the air fresh and crisp. Shirtless and out of breath, I sprint into the night, following the running paths away from the guest house, away from the torment of watching her with them.
The scent of damp earth fills my lungs as my feet pound the ground, my mind a bleeding mess of heartache and desperation.
The dock comes into view. One of the men on the security team stands at the entrance. He looks at me funny but doesn’t say anything. He only nods as I pass, recognizing the violence in my eyes.
I jump into the yacht and start the engine, the roar of the motor shattering the silence.
Water churns beneath the hull as I speed off into the Sitka Sound.
Richness and extravagance surround me in comfort. Polished exotic wood, stitched Italian leather, custom artwork, and handwoven carpets—all crafted by renowned interior designers.
The best that money can buy.
Yet I’ve never felt more alone.
None of it means a goddamn thing without her.
The wind whips through my hair, and the salty tang of the sea melds with the smell of diesel.
As the island fades into the distance, the dark expanse of the Sound stretches out before me. I push the yacht faster, slicing through the waves, but the speed and fresh air bring no pleasure.
My chest cracks with each crash of the bow against the water. Doesn’t matter how much distance I put between her and me, I can’t escape the pain.
As I steer into the night, it starts raining again. Pouring. The droplets hammer down, the darkness swallowing everything, leaving an expanse of sorrow and isolation.
I slow the yacht and pour a glass of the finest whiskey, but the burn does nothing to warm the cold ache. I turn on music to drown out my thoughts, but every note feels hollow. I pace the deck, the rain soaking my sweatpants, the wind lashing at me, but nothing eases the torment.
The image of my wife fucking two men invades my mind, a relentless torture hellbent on destroying me.
I’m consumed.
My bloody knuckles turn white as I squeeze my hands around imaginary necks, the rage transforming me into something unrecognizable.
With no one around, I stop the yacht and kill the engine.
Stepping out onto the deck in the pounding rain, I raise my face to the sky and scream into the storm. A primal, guttural sound tears from my throat. I scream until my voice goes raw, until the agony pulls my legs out from under me.
I drop to my knees, my cries echoing across the empty sea.
“Frankie.” My voice breaks, my body shaking, my sobs lost to the downpour.
The loneliness crushes me. I can’t breathe.
I miss her with every fiber of my being, the longing a physical pain that rips through me.
The night closes in, the darkness hovering like a reaper. I collapse, my strength gone, my spirit shattered, and reach for the only thing that can numb the pain.
I drink until I pass out.