Chapter 37 Oak
thirty Seven-Oak
Why the fuck was I still here?
Why was I torturing myself by staying here?
That was the question that had been looping in my head, over and over, for the past week.
I heard them fucking.
I caught them kissing in the kitchen, Jordin’s body pressed into him like she couldn’t get close enough. Like he was hers. And she was his. Like I was never even a thought.
It made me realize what my marriage had been lacking.
Jordin and I had never been so feverish for each other. The sex had been good—great, even—but we had never been so desperate. So reckless. So fucking consumed by the need to touch, to taste.
Not like this.
Not like them.
It was like watching a fire I couldn’t put out. Like watching someone take a match to everything I’d built with her, knowing I’d be the one left standing in the ashes.
And he knew how to light her up. Gifts for no reason. Whispered words that put a smile on her face. It was like watching one of their songs come to life.
I should leave. Pack my shit, call a driver, and leave this whole fucked-up situation behind. But I couldn’t.
Because deep down, I still thought she was mine.
And I couldn’t stand the thought of letting her go.
Not like this.
Jordin hit a high note, pulling me from my thoughts.
I tipped my glass to my mouth and drank.
The whiskey burned as it slid down my throat, but it didn’t dull the sharp edge of whatever the fuck I was feeling.
Jordin had forced me to participate in the “activities” tonight—dinner and a movie that turned into them putting on a show, singing to each other in front of me. She and Ciarán had turned it into a full-blown production.
I wasn’t in the mood, but she had asked me with the smile she used to get anything she wanted from me, and I didn’t have it in me to tell her no.
So now I was tipsy, she was tipsy, and she was in the middle of the living room, singing along to some old R&B record, her body moving in that slow, lazy way that told me she was feeling good.
She danced around in a simple little black dress. It hugged her curves, and the thin straps kept sliding down her shoulders.
She was so sexy. The type that crept up on you, slow and intoxicating, like good cocaine. She wasn’t trying to be sexy—she just was. The kind of woman who could make a man ruin himself.
At the very least, I knew my dick was back to working fine.
My attention kept drifting to Ciarán.
He wasn’t grinning like usual, wasn’t cracking jokes or running his mouth. He was leaned back on the couch, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, one arm draped over the back, his other hand holding his drink. Watching her.
He looked like he had a headache, or maybe he was working through something.
I wondered what was wrong.
I wondered why I cared.
Jordin noticed it too. I watched her walk over to him, her bare legs brushing against his knees as she leaned down, cupping his face with both hands. She whispered something that made him smile.
My hand flexed around my glass.
The moment was too intimate for me to be witnessing without wanting to pummel him. Then she kissed him. It was the kind of kiss you give someone when they don’t need words—they need love and affection.
Ciarán whispered something against her lips, too low for me to catch.
Jordin glanced over at me.
And then she was walking toward me.
My pulse jumped, confusion mixing with the heat already simmering low in my gut.
Her fingers brushed over my jaw before she grabbed my face, tilting my head up to hers.
And then she kissed me.
It was deep, slow—the full-body kind of kiss that made the room spin a little.
She tasted like whiskey and whatever lip gloss she had slicked over her mouth, like something sweet but dangerous.
Her fingers slid into my hair, nails scratching lightly at my scalp, making me groan against her lips.
I didn’t know what the fuck was happening.
But I wasn’t about to stop it.
Because for the first time in months, I didn’t feel like an afterthought.
I felt wanted.
Not pitied. Not tolerated. Not like a shadow of who I used to be.
She kissed me like she remembered every good thing about us.
My grip tightened, pulling her down onto my lap, my mouth moving against hers—harder, deeper. I could feel the heat from her through her thin dress.
She let out a quiet moan, and fuck if I didn’t feel it move straight through me.
I wanted more.
Needed more.
I didn’t even care that Ciarán was watching.
Jordin pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead pressed against mine, her lips slightly parted.
Her hands slid down my chest, her fingers curling into my shirt. I was wearing the same thing as Ciarán.
I could feel her pulse racing against my own.
I reached for her, pulling her back.
“Hold on,” she breathed out to me while looking back at him, like she was asking for permission.
“Don’t stop on my account. Tell him what you need,” he said, taking another slow sip of his non-alcoholic drink.
He was the only one sober enough to make a good decision, but he was encouraging a bad one.
I cut my eyes toward him.
He was smirking.
And then he leaned back, stretching his arms over the couch, completely unbothered.
Jordin’s eyes flicked toward him again, her lips parting like she was about to say something—but then she stopped herself.
I didn’t know what the hell was happening, but I didn’t care. Not when she was this close, not when her lips were still swollen from mine, not when every nerve in my body was screaming for more.
Fuck it.
My hands slid up her thighs, and I could feel the way her body responded, the way she arched into me like she couldn’t help herself.
Ciarán’s low chuckle echoed in the background, but it was distant—like white noise now.
All I could focus on was Jordin—the way her breath hitched when my fingers brushed against the bare skin of her thigh. She wasn’t wearing any panties and was already slick.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes dark and unfocused, her lips slick and swollen.
“Do you want this?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the music.
“Are you willing?”
I didn’t even need her to elaborate. She was asking me to share.
“This is why I’m here?”
She nodded.
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded too, my hands sliding up to cup her face, my thumbs brushing over her cheeks.
And then she was moving, her hands sliding down to the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head in one smooth motion.
My breath caught in my throat as she tossed it aside, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lace panties and the faint glow of the dim light.
She was beautiful—always had been—but like this, with her skin flushed and her chest rising and falling with each breath, she was breathtaking.
She leaned down to kiss me again. This time, it was harder, more desperate—like she was trying to pour everything she couldn’t say into the press of her lips against mine.
I could feel Ciarán’s eyes on us, could hear the faint rustle of fabric as he shifted on the couch, but I didn’t care. Not when Jordin was straddling me, her body moving against mine in a way that made my head spin.
Her hands slid under my shirt, her nails dragging lightly over my skin, and I groaned, my fingers digging into her hips as I pulled her closer.
She broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as she leaned her forehead against mine.
“I need you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
I had to ask. I was so fucked up and insecure, I wasn’t sure who the fuck she was saying it to.
“You miss my dick inside you? You want me to fuck you?”
She whimpered, “Yes,” nodding. And God, I nearly cried.
I didn’t need to be told a third time.
My hands slid down to her thighs, lifting her just enough to adjust her position. I pulled her panties to the side, and then she was sinking down onto my dick—warm, tight, and wet.
She let out a soft moan, her head falling back as she moved, her hands gripping my shoulders for balance.
“Oh fuck,” I groaned, my grip bruising on her hips. “Baby, I’ll do anything—just don’t stop. Please.”
The music was still playing, the low, sultry beat of the R&B track filling the room, but it was background noise, drowned out by the sound of her breathing.
My hands slid down to her hips, guiding her, helping her find the rhythm that made her shudder, that made her grip my shoulders tighter, her nails digging into my skin.
I could feel Ciarán’s eyes on us. I didn’t care.
“I miss you,” I gasped. “I miss you so fucking bad.”
She shuddered, tightening around me. I kissed her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder.
“I’ll be better this time. I’ll change. I’ll beg if you want. Just keep fucking me like this.”
I could hear myself begging and didn’t care. I’d beg again tomorrow if I had to.
She spread her legs, making me go even deeper, and I groaned, my eyes closed.
I was so close.
I came so hard my toes curled. It had been so long.
To cover it, I slipped my hand between her legs to feel, and let out a few curse words when I noticed our combined mess dripping down her legs, even with her panties there to absorb most of it.
Bringing my fingers to her pussy, I started rubbing her clit as I moved my hips to thrust upward. She let out a loud moan and pushed herself against me in motion with my thrusts.
“Oak, I’m gonna…” she stopped herself and held her breath for a few seconds as I kept fucking her. “Oh my god, I’m cumming!”
The throbbing around my dick got even more intense, and I kept rubbing my fingers on her clit until she was collapsing against me, her body limp and boneless as she buried her face in the crook of my neck.
I buried my face in her neck. Held her tight enough, hoping she wouldn’t leave again.
The room was quiet again, except for the low hum of music and the racing in my chest.
His voice cut through our moment.
“Well,” he said, with the kind of laugh that didn’t come from humor but from entitlement. “That was… titillating.”
He said, then he sang.
“She split her sins between us... a careful, even cut...”
Jordin let out a breathy laugh against my neck.
He stopped abruptly.
“Come here, Jordin,” he said. No inflection. No warmth. Just possession, spoken soft.
She kissed me long and deep before standing, like it was a thank-you.
She sauntered toward him, panties crooked and useless, catching what they could of the mess we made.
And I sat there.
Dick still hard.
Heart stupid.
Watching my wife drop to her knees for him and take him into her mouth like it was second nature.
Ciarán’s hand settled on the back of her head like a crown. He locked eyes with me while she sucked him, slow and messy.
And he smiled.
And it felt like I’d been fucked into a trap he orchestrated.
And the fucked-up part?
I wasn’t even mad.
I’d rather be a pawn in her world than king of one without her.