Epilogue 1 - Phoenix
I’d do anything for my wife.
Fucking anything.
But this… fuck, I’ll be spending a lot of time inside her to get over what I’m currently having to endure.
It’s almost our first anniversary, and I asked her what she wanted, hoping she was gonna ask me to put a baby in her.
I wanted nine months of watching her body soften and swell.
I wanted to rub lotion into her belly at night, feeling our child kick against my palm.
I wanted her in nothing but my shirts, waddling around the apartment, all hormonal and mean, with tits so heavy she’d let me hold them just to give her back a break after a long day at the office.
But no.
She wants this.
“Here,” Greg says, fucking Greg, pushing a bottle across the glossy table. “Got you a beer.”
Even his voice makes me wanna break his nose and feed him his own molars.
“Thanks, but I don’t drink.”
“You don’t?” I shake my head, leaning back in my chair, manspreading for dominance.
Manspreading for Greg.
“So you’re just always sober?”
“Yeah, you should try it, man. Really clears the head.”
Tonight I’m wearing the mask of Phoenix Cassidy, the quarterback, the version of me Greg thinks he knew back in school, and it’s killing me.
But I’d rip the sun out of the sky for my wife.
So here I am, smiling, nodding, and entertaining this asshole while planning exactly how many orgasms it’s gonna take to fix this shit when I get her home.
My current count is seven, minimum.
Possibly eight if this asshat keeps looking down at my dick.
Greg chugs half his beer in three gulps, his eyes darting around the bar like he’s afraid we’re gonna be seen together.
“You seem nervous, Greg.”
“I’m not. It’s just been a long time since I’ve seen anyone from school.”
“But we were friends, right? Friends catch up with friends?”
He’s staring at me like he’s imagining all the ways he could fuck me, which is hilarious because if I liked dick, I’d absolutely be doing the fucking.
“Really? You’re gonna throw the old friend card at me right now?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask, already regretting my entire existence.
“Because you’re looking at me like I’m gonna know what your dick tastes like by the end of the night.”
Jesus, I need to fix my fucking face if that’s what he’s reading off it because no, I am absolutely the fuck not.
“I’ve got a room here… You wanna see it?”
Fuck me. I can’t flirt for shit.
My idea of flirting right now would be telling him I’ve imagined shoving his balls down his throat so he’d choke on them.
However, Greg nods and stands up with way too much enthusiasm. I stand too, leading the way toward the stairs.
I swear to god, he better not touch me.
It’s not even that he has a dick between his legs—I don’t give a shit who people want to sleep with. That’s their business. But nobody touches me except my girl. It’s how it’s always been, and it’s how it’ll always be.
We take the stairs because I’m pretty sure if I get into an elevator with him, his hand will be on my cock within three seconds, and I can’t risk that yet. I need to get him into the room first.
When we finally make it to the door, relief fills me as I slide the key card.
Almost done.
I inhale deeply, my eyes briefly closing as I step inside, and I hear the door slam behind me.
Greg steps toward me, already undoing the buttons on his shirt.
“Finally,” he breathes out, reaching for me.
Oh, fuck no.
My hand shoots out, catching his wrist in a grip tight enough to make him wince. “Are you in a rush or something?”
“You’re hot, and my hole needs fucking, so shut up and do it already.”
I have never been so offended or aggressively objectified in my life. At least buy a man dinner first. Maybe attempt some light conversation. Ask about my hobbies, or at least pretend you care about my feelings.
But no, Greg went straight to the hole.
He digs into his back pocket, pulls out a picture of him and his wife, and places it face-up on the nightstand. When he reaches for me again, I move first, shoving him back onto the bed and pinning him there, my body close enough to sell the illusion.
He smiles up at me, satisfied and hungry for something he’s never going to get.
In his mind, this is foreplay.
In mine, it’s foreplay with my wife, and he’s just the unfortunate clown who doesn’t realize how badly he’s misunderstood the situation.
The black ties are already strapped to the bedposts, something Greg clearly thinks I did for him.
Cute.
I secure his wrists one at a time, tight enough that he’s not getting out without help. You’d think I’d just handed him the keys to a sports car and a second chance at life, the way his hips jerk up like he’s trying to hump the air.
He lies there naked after I strip him out of the rest of his clothes, hard, flushed, and straining for my attention.
“I always knew you’d be a top,” he says, grinning up at me.
My body instantly settles when I hear the soft creak of the bathroom door behind me.
I climb off the bed slowly, trailing my fingers along the footboard as I move away from Greg, his lust-filled eyes following my every step.
“You gonna call me Daddy?” I ask, barely holding back my laughter.
I can’t pull off that shit with a straight face, but fuck it—might as well give Greg some really vivid memories to reflect on when he thinks back to this moment.
“Yes, Daddy,” he whispers. “Please, Daddy, get over here and fuck me like a slut.”
Jesus Christ.
I click my tongue and fold my arms over my chest. “How am I supposed to fuck you while your wife watches?”
His head snaps toward the picture on the nightstand, then back to me. “Would you…”
“Would I what?”
“When you finish…” He hesitates, then commits to what I already know he’s about to ask. “Don’t finish in me. Finish on her.”
“Come again?”
“She degrades me every day, and this is the only way I feel better about it. Please, Daddy. Please come on my wife’s face.”
“Oh, Daddy’s gonna fi—”
I don’t even make it to the end of the sentence.
I’m gone.
I double over, and a loud laugh cracks out of me before I can stop it.
“I can’t—fuck, I’m done. Baby?”
The bathroom door swings open, and Shannen strolls out, trying and failing not to collapse from how much she’s laughing. She’s clutching her stomach by the time she gets to me, barely breathing, with tears streaming down her face.
We’re both howling now, completely gone, leaning against each other for support, while Greg is still tied to the bed, with a raging hard-on and absolutely no clue that this wasn’t a hookup. It was a setup.
“It got super fucking weird, and honestly, it would’ve been easier to beat the crap out of him.”
“No, this is gold.” She rises onto her toes and brushes her lips against mine, forgetting for a second that there’s a tied-up little bitch on the bed. “Thank you, baby.”
“What the fuck?” Greg says, his face in shock as he starts to pull on the ties he’ll never get out of. “What is going on here?”
“Well, Greg… you hurt my wife a long time ago, and this is what we like to call karma.”
“Your wife? I’ve never seen her before.”
“Wrong, Greg. Try again.” I pull Shannen close, one arm wrapped lazily around her waist as she steps in front of me, her back to my chest, so we can both watch his face the second it clicks.
“Trailer trash? No way.”
Oh, I’m going to kill him.
Shannen must feel the shift because her hand shoots out, gripping my forearm hard, her nails digging in deep enough to break skin.
“If you ever say that to me again, Greg, I’ll let my husband off his leash. And considering you’re in a very vulnerable position right now, I’d suggest you shut the hell up before you find out how creative he can be when he’s allowed to play.”
Greg’s eyes go wide, then immediately drop, like he’s suddenly remembering he’s stark fucking naked. His needy cock—which was practically begging for attention thirty seconds ago—has completely shriveled up and disappeared back inside his body.
“What is this?” he croaks, his voice shaking as he starts to understand the position he’s in.
“This is a little payback. If Phoenix had his way, you’d probably already be missing an arm or a few teeth, so try to be grateful, dickflap.”
The panic rising in his chest, that tight little knot crawling up his throat, making it hard to breathe, hard to think—it used to be her fear. Now it’s his, and it’s fucking beautiful.
“What is wrong with you two?” he shouts, panic finally overtaking any confusion.
“You asked me to come on your wife’s picture because you’re too much of a pussy to stand up to her, and you think we’re the ones who are messed up?”
Shannen turns her face and kisses me again before bending down to grab Greg’s jeans off the floor. She pulls his phone from the pocket and walks over to the bed.
“Wait—” Greg starts as she holds the phone up to his face to unlock it.
“What’s his wife’s name, baby?”
“Daphne.”
“Got it, thank you.”
“What are you doing?” he asks, horrified, because he knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Just trying to be a good human and make sure your wife knows she’s married to a dirty little cheat,” Shannen answers him sweetly, her thumbs tapping away on the screen.
“What kind of woman would I be if I didn’t give her all the details so she can make an informed decision about whether or not she wants to keep fucking a worm? ”
“Don’t. No—no, I’ll do anything.”
“Yeah, see, as petty and a little immature as this might be, the only thing I really want is this,” she says, not even looking at him as she scrolls.
“I missed out on ten years with Phoenix, and that’s partly your fault.
” She looks at him now, completely done with him and the time he’s already taken.
“And whether you like your wife or not doesn’t give you the right to sneak around, begging men to degrade her picture while you get off with your sad little dick out. ”