Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Ella
I collapsed onto the bed, soaked in sweat, chest heaving, every breath thick with the murky aftermath.
The aftershocks of orgasm still rippled through me, tiny electric currents firing along my nerves.
My pussy hadn't closed yet from being stretched and filled, and my lower belly felt swollen and full.
The moment I shifted, warmth trickled down the inside of my thighs—thick liquid sliding along my skin, soaking into sheets already drenched beneath me.
Just like Vivian said, Lucas really did love doggy style. When his broad palms clamped around my waist and flipped me over without warning, shame flooded through me instantly. Before I could even adjust, his hard cock had already found the slit between my lips and slammed inside.
I tried to resist, but Lucas was wilder than before, more reckless. Every brutal thrust hit that most sensitive spot deep inside me, grinding, crushing, and in that feverish pleasure, my body betrayed my will fast.
I couldn't control myself anymore. I could only match his rhythm, desperately meeting his thrusts, drowning in wave after wave of overwhelming sensation.
Finally, I stopped fighting and let reason sink into the abyss of desire.
When he pumped his hot cum deep inside me, I was greedy enough to want more. I wanted him hard again.
"Ella, you're hopeless."
I bit down hard, not sure if I hated him or myself more.
Water ran in the bathroom, each sound cutting through the night. After using me, he'd tossed me aside like a broken toy and went to wash himself off, never mind that my legs were shaking too hard to stand.
I grabbed tissues from the nightstand and started cleaning up the mess between my thighs.
Two fingers slid in easily, spreading open the swollen walls he'd ravaged. As my fingertips stretched me wider, the cum trapped deep inside lost its barrier and started flowing out along my fingers, pooling in my palm.
It quickly gathered into a small puddle, running down my wrist.
Jesus, how much had he pumped into me?
Furious, I pulled my fingers out, wiped them clean, and pushed back in. Over and over, until my pussy was scraped clean by my own fingers and the friction of tissue made my vulva sting.
I collapsed back onto the pillow, body aching. The floor was littered with tissues soaked in both our fluids, the air thick with the smell of what we'd done. Suddenly, a thought hit me:
Could Lucas still love me?
The moment it surfaced, the feeling of him taking me savagely on this bed rushed back through my body. Minutes ago, we'd been connected, wild like we were the only two people in the world.
He was right here, in the bathroom. All I had to do was push open the door and wrap my arms around his warm, hard body...
I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow.
Forget it.
I couldn't even fool myself anymore.
Even if I told him I could forgive everything, that I could keep playing deaf and blind, I knew Lucas would still leave me.
Wouldn't he?
After more than two years of marriage, I knew Lucas was a man with an insane sex drive.
Every time we fucked, he'd come two or three times, working me over for hours.
When I was too exhausted and begged him to stop, he'd just say "almost there, baby" and keep going.
Several times I'd passed out, only to be fucked awake again, then carried to the shower in a boneless heap, no memory of how I fell asleep afterward.
Often I'd wake up in the morning with his cock still inside me, and the slightest movement would make him swell up again. ..
We'd made love countless times, but never once like tonight—a quick fuck and then he bolted to the bathroom like he was running away. We'd been separated for over two months. Even a regular guy would be climbing the walls.
Only one explanation: someone else was already taking care of his needs.
The more I thought about it, the colder I felt.
This chill seeped from my bones, more devastating than post-orgasm emptiness.
I hated my body for eagerly serving a man who trampled my dignity. During that savage fuck, it completely ignored how my soul was screaming and crying—it just shamelessly begged Lucas for pleasure. It made me feel like an idiot, like a junkie wagging her tail for another hit.
But at least it was the last time.
That thought loosened the knot in my throat.
Right. Consider it a goodbye gift.
I could treat this as a meaningless one-night stand, a release of physical pressure. Since I was about to sever this loveless marriage, one last indulgence in the pleasure he gave me could be Lucas's physical compensation.
A sharp notification cut through my spiral.
Who'd be texting this late?
I followed the sound. Lucas's phone had slipped from his pants pocket, screen lit up with a name: Vivian.
What did she want with him?
My fingers twitched. Logan had said if I wanted more leverage in the divorce, I needed evidence of his affair. Phone records counted. Sure, I didn't want to drag out the divorce, but still, this meant as Lucas's wife, I had every legal right to look at his phone, didn't I?
The thought slithered into my brain like a snake. My heart started racing.
I'd never once thought about checking Lucas's phone, even though in two years of marriage, he'd answered my calls maybe a handful of times. But I'd clung to that pathetic shred of decency, believing privacy was an untouchable line.
But Vivian had crossed it.
She hadn't just looked at Lucas's phone. She'd recited my texts to him word for word.
God, why didn't anyone give a damn about my privacy?
Marital trust? Lucas shredded that long ago.
I glanced at the bathroom, then bent down and grabbed the phone. The message on the screen was hidden, just showing "iMessage."
I tapped it. The lock screen asked for a password.
My finger hovered over the screen. After a pause, I entered the first set of numbers—Lucas's birthday.
The screen vibrated slightly. Wrong.
I hesitated, then entered our wedding anniversary.
Wrong again. I was angry for a second, but mostly at myself for even thinking he'd remember our anniversary.
I tried the founding date of the Rockefeller Group. Mr. Rockefeller had once said Lucas valued work more than his own life.
The screen flashed a message in bright red: "Disabled. Try again in 1 minute."
I stared at the phone, blank. Wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry. I was his wife. His assistant could unlock his phone easily, but I, his legal spouse, didn't even know the password.
He shared all his secrets with Vivian.
So... maybe the password was Vivian's birthday? Or their anniversary?
Whatever the answer, one thing was crystal clear: Vivian and Lucas weren't just sleeping together. They were in sync.
The realization nearly choked me.
Maybe Vivian was right. Lucas and I, our marriage certificate was just a piece of paper. She could effortlessly make him come back to her, again and again.
I let out a bitter laugh. Seconds ago, I'd actually entertained a fantasy, wondering if there was any chance I could keep this man who'd conquered me with his body...
The water stopped without warning.
I panicked like a thief, fumbling to shove the phone back into his pocket, then scrambled into bed and yanked the covers over me.
The bathroom door handle turned.
I shut my eyes, forcing my breathing steady. I didn't know what I was hiding from. Fear of getting caught snooping? Not knowing how to face him? Didn't matter. I'd given up on him completely.
Footsteps stopped beside the bed. He brought humid warmth from the shower, mixed with pine. I could feel him watching me, that assessing gaze. His stare used to make my knees weak. Now it just made me feel guilty.
I laughed bitterly inside. Ella, you're so pathetic. The cheater isn't guilty—why are you?
"Ella, you asleep?" Lucas's voice suddenly broke the silence.
I nearly gasped but bit it back. What did he want? Why didn't he just lie down and sleep? More rustling sounds—fabric moving.
Lucas was getting dressed.
But where would he go this late?
I didn't want to think it had anything to do with Vivian, but she'd just texted him, and now he was rushing out the door. Even coincidences didn't line up this perfectly.
He tiptoed out of the bedroom. Then came the careful sound of the door closing.
I opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling, palm pressed hard against my belly. He was going to her. I knew it.
I was just a tool for venting his desires. A living woman, cleaner than a hooker, more convenient than his hand, right? He'd dirtied me, then discarded me without even a thought of cleaning up. Just went straight to the woman he connected with, body and soul.
Tears rolled down my face in fat drops. I told myself not to cry, but I couldn't help it.
I'd given him a chance.
Maybe if tonight, if he'd just comforted me a little longer, I might have lost control and told him—I'm pregnant. Six weeks.
But he wouldn't.
Tears soaked the pillow. My hand unconsciously rested on my belly, and I made up my mind. As payback, I would absolutely never tell Lucas I was pregnant.
Because after everything Lucas had done, he didn't deserve to be a father.