Honey, I’m Home
The gold hands on the onyx face of my watch point to ten o’clock, which seems pretty late for a book club meeting.
The night sky shows through the open curtains in our living room.
I peer out the window behind my glasses, and hold my clear whiskey glass up to my lips while the lights of her car shine in through the large windows.
The ice in the glass clinks to the sides when I set it down on the counter.
Standing at the island in the middle of the kitchen, I'm in the same clothes I wore to the office. A pair of dark gray slacks, my white button up shirt, a black tie, and my black leather Silvano dress shoes. I haven’t been home for long.
My night has consisted of driving past Thalia’s apartment just to make sure she has been home.
To my satisfaction, she was sitting in the same spot she was when I left after my little visit the other night.
It’s better that she’s somewhere safe, rather than out in the town with a killer on the loose.
Ashley doesn’t know that; how would she know? She’s rarely ever home, and when she is, she’s in her own headspace. The topic of her loving husband seldom sits as a focus in her mind .
Today, however, she will see me.
I lean against the island and stare at the front door, waiting for her to come in.
“Long night of reading?” I say as she walks in the front door. It squeaks through the long hallway in the entryway. She gasps, holding her chest. Maybe she wasn’t expecting to see her husband in his own home.
“Fuck, Alan. You scared me.” Her blue eyes shoot daggers in my direction. I smile, lifting my glass up to my lips.
“My mistake,” I admit while she hangs up her white pea coat in our coat closet. She kicks off her slide-on canvas shoes and pushes them up against the closet door. Why can’t she just put them in her closet where they belong?
I set my glass down, and she tries to ignore me, but I move slowly towards her, meeting her in the entryway. Her arms grow rigid at her sides.
“What’s the matter, baby?” Her eyes get wide when she feels my hands gently rubbing her stiff shoulders, fingers trailing up to her tan neck.
Then, gripping the tufts of hair at the nape of her neck, making sure to intertwine fingers in her thick strands.
“You know what would be perfect after a hard, long day?” I ask in almost a whisper just above the tip of her right ear.
She stands still and her breathing becomes shallow. Goosebumps start to form on her arms.
“A nice glass of red wine with your husband.” Little does she know, I can smell the liquor she already has on her breath.
“Okay,” Ashley answers in a shaky whisper.
“Okay,” I confirm.
I let go of her golden waves, and I move farther into the kitchen. “You know what really sounds good?” I ask, turning around from the bright white cabinets.
She sits on one of the tall matching wooden chairs at the island in the middle of our large kitchen. Slowly, she turns her head to face me, mouth pressed into a tight line.
“The wine we got from your parents. The one they gave us as our wedding present.” I look down at the bottle, reading the label. “You remember, right, baby? The one from Napa Valley. 2012. Wasn’t that one hell of a year?”
The bottle makes a popping sound as I pull out the cork.
I begin pouring wine in the already prepared glass in front of me.
It’s a clear crystal glass she must’ve bought.
The sweat from the cold glass slides down the smooth surface when I sit it down in front of her with a wide grin on my face.
“So tell me, what was this month’s book about? ” Her shaky hands reach for the glass.
“Why do you want to know?” She inquires softly, now looking up at me.
“No particular reason. Let’s just say that I’m… interested .” Now, I take a drink from my own glass.
“You’re never interested in what I read.” Her voice is a little stronger and more confident. She wraps her full pink lips around the rim of the glass. The small mark from her lipstick stays in place as she sets the glass gently back down on the counter.
“Well, I am certainly interested in this one. Considering your book club took what…” I pause, looking down at my watch, “five fucking hours. Damn. It must have been one hell of a book.” My voice stays calm, and I keep the smirk on my face.
I pick up my whiskey glass and take another small sip of my bourbon.
“Sometimes we get caught up in conversation. Or sometimes we go out for drinks. You know that.” Her blue eyes playfully look into mine.
“Oh, I know that, baby. You’ve told me a number of times. What I didn’t know is that your tennis lesson and your book club were in the same building.” She stares in my direction. Her soft features are now harsh.
“Did you track my phone?” She asks, picking up her glass again. Her lips wrap around the thin rim in the same spot as before. Visions of Thalia’s lips fill my thoughts. I bite my lip to stop the fabric around my dick from getting tighter.
“Baby, I’ve been tracking your phone for years .” I lean against the surface across her, holding my chin in my hand.
“How long have you known?” The tense feeling in the room makes the sound from her glass hitting the counter deafening.
“How long have I known what, Ashley? That you’ve been fucking your tennis instructor?” My voice holds the same calm tone it has had this entire conversation. She crosses her arms over her chest at my suspicion.
This isn’t news to me. I’ve had my suspicions for a few months, but I’ve never really put much thought into it.
Now, though, it’s all changed. On one hand, she has her rich and attractive husband, who looks good in pictures.
On the other hand, she has her side piece that she could have access to anytime she wanted.
It's time I had the same thing. I’m not going to let her or my guilty conscience get in the way of having Thalia. My listener.
“Not your tennis instructor?” I raise my eyebrows with the question.
“Let me see,” I continue my interrogation.
“Is it someone you met at the country club?” I pause, leaning in closer to her face.
“ Or maybe it’s someone in your book club.
” I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest again. “Now, there is an idea,” I grimace.
“It’s none of your fucking business,” she spits.
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. It is my fucking business. This, Ashley, makes it my fucking business.” My voice gets louder, and I point to the white gold band around my left ring finger.
She turns her head, refusing to look at me.
“Are you going to say anything about this?”
She moves her head just slightly to face me. “Oh, like you haven’t been with anyone else!” She’s trying to hide the shakiness in her voice, but I can see the tears forming in her eyes. She knows she’s been caught, and I know there is no going back from this.
“No, I haven’t. But boy, did I want to. I wanted to so fucking badly.
” I can feel my face getting hotter. “You know what kept me from bending her over?! You ! Even though I knew deep down you were on top of some other guy’s dick.
Or who the fuck knows now?! Maybe, just maybe, you had your head in between some bitch’s thighs!
” With one look at me, she stands up from her chair and takes her wine glass with her.
“Ashley, we aren’t fucking done with this conversation! ” I walk after her.
“I am fucking done with this conversation, Alan!”
I grab her small wrist, making her turn to face me.
Her full wine glass spills down the front of my white shirt.
The sound of glass breaking fills the already loud silence between us.
As I tilt my head down, I notice the dark red stain forming on the front of the white fabric.
The heat from my face is now moving everywhere else in my body.
I take a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself down.
“No,” I say quietly, “you don’t get to be done with this conversation. You know why?” She stands in front of me, trying her best to be defiant. “Because I fucking own you. Thanks to our spoiled, rich fucking parents, I own you and everything in this damn house.”
“You don’t get to touch me!” she yells. I scoff as she tries her best to remove her wrist from my grip.
“Why not? Everybody else fucking does!” I pull her in closer.
“I am going to make you touch me, Ashley. You... Ashley, you are going to crave every fucking minute of it. You understand me?” I lean down with my mouth just above her ear.
She struggles and gets out of my grasp. She runs towards the front door of our large house.
“Ashley!” I yell, stepping over the broken glass, and begin to follow her out of the front door.
“I don’t have time for this!” She looks back when she hears the echoing of my footsteps.
She runs as fast as she can in her light blue cashmere socks.
“Baby, you’re going to get your socks wet. I know how much you hate that.”
The sounds of her running are snuffed out by the mud on the gravel driveway. My large strides are an advantage the closer we get closer to the wrought iron gate surrounding our property.
“Look at you.” She turns to face me after she realizes the front gate is locked. Her blue eyes widen as I wrap my arms around her body tightly and throw her over my broad shoulders. We continue the walk back to the house in silence, only hearing the scuffs of my shoes on the wet grass.
“Put me down!” She yells as I carry her into our room.
Her body bounces off our bed after I let her fall off my shoulders.
She stares as I shut and lock the door. Ashley sits herself onto her knees in her overpriced black leggings and cropped white sweatshirt.
Her eyes peer up at me under her long, sweeping bangs.
“What do you want me to do?” Her yelling turns into a compliance that I could get used to .
“You are going to beg, baby. You are going to beg for my forgiveness.” I stand with my arms crossed and my back leaning on the door.
“How am I going to do that?”
“I want you to crawl. Fucking crawl on your hands and knees and ask for my forgiveness.”
“You want me to crawl to you?” The disbelief in her voice is almost amusing.
“That’s right, princess. You want forgiveness? Well, then you are going to do exactly as I say.”
Without much protest, my cheating wife sits at the end of the bed. She stands up and starts to walk in my direction.
“I said fucking crawl!”
Her shocked expression covers her face, and she gets on her hands and knees.
“That’s it, baby,” I encourage her like I would a dog. She stops in front of me, looking up towards my chest.
“Take off my belt.” Her tiny hands scramble up my pants and find my waist, searching for the metal buckle, undoing the ends in a matter of seconds.
“Take out my dick,” I command.
She unzips the black metal zipper and pulls my pants and gray boxer briefs down to my thighs.
“Show me how fucking sorry you are.” She grips my dick and wraps her mouth around the head and moves down my length. “Fuck, Ashley.”
She moves her head in a steady rhythm. “That’s it, baby.” Her rhythm moves faster, and I steady myself by placing my hand on the back of her head. Her moans send vibrations down my cock, making my balance uneven.
“You know, baby, you’ve always been such a good little slut for me.” I pause, taking in deep breaths. “But it just makes me wonder, who else?” Her head keeps moving, and I am left without an answer. “You going to tell me, baby? Who else were you a slut for? Where else has my little whore been?”
She stops, and my dick falls out of her mouth and hits my exposed thigh. Her eyes stare at me in disbelief, words unable to escape past her lips.
“Can you answer me, baby, or is that mouth only good for one thing?” I ask her and look down at her swollen, red lips.
Her head fits perfectly in my hands. She stares up at me when I look into her big, beautiful blue eyes.
With one quick twist of my wrist, I hear the crack from her neck.
My wife’s body falls backward with her gaze towards the ceiling.
I tuck my dick back into my boxer briefs and pull my slacks up my legs. While staring at her lifeless body, I clasp the silver buckle. The belt slides smoothly in the loops of my pants. “Well, baby. What am I going to do with you now?”