26. Madelyn
MADELYN
There’s always that feeling of guilt in the morning after doing something you know you’re not supposed to do.
It weighs on your shoulders and makes your stomach clench. You cannot escape it.
It makes you feel dirty, makes you want to wash it off.
As I pull my nightgown over my head and toss it on the toilet seat, I groan.
I can’t believe I broke my own promise of not involving myself with Kayden ever again.
But he made me feel so good, and he’s so good with his mouth and fingers.
Opening the shower with my eyes half-open, I walk into the small cubicle and let the rain wash over this familiar guilt.
I rub my hands with some soap and press them against my body, my hand instinctively traveling down my belly and in between my legs, rubbing myself clean.
I look down at my fingers along my needy core, sinning again, and my eyes go wide.
“What the hell?”
I stare down in pure horror before turning off the tap and rushing to look at myself in the small mirror in front of the sink.
My body’s covered in ink.
My center is literally soaking in it. Black scribbles across my bikini lines, almost making underwear of their own.
A light bulb clicks in my head, and I stare at the nightgown on the toilet seat—there’s no underwear with it. I woke up without underwear.
The scribbles don’t mean anything to me as I look at my own body. The same scribbles dance along my thighs and my breasts. Over and over and over.
I rub a finger over one of the inscriptions. It’s not ink from a pen.
It feels more like a sticker. Maybe one of those temporary tattoos.
I look up and into the mirror, gasping as I understand the sheer number of these tattoos on my body. A couple of dozen, maybe even a hundred. And I notice one more thing. The scribble isn’t a scribble anymore, it’s a word but written backwards, so I can only read it in the mirror.
The one tattooed between my belly and my pelvic line is larger than the others.
Devon.
A name.
That’s what it says, what all of them say.
Devon. Devon. Devon. Devon.
“More like a demon,” I spit out, frowning at my reflection in the mirror.
I don’t know any Devon. So, who the fuck is Devon? Why did he think he had any right to mark me this way? By covering my whole body in fake tattoos?
I open the shower back and jump in, covering myself in soap. Rubbing my chest first, moving on to my legs, my thighs, my pussy. I rub and rub until it hurts.
After ten minutes of stubbornness, I’m sore.
Only some parts of the writing have peeled off, while others stuck on me as if they belong in my body.
Groaning, I give up for now. Whatever material this Devon used for these tattoos, is very resistant.
He spent a lot of time on this, making sure I’m marked. Having his name on me.
Like I’m his property.
I don’t know if it’s because I’m still high from yesterday, or because I’m half-awake, but it takes me this long to understand who the hell Devon is.
And I run to my room.
The feed. The camera I installed.
Devon is my fucking stalker. The psycho who’s been calling me his wife. He was here last night.
And I’m certain I fucked it up. Because I was letting Kayden give me orgasms with his mouth when I should have been waiting for him.
I slept like a fucking baby through his visit. Mind completely distracted and plan forgotten.
I’m an idiot.
I snatch my phone from my nightstand and click on the spy camera app.
Wait for it to load the footage.
Nothing new to see.
My heart sinks.
There are no recordings. Devon wiped them.
Of course, he wouldn’t let himself be caught this easily. I was being naive.
Stupid, stupid, Maddy.
There’s no winning here.
I planned it all perfectly. Bought the new diary, wrote down the fantasy. Okay, I may have done something I shouldn’t have along the way, but I still spent the night alone. I was technically ready for him.
And instead of going through with my asking, he covered me up in tattoos.
He’s jealous.
It’s romantic, in a twisted kind of way, claiming me as his. But if he wants me so much, why is he hiding?
Things would be so much easier if he let me see him and decide for myself if he is the one for me.
God knows I’m no saint.
I don’t want to admit that I’m attracted to this tormenting and alarming behavior, to his red flags. The darkness he brings to my life.
That I’m a sucker for a good thrill. I anticipate all these moves. Being on the edge the whole time.
Just like I crave Kayden—because we’re forbidden. Because our parents would never accept it.
Or maybe, because he gets me more than anyone.
I don’t know why.
My heart wants what it wants.
And right now, it’s torn between two men.
One of them is my Jekyll, the other one my Hyde.
I pick up my new diary from my desk and flip it open to reread what I wrote last night for Devon.
The whole fantasy I wanted played out. My belly twists with disappointment at this not happening.
At me not being able to catch him in the act. To know who he is.
All I’ve got is a name now…and a message.
Right under what I’ve written, in different handwriting, the one I’m so used to seeing in the notes.
You didn’t think it was going to be this easy to catch me, did you, my wife?
I’ve got my eyes on you.
And my name, too.
Now you know who I am.
Isn’t that nice?
A weight lifted off my shoulders. The secrecy was fun for a while, but it was dragging.
Feel free to use my name from now on.
And let it be clear, Madelyn, no matter who you’re with or what you do, at the end of the day, you’re mine.
Remember that before you play naughty again with someone else.
See you soon.
Love,
Devon (your husband)