Page 17 of Good Intentions, Vol. 1

Chapter Eight

Nick

Three weeks later

How the hell has this become my life? How the hell did I manage to fuck it up this huge? These questions yell in my head as rhythmically as I slam my cock into her. Into Heather. For the last three weeks, we said every day, it would be the last time. And for three weeks, we knew we were lying. Every day I learn something new about her. And every day I fall deeper. I want to spend every second with her, in her. But, it’s not only that. She gives me peace. She gives me easy. She just lets me be me.

We don’t talk about our situation. We don’t talk about what we’re going to do. We haven’t once mentioned Claire or Ben. She doesn’t ask these kinds of questions, and I’m too afraid to bring them up. We just fool ourselves that we’ll stop. It’s becoming torture not to be in her presence. To top it all off, Claire started talking about a couples’ therapy. Giving a real try to our marriage.

“Hurry, baby,” she urges me. And like a complete slave to her, I do as I’m told. “Yes, yes,” she starts to chant.

One final thrust later, and we come simultaneously.

“I love you,” I murmur into her neck, completely unable to hold the words in.

“I love you,” she moans in my ear.

I don’t know what has us looking at each other with horror written all over our faces more. The words we said two seconds ago, or the ones that come a second later from the intercom, “Sir, your wife is here.”