Infidelity

The television screen flickered for a moment, as he slid the cassette into an almost-completely outdated VCR, kept from aeons ago, from a time back when Diana was almost impossibly small. The thought of her at that age, those big, inquisitive eyes, and the wispy gold hair that would later darken brought a smile to his face- a look he hadn’t had for nearly a month now.

All at once, the image cleared into a halfway recognizable picture, that shot from seemingly the corner of a ceiling, of two people in a bedroom, one dark-haired, male from what he could tell, the other a blonde, very fair-haired in a natural way. The shot changed to that closer to the bed, showing the mattress, covers, and sheets in all their non-glory, although he could see a closer, albeit blurrier, vision of the two, currently engaged in some form of conversation. Again, the shot changed, just as he considered switching off the television, in the case that he’d stumbled upon some sort of homemade pornographic film, sent to the wrong address for some reason; this time, the picture was all too clear, the face of one, the blonde’s, focused on, as his smile dropped from his face as recognition set in.

“Ali...”

“Are you sure.. I mean... we practically only just...”

“Ms. Gordon, if you really didn’t want this, you would have said so at the station, shit, the car. So, unless you’re seriously considering making your marriage work again... Strip.”

She began to unbutton her blouse, staring at the ground as he started to take off his own clothes, beginning with his shoes and socks. She paused as he began to work at the buttons of his shirt, staring at the photograph at his bedside. Jesus, Ali... You really want to wreck homes? Really want to do that?

“I can’t-”

“When I say, ‘strip’, Ms. Gordon, don’t interpret that as a suggestion.” Her hands shook as she slipped her blouse off, glancing at him as he began to slide his belt off, throwing it to the floor. Their eyes met as he moved closer to her, her lower lip caught between her teeth as he stepped toward her, each step slow, deliberate.

“Detective Hoffman... Did you have any idea it would come to this, when... when you... when we... met?”

“Ms. Gordon- Alison... When we met... all I saw was a suspect. In fact... all I should see is a suspect.”

“What do you see now?” she asked, as he slipped behind her, one hand gripping her waist, the other lost in her fair hair.

“Not enough,” he murmured, his breath tickling the inside of her ear, as the hand on her waist moved forward, unbuttoning, unzipping, exposing a portion of her panties that he began to stroke. “Lose the bra.”

The doctor’s eyes widened at the sight of his wife, the woman he’d gone through- through his test for, the woman to whom he had given up a part of himself, mentally- physically... being caressed by the bastard with dark hair, groping the cleft between her thighs and those smooth, perfect breasts, still covered by the material of her underwear, although not for long. Without breaking the flow of running his hands over her chest, squeezing at intervals, he moved down her back, his head on the level of her bra, moving back up to her own head, the garment unclipped.

She’d squeaked as he’d unclipped her bra with his teeth, moaning as he ran his tongue up her spine. His hands halted in rubbing her nipples through the fabric, running up to her shoulders to slip the straps off, slide it down her arms to fall to the floor.

“Detective...”

“Please, I think we can drop the formalities.” His hands traveled down her body to her waist, pulling her slacks and panties down to her knees.

“Alright then... Mark...” He stepped away from her, fingers lingering on her drenched slit, before swiftly pulling away from her.

“Get on the bed, whore. Hands and knees. Now.”

His hands gripped the sides of the couch as the angle from the bed showed a good view of his wife crawling onto the mattress, definitely unsure, staring into space.

From there, she could see the picture of the smiling woman a little better, as she gripped the covers, the sounds of the detective removing his own clothes almost muted in comparison to her breathing. She couldn’t help but wonder about the girl in the photograph, if that was really his wife, a girlfriend, if the girl knew where her man was, about to screw the woman he’d been interrogating a few days before.

She’d resisted the urge to turn around, shivering in anticipation. Truth be told, she’d never done anything other than something brief, quick, generally uncomfortable, all lights off, a truth she started to forget as the creak of the bedsprings signified the readiness of her partner. Her eyes closed as his hands grabbed hold of her ass, his fingers digging into her skin with bruising force.

He knew he should have switched off the set, taken out the cassette, thrown it out the window, as soon as the dark-haired bastard entered his Alison, gripping her hair, pulling her head up to further let the cameras get a good look at her expression. It stabbed him through the chest, another spike in his heart with each thrust, agony reaching his entire body at the sight of her closed eyes, mouth open in thankfully soundless cries.

The feel of him inside her erased any concerns she’d had, as his hips rammed harder within her; she was unused to not being able to see the man invading her dripping centre, a fact that mattered less the more time he spent within her, the more she screamed in ecstasy.

He couldn’t help but feel bloodlust at the sight of his wife’s lover reach a hand up her body, cupping a breast, squeezing the sweet pink nub as the other hand raked his nails down her back. As if it wasn’t enough for his wife to be fucked, he had to cause her some form of pain... pain she seemed to fully accept.

“Ohhh, God... dear God... Mark, fuck- fuck me HARDER... Please... Fuck...!”

“That’s right, that’s it, scream for it, slut!”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from his life, his will to continue with his life, all of it, falling apart on the screen.

“Ohhh, fucking... harder! Please... I want... I want...”

“You want to BLEED for me?”

A nod of the head as his thrusts picked up an almost unbearable pace.

He wasn’t sure at what point he began to cry, at what point the realization, that all of it, all of what he’d gone through... none of it mattered.

“FUCK! MARK, I- I-” Tears began to roll down her face, blood began to drip down her legs from his force, that exquisite pain making her feel so... so very alive...

His nails dug into his palms as he witnessed his family formally splitting apart; anything he’d done... A month ago, it seemed like a fresh start, as if they could be a family again, be a father to Diana, a husband to Alison...

He joined her in her climax, the phenomenal power behind his thrusts making her feel as if she was splitting apart. The only way she could even remain in position was from his hands, half-holding her up, half-feeling the entirety of her skin. Their cries never quite matched in rhythm or pitch, hers high, yowling, his deeper, quieter, working up into a snarl as he released his come inside of her.

She collapsed as he dropped her, pulling out of her, the two panting, faces flushed as they lay in the midst of the rumpled, stained covers.

“God... Mark...”

“Don’t worry about the sheets.”

“I- I... God...” A grin, a fresh smile that made her look ten years younger, worked its way to her face, as she gasped for air. “God... if only he could have seen that.”

He replied to the grin with a smirk, moving closer to run his fingers through her tousled hair, made darker with sweat. “Whatever you want, whore.” A flick of the tongue to her cheeks, her forehead, wiping off the tears and sweat. “Whatever you want.”