Spaced out and standing at the edge of the platform, he blinked at the sound of the approaching train. The whistle pierced his dark thoughts like a laser cutting through the blackened hull of burnt out wreckage. Wreckage. Like the wreckage of his… He gritted his teeth
.
He didn’t even remember entering the subway station. His furrowed brow deepened, nostrils flared and his lips lifted in a snarl. He shook his head and blinked as he felt a sharp pain in his hand. That’s when he became aware of the red roses clenched in his right hand. A thorn pierced his palm, drawing blood. Snorting, he released the flowers, watching them drop onto the train tracks. He stared at them as if they’d turned into snakes.
How could she?
After a year of living with Ana, he’d thought he knew all about the woman he’d planned on marrying. He’d thought she was not only beautiful, but sweet and innocent.
That’s what he’d thought until he’d walked into their apartment.
Earlier, she’d told him that she wasn’t feeling well and planned on staying home from work. On his lunch break, he ran out and bought some chicken soup and a dozen red roses, planning to surprise her.
When he let himself into the apartment, he heard her moaning. Fearing she was in pain, he quickened his steps to the bedroom to comfort her. As he stepped closer to the room, he realized that her moans weren’t from pain but pleasure, instead. She always moaned that way just before she was about to come. Perhaps she was pleasuring herself.
“Oh, yes, baby. Hit it right there,” she rasped. “Oh, yes. That’s the way I like it. Hard and deep. Don’t. Stop.”
With the soup in one hand, and red roses in the other, he froze at the bedroom door at the sight that greeted him – a lean, sculptured, dark body in between her pale slim, thighs.
Dear Reader: What do you think happened next?
Paz Edwards
