Page 10 of I F*cked Somebody’s Wife

Maybe This’ll Help

Janelle

It was just a fuck.

A nasty, filthy, back-blown-out fuck in the bathroom of a club I shouldn’t have even been at that night. That’s what I kept tellin’ myself.

I didn’t love him. I didn’t evenknowhim.

Fontaine Wells was a mistake. A beautiful, chocolate, demon of a mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.

So I tried to fix it the only way I knew how—by fuckin’ my husband.

I rode his dick like I was auditionin’ for my own redemption. Eyes shut tight, thinkin’ maybe if I moaned loud enough, gripped his shoulders tight enough, I could erase the memory of Fontaine’s voice from my head. But it ain’t work.

My pussy knew the difference.

My body knew what it missed.

Still, I rode that man like I was tryin’ to convince myself I was faithful. Tried to drown Fontaine’s name in weak moans and wedding rings. But when I came—it was from a place my husband ain’t never touched. And that was the realest part.

I laid next to him afterward, chest heaving, feelin’ dirty. Not ‘cause I cheated. But because it ain’t feel like cheatin’.

It felt likepretendin’.

6

Maybe This’ll Help Pt 2

Fontaine

I watched her.

I stood in the hallway of her big-ass house. The back door wasn’t even locked. Rich-ass niggas get comfortable. She ain’t know I was right there. Watchin’ her.

She laughed at somethin’ on the TV, curled up under her husband like she wasn’t just playin’ with that pussy to the sound of my voice a couple nights ago. Her legs tucked under her, ass sittin’ fat beneath them shorts. My tongue remembered how she tasted. My fingers remembered how she gripped.

That pussy was mine.

She just ain’t accept it yet.

I clenched my jaw, eyes fallin’ on him. Her husband. Weak-ass, basic-lookin’ nigga with zero flavor. I could tell by how he sat back with his chest out that he thought he owned her. Thought the ring on her finger made him safe.

Nah.

I wanted to shoot him.

Dead in the fucking face. Blood on the carpet, her screamin’ my name, realizin’ too late that she shoulda never denied me.

But I didn’t.

I waited.

The next night, I pulled up outside that soft-ass corporate building where he worked. Parked the matte black Maybach right across from the entrance. Window down. Cuban lit. I waited.

Suit was clean again. Red this time. Velvet. Because I was in the mood to get dirty.

He walked out lookin’ like nothin’. Just another number in a system that ain’t mean shit. I watched him kiss his fingers and press ‘em to a photo in his wallet before stuffin’ it in his pocket.

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