Page 18 of I F*cked Somebody’s Wife

Gotta Go—Can’t Stay

Janelle

I woke up sore as hell.

My thighs ached, my pussy pulsed, and my chest felt tight like I’d been cryin’ in my sleep. The sheets smelled like him—cologne, blunt smoke, and sex. My body was tangled in Fontaine’s, his thick, muscular arm wrapped around my waist like he owned me, like I was his fuckin’ property.

I didn’t even know what time it was, but the sun peeked in through the blinds, soft and dusty. The room was quiet, heavy with the kind of silence that don’t feel peaceful—it felt like a decision waitin’ to be made.

His breath was deep, slow… calm. Like he hadn’t just destroyed my life the night before. Like he ain’t make me scream his name loud enough to wake the dead, while my husband sat there tied to a chair. Like I ain’t let him nut on my face and then dare to sleep next to him like some kind of loyal bitch.

I should’ve stabbed his crazy ass. But I didn’t.

I slid his arm off me slow, careful not to wake him. My legs shook when I stood up, my whole body feelin’ like it had been used.Which it had.

I picked my dress up off the floor, slipped it over my head without lookin’ in the mirror. I didn’t wanna see myself right now. Didn’t wanna look into the eyes of a woman who gave her soul to a devil with a deep voice and a monster between his legs.

My heels were still by the door. Quiet as I could, I grabbed my purse, cracked the door open.

I paused.

A part of me wanted to turn back. Crawl back into that bed. Let him hold me. Let him do it all again.

But I walked out.

He was already packing when I got home.

My husband didn’t say a word when I walked in. Didn’t ask where I’d been. He was folding shirts, placing ‘em in a duffle bag on the bed. Calm. Too calm.

“I—” I started.

He cut me off without even lookin’ at me. “You don’t have to explain, Janelle. It’s over.”

I swallowed hard. “W-what do you mean?”

He zipped up the bag, looked up finally. “I mean, I’m not gonna fight you. I ain’t tellin’ nobody. I just want peace. You can have whatever you want. Just leave me the hell outta it.”

My chest cracked a little. No anger. No yelling. No nothin’. Just a man broken in silence.

The divorce was fast.

No court drama. No public mess. Just papers. Lawyers. Two signatures and a quiet goodbye.

People asked questions, but I kept it cute. Told them we grew apart. Life happens.

But what they didn’t see was me in the shower every night, cryin’ into my palms. Or layin’ in bed at 3AM, touchin’ myself to the memory of Fontaine’s voice.

“You like that? Yeah, you do. Be a good girl and squirt for me.”

I could still hear him. Still feel his tongue, his hands, his dick. Still feel the way he looked at me like I was his fuckin’ last meal. I hated him. I loved him. I hated that I loved him.

Was that possible? To love a man because of his craziness; because of his dick?

I hadn’t eaten in two days. Couldn’t sleep either. I would close my eyes and see his smile. That damn smirk he wore like a crown. See the way he smoked his blunt, the glow of the tip lighting up that fine ass face.

Dark skin. Low fade. Designer suits. Rings on his thick fingers. Dangerous eyes.

God, I missed him.

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