CHAPTER 0021- The fuck revenge

The plumber showed up at 11:40.

Chloe was at work. Elias was in his office on a call. I was the one who answered the door.

He was younger than I expected — early thirties maybe, broad shoulders under a faded work shirt, dark hair pushed back from his face, hands already marked with the kind of grit that didn’t come off easy. He looked past me into the house and said he was here about the upstairs bathroom leak.

I let him in.

Elias came out of the office long enough to point him toward the stairs, then disappeared again. The office door clicked shut. The low sound of his voice on the phone started up a second later.

I followed the plumber upstairs.

He set his tools down in the guest bathroom and crouched to look under the sink. The muscles in his back shifted under the shirt. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him work for a minute, arms crossed, the anger from the last two days still sitting hot and mean under my ribs.

Every time I closed my eyes I still saw Elias behind my mother. The same hands. The same low sound in his throat. The same counter.

“You need something?” the plumber asked without looking up.

“What’s your name?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Marcus.”

“Marcus,” I repeated. “You married?”

He huffed a short laugh and went back to the pipe. “No.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Not currently.” He tightened something with a wrench, then sat back on his heels and looked at me properly. “You always this direct with the help?”

I stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. The click of the lock was soft but final.

His eyebrows lifted. “Okay.”

I didn’t give him time to overthink it. I crossed the small space, fisted a hand in his shirt, and kissed him. He froze for half a second, then kissed back — harder than I expected, like he’d been waiting for an excuse. His hands found my waist, then my ass, pulling me in against him. He already smelled like metal and clean sweat.

I shoved him back until he hit the edge of the tub. He sat down hard. I straddled him, grinding down against the growing bulge in his jeans while I yanked his shirt up. His chest was solid, warm. I bit his collarbone and he cursed under his breath.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice rough.

“Shut up.”

I got his belt open, shoved his jeans and boxers down far enough, and wrapped my hand around him. Thick. Already hard. I stroked him once, twice, then lifted up, pushed my shorts and panties to the side, and sank down onto him in one slow slide.

The stretch made my mouth fall open. Different from Elias. Not better. Not worse. Just different — and that was the point.

Marcus’s hands gripped my hips hard. “Fuck—”

I started riding him. Fast. Messy. The wet sound of it filled the small bathroom. I braced my hands on his shoulders and took what I wanted, eyes half-closed, every thrust a deliberate fuck-you aimed at the man downstairs on his work call.

Marcus recovered quick. He thrust up to meet me, one hand sliding up the back of my shirt to grab my hair. The angle got deeper. I moaned and didn’t bother quieting it. Let the sound carry. Let Elias hear it if the walls were thin enough.

“You’re soaking,” Marcus muttered against my neck. “Jesus.”

“Harder.”

He stood up with me still on him, turned, and bent me over the sink. The mirror was right there. I watched my own face while he fucked me from behind — flushed, angry, eyes bright with something ugly and satisfied. He gripped my shoulder with one hand and reached around with the other to rub my clit. The dual pressure built fast.

I came first, biting down on my own wrist, shaking against the porcelain. He followed a minute later with a low groan, buried deep, hips stuttering.

For a second the only sound was both of us trying to catch our breath.

Then footsteps on the stairs.

Heavy. Familiar.

Marcus pulled out fast and yanked his jeans up. I fixed my shorts with shaking hands. The bathroom smelled like sex. There was no hiding it.

The door handle turned. Stopped against the lock.

A knock. Then Elias’s voice, calm and cold in a way that made my stomach drop.

“Riley. Open the door.”

Marcus looked at me, eyes wide. “Is that—”

“My best friend’s dad,” I said. Loud enough to carry. “The one whose house you’re working in.”

Silence on the other side of the door.

Then, quieter: “Open it. Now.”

I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, checked myself in the mirror once, and unlocked the door.

Elias stood there. His eyes went from my face to Marcus’s, then down to the obvious mess of the bathroom — tools scattered, the air thick, my hair wrecked. Something dark and dangerous moved behind his expression.

He looked at Marcus first.

“Get your shit. Get out. Bill me for the full hour.”

Marcus didn’t argue. He grabbed his tools in a hurry and squeezed past Elias without making eye contact. His footsteps went down the stairs fast. The front door opened and shut.

Elias didn’t move. He just stood in the doorway looking at me.

“You done?” he asked quietly.

I lifted my chin. “Not even close.”

His jaw flexed. For a second I thought he might grab me. Push me back into the bathroom and make me regret it. Part of me wanted him to.

Instead he stepped aside.

“Clean yourself up,” he said. “Then come downstairs. We’re going to talk about what happens when you try to punish me in my own house.”

He turned and walked away.

I stood there with another man’s cum slowly leaking out of me, heart slamming, the anger still burning — only now it had a new edge.

Revenge didn’t feel as clean as I’d thought it would.

It felt like the start of something worse.