S!N-DICTED: Used Till You Break.

Chapter 1.

Mike’s POV

Imagine working 9-5 for a woman who does nothing but sit at home and makes “stay at home wife” vlog videos for her channel and what you get in return is coming back home to seeing her getting railed by a burly man twice her size. Yes! That’s the story of my life right now.

I walked into the house like any other day. Flinched the keys into the bowl and kept my shoes off. The place smelled like her perfume and something else I could not place at first. Then I heard it. The bedroom. There was low grunting coming from it with her voice, the same one that used to say my name like it meant something.

I pushed the bedroom door open.

There she was. On her back. Legs wide open with some thick, hairy bastard between them, driving into her like he paid rent. She looked at me over his shoulder. No panic. Just a blank little stare, like I was the one interrupting.

Something in my head snapped.

I went straight at him. Absolutely no plan in mind. Just pure heat. We crashed into the dresser. Even though he was bigger, stronger. I got a solid hit on his jaw before he swung back. The last thing I felt was his fist connecting hard with the side of my head and everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again I was in a hospital bed staring at the white ceiling. A thin tube was stuck in the back of my hand. For a second I just lay there, trying to remember how I got here. Then it all rushed back. Her. Him. The fight.

I ripped the tube out, swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up too fast. The room tilted but I did not care. I was going back. I was going to find that motherfucker and finish what I started.

A nurse grabbed my arm. “Sir, you need to stay in bed.”

I yanked free.

“Get off me. I’m going to teach that motherfucker a lesson.”

Another nurse came running. Then a third. Someone eventually yelled down the hallway.

“Doctor, we’ve got a runner!”

They tried to push me back onto the mattress. I kept shouting. My head pounded but the anger was louder. I was halfway to the door when a new voice cut through everything.

“That’s enough.”

I turned.

The man standing there was tall. Dark skin. With a sharp jaw with his white coat open over a black shirt. He looked like he belonged on a magazine and not in a hospital corridor at whatever hour this was. My mouth went dry for half a second. Honestly guys, if I was gay I would have let this man do whatever he wanted right there against the wall.

He walked closer like none of the chaos bothered him. Calm. Steady. The nurses stepped back when he raised one hand.

“Sit down,” he said.

Something in his voice made my legs listen even when the rest of me wanted to keep fighting. I sat as the bed dipped under my weight. He pulled a chair close and sat too.

“I’m Doctor Jamal. You’re Mike, correct?”

I nodded once.

“What happened out there?”

I knew he was asking about the ruckus I’d just created but I suddenly found myself telling him everything. All of it. The years of working overtime so she could stay home and smile at a camera. Coming home to find some random guy deep inside the woman I married. The fight. The blackout. My voice cracked somewhere in the middle but I kept going. He just listened. No pity on his face. Just quiet attention.

When I finished he leaned back a little.

“She isn’t worth all of this Mike,” he said flatly. “None of it.”

I let out a short, ugly laugh.

“Easy for you to say.”

He did not argue. Instead he stood, walked around the bed, and told me to lean forward. His hands settled on my shoulders gently as he started working the knots out like he did this every day. I should have told him to stop. I did not.

The massage moved lower. Across my back. Down my arms. Then one hand slipped under the thin hospital gown and wrapped around my cock.

I grabbed his wrist hard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He did not pull away. His eyes met mine steady and unbothered.

“Helping you calm down.”

I should have shoved him off. Called for a nurse. Done something. Instead my grip loosened. His hand moved slow at first, then with more purpose. My body reacted before my brain could catch up. Heat crawled up my spine as my hips jerked once. I bit down on the inside of my cheek and still made a sound I hated.

I was not gay. I kept repeating it in my head like a prayer. This was just stress from the shock. Yes, the head injury. Anything else did not matter.

I came hard, spilling over his fingers and the gown, breathing like I had just run a mile. My face burned. Jamal let go, wiped his hand on a towel like nothing unusual had happened, and stood up straight.

“That should help for now,” he said. “I’ll be assigned to your care from this point. Try not to rip any more tubes out.”

He left the room without waiting for an answer.

I stared at the ceiling. The sticky mess on my stomach cooled in the air. My head still hurt as I realized my marriage was gone. And the only thing I could think about was the way his hand had felt and how much I already wanted it again.

I closed my eyes and told myself it did not mean anything.

I did not believe me.

And honestly, you shouldn’t either.