The Alphas’Dirty Desires : Moan for Us

Valerie Mary Storm

“I think your husband is cheating on you.”

Serah’s words landed like a slap across the quiet café table. She said it casually, almost bored, while stirring the last sad swirl of melted ice in her coffee.

I swallowed hard. The cold water I’d just sipped turned to lead in my throat.

“What?” My voice came out thin, defensive. My fingers automatically found the silver necklace at my collarbone—the thin chain James had given me on our first anniversary. The one he’d kissed while fastening it, whispering that I was his forever.

Serah gave me that look. The one that said come on, girl without saying a word.

“When was the last time he touched you, Val?” she asked, voice low but unrelenting. “Like, really touched you. Not a peck on the cheek or a hug because you looked sad. Actual sex. Passion. Desire. When?”

Heat rushed to my face. I glanced around, terrified the barista or the couple at the next table might overhear.

“That’s… that’s not fair,” I whispered. “You know he has trauma. He told me. He was abused when he was younger. That’s why we haven’t… why things have been slow. I’m giving him time. He needs time.”

Serah leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes steady and sad.

“Valerie Mary Storm, you’ve been giving him time for three years. Three. Years. You cook for him, wait up for him, wear the lingerie you buy hoping one day he’ll look at you like he used to. And he still flinches when you try to kiss him. He still sleeps on the far side of the bed. He still has ‘headaches’ every single time you try to initiate.”

I shook my head, fast, like I could shake the words out of the air.

“He loves me,” I said, more to myself than to her. “He tells me every day. He just… he’s working through things. You don’t understand.”

Serah reached across and took my hand. Her grip was gentle but firm.

“I understand love, Val. And I understand denial. But I also understand patterns. And the pattern is that your husband hasn’t wanted you in years. Not sexually. Not the way a husband should want his wife. And you deserve better than to keep waiting for someone who might never be ready.”

My throat closed. Tears pricked hot behind my eyes.

“Don’t,” I pulled my hand away, voice shaking. “Don’t talk about him like that. He’s not… he’s not cheating. He wouldn’t. He loves me.”

Serah sighed. “I’m not saying he’s cheating. I’m saying he’s not giving you what you need. And you’re too busy protecting him to see that you’re starving.”

The words hit deeper than any accusation of cheating ever could.

I stood abruptly, chair scraping loud against the tile.

“I have to go.”

“Val—”

“No.” I grabbed my purse, necklace suddenly feeling heavy, choking. “You don’t get to sit there and tell me my marriage is broken. You don’t know him. You don’t know us.”

I walked out before she could answer.

The rain had started by the time I reached the car—cold, relentless, matching the hollow ache spreading through my chest.

I drove home in silence, replaying every gentle rejection, every time he turned away, every “I’m not ready yet” that I’d swallowed with understanding smiles.

He’s just stressed, I told myself, gripping the wheel tighter. Work has been hard. The trauma—it takes time. He loves me. He said so this morning. He wouldn’t lie. Not James. Not to me.

But doubt crept in like fog, thick and suffocating. Serah’s words echoed: You’re starving. Was I? The nights alone in bed, touching myself while he slept on the couch, pretending it was okay. The way he looked away when I undressed. The excuses that piled up like unspoken walls between us.

No, I whispered to the empty car. He needs me. We’re in this together. I just have to be patient.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, my hands were shaking. The house looked the same—our cozy two-story with the porch light on, waiting like always. But something felt off. The curtains in the living room were drawn tight, unusual for midday. His car was there, but he’d said he had meetings all afternoon.

See? He’s home early. Probably to surprise me, I assured myself, forcing a smile as I unlocked the front door. Serah’s wrong. She doesn’t see the way he holds my hand when we watch TV, the notes he leaves on the fridge. He loves me. He has to.

The house was quiet—too quiet. No TV humming, no clatter from the kitchen. My heart thudded unevenly as I set my purse down, swallowing hard. I wasn’t supposed to be back yet; I’d told him I’d be out until evening, shopping after coffee.

Maybe he’s napping, I thought, climbing the stairs on legs that felt like jelly. Or working in the office. Everything’s fine. Stop being paranoid.

But as I reached the top, sounds drifted from our bedroom—low, rhythmic. Grunts. Moans. The creak of the bedframe.

My stomach dropped.

The door was ajar. I pushed it open slowly, breath caught in my throat.

James was there. Naked. On top of a man I didn’t recognize—dark hair, strong build, face buried in the pillows. James’s hips snapped forward, hard and desperate, his hands gripping the man’s waist like lifelines.

“Fuck… Mark… yes, fuck!” James groaned, voice raw and broken in a way I’d never heard. “God, you feel so good. So right. With her… it’s always felt wrong. Irritating. Like I’m forcing it. But with you… fuck, with you I’m finally myself.”

The words pierced me like shards of glass.

They didn’t notice me. Didn’t stop.

I stood there, frozen, the world narrowing to that scene—to my husband, the man I’d vowed forever to, confessing his truth while buried inside someone else.

Denial shattered. Doubt won.

“James…”

My voice was a whisper, but it cut through the room like a scream.

They froze. James’s head whipped around, eyes wide with horror.

“Val—”

The necklace snapped under my fingers as I clutched it too hard. The chain broke, silver links scattering across the floor like my dreams.

My knees buckled. I collapsed against the doorframe, sliding down, sobs ripping from my chest in ugly, heaving waves. The pain was everywhere—burning in my throat, twisting in my gut, crushing my heart until I couldn’t breathe.

He’d never felt himself with me.

Three years. All a lie.

The words kept looping in my head, louder than the rain outside, louder than my heartbeat. They carved themselves into my chest, each syllable a fresh cut.

James was still on the bed, sheet clutched around his waist like it could hide the truth. His face was pale, eyes glassy with something that looked like regret—but not enough regret. Never enough.

Mark, the man beneath him, propped himself up on one elbow, smirking like this was entertainment.

“Come on, James,” Mark drawled, voice lazy and cruel. “Tell her the rest. She’s already here. Might as well finish it.”

James swallowed hard. His voice came out small, trembling.

“I’m sorry, Val. I never wanted to hurt you. I really did love you… in my way. But I’ve always been gay. I tried to be what you needed. I tried so hard. But every time we were together, it felt… forced. Wrong. Like I was betraying myself. With Mark… with him, I finally feel alive.”

Alive.

The word punched the air out of my lungs.

Tears streamed down my face now, hot and relentless. I didn’t wipe them away. I let them fall, let them burn.

James crawled forward on the bed, reaching out with shaking hands.

“Let’s have an open marriage, Vel. Please. I can’t lose this marriage. I can’t lose Mark. He’s the love of my life. But you—you’re my family. We can make it work. You can find someone too. We don’t have to end everything.”

The room spun.

I stared at him, at the man I’d built my entire existence around, the man I’d excused, defended, waited for, prayed for.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” I whispered. Then louder, voice cracking with rage: “You’re a fucking asshole, James! You hear me?!”

His expression shifted—regret flickering out, replaced by something colder, harder.

“You don’t have a choice, Vel.” His voice dropped low, venomous. “You’re a weak omega that I chose. Look at you. No one else would choose you. You’re boring. So boring. And yeah… you disgust me. Every time I touched you, I had to force myself not to gag. But think about it like this: I’m saving you from the shame. No man wants you. No real man would ever claim someone like you. So let’s have an open marriage. You get to keep the house, the life, the illusion. And I get to be happy.”