Wrecking His Marriage (Short Story Collection)

Vivienne's Pov.

I turn to watch Luca again, his breathing is a slow, even rhythm.

His head is buried deep in my bosom, heaving softly with his mouth slightly parted in a peaceful state. His lips, swollen and tender from how we had kissed so ferociously earlier, give him a soft, vulnerable appearance.

His lashes are so long and thick, they give him this serene, almost angelic appeal, a stark contrast to the man who had just last night shot at a man who tried to kiss me at the engagement party. The irony isn’t lost on me. I try to hold back my hand, to keep from tracing my fingers along the lines of his face in a quest of admiration for what must be the millionth time since he fell asleep. How could a man so beautiful be so destructive, so effortlessly possessive, so utterly mine and not mine at the same time?

He shifts slightly in his sleep, the movement a gentle intrusion into my thoughts. He intertwines his leg with mine then yawns softly. My legs already feel sticky and damp with his release, and my entire body aches in protest from all the places he’s grabbed, licked, sucked, and claimed the night before.

It’s a pain I’ve come to know and, in a twisted way, crave. I let out a long sigh and rest my head against the headboard, my eyes trailing down to the gold wedding ring in his hand. A cruel reminder that he belongs to someone else, a beautiful, devastating symbol that he is someone I shouldn't want, someone I’m not supposed to have. I hate this, this feeling of being a secret, an afterthought, the other woman. I hate feeling this way, like I’m a broken, pathetic version of myself.

He’s the one who dragged me here, to his bedroom, as soon as they came back from court. He didn’t even need permission, he didn’t ask, he just did. And I let him. Just like I’ve let it happen for three months now, every stolen glance and secret touch. I’m a willing participant in my own heartbreak.

He was mine before he became hers. I know they’ve been dating since before my mother married his father two years ago. Their relationship has lasted for five years, and he proposed to her like every normal person should. But this isn't normal. Not when he’s cheating on her with me, his stepsister.

I’ve been drinking more and more lately. It started as a way to numb the ache, to dull the sharp edges of my reality. My mother thinks I’m going to become an alcoholic and attributes my recent behavior to my failure to get into the college of my dreams. But it’s not that at all. It’s the agony of watching the man I love marry someone else and the agonizing knowledge that I can’t say anything in public to counter it.

I’ll always be his secret, and I hate myself for accepting that role. I wonder, sometimes, if the sex wasn’t good enough. Or if I should have let it just be sex, a temporary release, instead of letting it grow into something more. Something that feels so much like love.

“What’s on your mind, Tesoro?” His voice is a low rumble, startling me out of my thoughts. I turn to meet his gaze, which is already fixed on mine.

He yawns gently, and stares at me, his eyelashes fluttering as he wakes up. My stomach feels warm, again. It shouldn't be.

“I’m okay,” I lie, my voice a little too quiet. “I just got tired, that’s it. It’s almost five, we should probably go. Wren and mom would need me for the bachelorette party prep.”

In addition to watching him marry someone else, his fiancée, Wren, had done me the honors of making me one of her bridesmaids. The irony of it all is a heavy weight in my stomach. If only she knew the truth. If only she knew what we were doing, what we have been doing, for months.

“If you’re tired then you don’t have to do it,” he says, his voice laced with concern.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” I insist, my voice wavering slightly.

“No, you’re not,” he counters gently, his fingers intertwining with mine. The warmth is back again, spreading through me from our joined hands, and I find myself holding back tears. He’s been caring, so utterly, undeniably caring, and he shouldn’t be. He’s only making it worse, making it harder for me to let go.

My gaze meets his again, deeper this time as my head is clouded with thoughts, a chaotic storm of emotions. I find myself leaning in and kissing him again, a desperate plea for him to make it all stop, to make the thoughts go away. He kisses me back with more fervor, his tongue teasing my lips to part, and they do, without hesitation. His mouth is warm from sleep, sweet and blissful, and it feels better every time I kiss him. It’s a high I can’t stay away from.

As I kiss him, his hands find my breasts again, kneading them gently as he slowly pushes himself on top of me. He spits in my mouth, and I swallow it, a low moan escaping my lips as my arousal builds up once more.

Does he do this to her too? The thought intrudes, unwelcome and sharp. He’s so good at this, at touching and kissing and loving me. He’s kissed her before, right in front of me. I’ve even seen a hickey on her neck. I try not to ask him questions about her, about them. I don’t want to seem insecure or jealous, but I don’t think I can keep it up for much longer.

I push the thought away and force myself to focus on him, just as he breaks the kiss and trails kisses down to my core. I let out a sharp sigh as his lips meet the dampness of my folds. “You’re always so ready for me, baby,” he whispers, his breath warm against my skin.

He yanks down his pants and I stare at how hard he is, my mind mentally begging for him to just go on with it, to fill me up and make me forget everything. She’s seen this too, hasn’t she? She’s had him the way I’ve had him, the way I’m about to again. The thought sizzles away into nothing as his length fills me, a rush of him that follows with a speed that has me biting back my moans, just like the night before.

He’s taking me with his fiancée downstairs with my family.

I don’t want to make a sound, but he’s groaning in pleasure, unapologetically and loudly. I wonder why he can’t do the same thing by claiming me in public.

“Gosh, Luca,” I whimper, grabbing his back as he goes even further, thrusting into me with a momentum that makes my head spin and my eyes roll back in my head.

I feel his warm breath against my neck as he pants softly. “I love you, I love you so much.”

My body tenses, an electric shock, just as a wave of pleasure crashes over me and I climax along with him. Tears start rolling down my cheeks as his warm fluid fills me up. He loves me? He’s never said that before, not to me. He’s only said it to her. And now he loves me?

“Viv, what’s wrong?” Luca asks, his voice thick with concern as he notices my tears.

“I can’t do this, Luca,” I whisper, the words a confession and a plea all at once. “I can’t keep doing this.”