The moment I stepped through my door, I turned every lock and leaned against the heavy metal.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

What the fuck did I just do?

What we’ve been dying to do.

I shook my head, then slammed it back against the door.

My dick was still hard, wanting to go another round, ready to fill her again. It didn’t understand the gravity of what I’d just done, only the pleasure.

It wasn’t like any other time over the past four years. No charisma to charm my way into her panties and leave her soon after. I was out of my mind, overcome with a powerful need.

High strung, out of control, and the next thing I knew I had her pinned to the wall.

I forced myself on her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

We didn’t.

Yes, I did.

She wanted it, begged for it, creamed for it.

“Stop!” I screamed out. My arm swung forward to punch the invisible version of myself and crashed through the wall instead.

It took a moment for the shock to settle in, for me to see my fist stuck inside the broken bits of drywall. Then came the pain, my knuckles aching. I relished in it as some sort of penance, even though small, for what I’d done.

It felt like the blood had fallen from my face, strength leaving me as the oppressive guilt covered me. With heavy steps, I made my way to the kitchen and straight for the fridge and my good friend Ketel One.

The first sip burned, the second less so as I walked to the bedroom. I began stripping off my clothes, tossing them on the floor in disgust, the missing buttons from my shirt another sign of my indiscretion.

I sat on the bed and climbed back to lean against the headboard. Another swig and I found myself staring at the wall.

For years I hated my life, but I had never hated myself so much. When did I lose every semblance of the person I once was?

The bigger question—what now?

Now we take her again, the beast said.

“No.” I wasn’t going to even entertain that thought. My fuck-up was on a monumental scale, and I knew I would have to pay.

Hours later my alarm blared, an annoying beeping sound that echoed off the walls. I reached out and turned it off as I shifted to put my feet on the floor.

In the bathroom, my bloodshot eyes stared back, accentuating the blue. I didn’t sleep. At all. Fear gripped me. Regret filled me past the overflow line, drowning me. What was I going to do? How was I going to face her?

It shouldn’t have happened. Ever. But it did. I fucking lost it.

I came inside her.

Jesus.

It felt like a snake crawled around my chest and began restricting my heart. Hours of nothingness, and it hadn’t hit me. I didn’t think it could get worse, and the realization that I’d fucking emptied my balls into her made my anxiety spike as well as my dick.

Marked her. Filled her. Bred her.

“Shut up and go back to fucking sleep,” I said and let out a hard sigh.

I started up my stretches and noticed some muscle aches I wasn’t accustomed to. It was another bit of proof that the previous night had indeed happened, even though I hadn’t forgotten. What I’d done to her, the way I fucked her, was with so much energy and force that I’d overworked some obviously underused muscles.

After a quick shower, I threw on a clean suit before heading out the door. It was still early, the traffic light and the sky dark. When I pulled up the parking lot was mostly empty, but there were cars starting to arrive.

Hers wasn’t there, giving me a little time to try and figure out what to say to her, even though I’d had all night for that.

The light to our office was off, and I flicked it on. All the evidence was still around the room, nothing changed from when I’d stormed out. The coffee cup I shattered lay in pieces on the ground. There were buttons everywhere, and flashes of her breasts filled my mind.

I let out a sigh and hung my coat up. Going down on one knee, I picked up the ceramic bits. Luckily, it seemed to crack into mostly larger bits, but each one was still a reminder. I scanned for buttons, not knowing a total, just knowing I needed to pick up as many as I could find. Anything to wipe away the memory.

But that was an impossibility. The simple act of looking at the wall instigated the feel of her in my hands and the taste of her on my tongue.

Thankfully there weren’t many people in the office, leaving me a clear path to the breakroom to throw all the scattered bits away. No one to stop me with curious eyes and questions I couldn’t answer.

What the fuck am I going to say to her?

That she’s ours now.

For the last fucking time, you know that can’t happen.

Mine.

The muscles in my neck tightened and I reached back, fingers digging in as I stretched my neck. I’d closed my eyes as I tried to work out the tightness, and when I opened them I could see a figure standing just inside our office.

I stopped right at the door, Delilah just in front of me. My eyes widened as I waited for her reaction. Slap me, hit me, yell at me, threaten me—whatever she needed to do, I would accept.

Instead, she stared back, with none of the emotions I was expecting. There was something there, but it came across as desire, and there was no way after what I did that could be true. I was confused, stunned even, but lost for words.

I moved to my desk, unable to look at her. “Good morning.”

I woke my computer, the contract I’d hastily left still up on the screen waiting for me. She remained silent, and I attempted to read over the contract, to find where I’d left off, but the words were just gibberish. When she leaned over, stretching her neck as she looked down, I saw it—an angry-looking purple mark on her neck. It peeked out from the collar of her shirt, and I couldn’t stop staring, knowing exactly what it was.

The incident was a blur as much as it was a memory I’d never forget. One thing still on my mind was the taste of her skin and how I wanted to devour her. The mark was from my mouth, and I was certain it wasn’t the only one. I’d been rough, manhandled her, took her like I’d fantasized for weeks.

In her hand she held a round, pearly white button, twirling it in her fingers. The blood in my veins froze. It was the moment I’d been dreading, something that would remind her what happened.

She set it down, but continued to look at it as her computer booted up. I stayed still, unmoving, waiting on edge, waiting for her reaction.

“Nathan,” she said in a low voice, her attention still on the button. “I like my job. Do you like yours?”

There was no anger or hatred in her eyes. Something more akin to resignation, which I didn’t understand. That was all that she would give me, but after a moment it was enough and my shoulders released some of the tension they were holding.

“I do,” I said, truly meaning it.

“Good.”

I watched as she turned back to her computer screen, ending the conversation.

I sat there, still a little confused by her reaction, still waiting for the ax to drop. Going through what she said, replaying her reactions, I tried to dissect her meaning.

It couldn’t be that simple to sweep what I did under the rug, could it?

No, because I couldn’t handle that outcome. I needed to atone for my actions, for my breach.

 

 

Every day I waited for her to go off on me, to make me pay, but it never happened. My anger and agitation at myself only grew, setting my temper off every time I caught myself staring at her. Sleep eluded me, only exacerbating my mood.

My diet was shit and was mostly alcohol and Chinese. I ran on the treadmill like I was fucking running for my life. Pushing past fatigue all the way to collapse so that maybe I could knock out for a few hours, but my brain refused to let me.

I’d snapped more than once at my admirers, and they’d kept their distance, with the exception of when one of them was in genuine need of my help.

Delilah was aloof. My enigma had my complete attention. No work was getting done.

We sat there, staring at each other. She caught my gaze and held it. Once again, no ill will toward me, just a curiosity and something else I couldn’t identify.

The phone on my desk rang, breaking our locked gaze.

“Hello?” I said into the receiver.

“Nathan,” Jack’s familiar voice said.

Fuck.

“Jack.”

Delilah glanced over at the name.

“Can you come up?” he asked.

Everything in me froze. It was what I’d been waiting for, what I’d been expecting.

“Be right there.” I hung up the phone and stood, saying nothing to her.

That was it—the moment I was fired and possibly put into jail. For days, I’d been waiting for the call. Being Friday, I should’ve known that would be the day. They always said Friday was the day for firing people.

Each step of the stairs was pain filled and the drumming beat of my march to the gallows. I gave a heavy sigh before reaching out and knocking on Jack’s door.

“Come in,” he called from the other side.

I twisted the handle and pushed the door open. Jack sat at the large wooden desk he’d had since I’d known him. He had it specially made, commissioned from local Amish.

There was no smile on Jack’s face, and he let out a long, low sigh.

“Nate, have a seat,” he said as he stood, then walked around to stand in front of his desk.

My blood ran cold as I looked up at him like he was the executioner.

“Is everything okay?”

I blinked at him in complete confusion, my brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Well, I’ve overheard some talk of your attitude this week. It seems the atmosphere around you is quite dark.”

“My attitude?” That was why I’d been called up? Because I was in a bad mood? Fearful of losing my job and my freedom because I fucking lost control of the beast and myself.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Jack. It’s a personal matter, and I didn’t realize I’d let my mood leak out in such abundance.”

“It’s been hard on me, too,” Jack said.

Hard on him?

Oh, fucking shit cock-sucking bastard.

How could I forget? How did I get so consumed by Delilah and what happened with her that I forgot my wife’s birthday? Grace would be thirty-four. Our son would be approaching his fourth birthday.

My jaw locked down and I stared at the floor, my breath becoming labored. Guilt flooded in, but for a different reason than before.

The loss of my family was what had consumed me for years, but I realized that for weeks I’d hardly thought about them. Instead, I’d been filled with a physical need for another woman.

“We’re headed to the cemetery this weekend to see her, bring her some birthday flowers,” Jack said with a sniff.

I kept my gaze from his eyes and shook my head. “I can’t, Jack.”

He nodded. “Yes, I know, but I hope one day you’ll join us.”

Only once had I visited their grave, a few weeks after I’d woken up. The pain of seeing her name etched in granite was too much.

Loving wife and mother, it said.

But she never got to be a mother, our son trapped forever inside her. They were locked in a wooden box buried beneath the earth, and he was never to take a breath.

As I left Jack’s office, I detoured to one of the empty conference rooms. My whole body shook as I stood against the window looking out at the street.

I’d fucked up my life, ended it for all intents and purposes, and yet still, in my purgatory, I could still wreak havoc on others. Stuck in limbo, I didn’t think things could get worse, yet they had.

It seemed rock bottom had many levels, and I had reached an all-time low.

What the fuck was the purpose of my life other than destruction?