Transcription
I finally had her completely tangled in the sheets of their marital bed. Her body arching under mine like she was made for it.
The bedroom door creaked open and there stood Marcus, that pathetic fool, keys dangling from his limp fingers like he'd forgotten how to use them. His face went white as he took in the sight, his wife naked beneath his best friend. Me, Daniel. I didn't stop moving at first. Why should I? This was the payoff after months of careful work.
Alina turned her head toward him. No panic in her eyes, just that cool defiance I'd come to love. "Marcus," she said calmly. "We need to talk."
He didn't say a word. Just stood there frozen, helpless as always. I almost laughed out loud. The guy couldn't even muster a shout. Pathetic.
It all started 6 months earlier when I moved back to the city. Perfect timing, really. Marcus, my old college buddy, was thrilled. Insisted on dinner that first weekend. "Alina, you're going to love him," he babbled while setting the table. "Dan's genuine, loyal, the kind of friend you can count on."
I brought flowers for her, whiskey for him. She was even better in person than the wedding photos he'd shoved in my face years ago. Dark hair, sharp eyes, that body. I let my gaze linger just enough. "So, you're the famous Alina?" I said. "Marcus showed me your photos. They didn't do you justice." She blushed, laughed, already hooked. Marcus beamed like an idiot, oblivious.
"We should do this every week," he suggested. "Sunday dinner's tradition."
"I'd love that," I said quick and eager. Elina noticed. Good. Let her notice. I wove myself in seamlessly. Dinners, movies, galleries, brunches, always there, always charming. Marcus loved it. Thought he had his perfect integrated life. What a joke. He had no idea I was targeting his wife from day one.
The cracks were easy to exploit. I'd text her directly, send articles, memes. She'd light up at her phone, show Marcus like he was part of it. He'd laugh along, clueless. Why send it to him when I wanted her attention on me?
The touching started small. Hand on her lower back guiding her through doors. Her fingers brushing my arm, knees touching under tables, neither pulling away. Marcus saw it all and did nothing. Told himself it was comfortable, weak.
In April, I helped with her presentation. We sat close on the couch, heads together, laughing. Marcus walked in that brief pause before they greeted him. I stood, shook his hand, lingered on his shoulder. "Your wife's brilliant," I said. He smiled tightly, thanked me. Helpless fool.
Spring to summer, I escalated. Text threads just between us, inside jokes. She cut her hair. New perfume, my suggestions. When Marcus went to Seattle for a week, perfect opportunity. "I'll check in on her," I told him casually. We went to dinner. Italian place. Laughed. Flirted openly. I heard him call one night, told her to tell him thanks for looking after her. I smirked in the background.
When he returned, she was glowing for me. He noticed, said she seemed happy, clear-headed. Yeah, because she was thinking about me.
On a hike, I steadied her waist over a rough trail, held longer than needed, whispered close. Marcus ahead, scouting like the good little provider. He turned, saw us, cold look, but said nothing, spineless. That night, she was distracted in bed with him. Good. Mine was better anyway.
July heat wave. My idea for the lakehouse weekend. Marcus agreed, hoping to reset. Reset what? His failing grip. First night, too much wine. He passed out early on the couch. I took her to the deck. Moonlight perfect. Hand on her arm, tucked her hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes, leaned in, almost kissed her right there. But I pulled back, teased her, make her want more. She begged for time. Fine. Patience pays off.
Next morning, Marcus whined about not feeling well. Wanted to leave early. In the car, he held her hand. She let him but limp. "Everything okay?" he asked. She lied. He didn't push. Coward.
August. No more hiding. Texts constant. Lunches for networking. Alone time. Excuses. Marcus watched. Gut twisting. Did nothing. One evening. My car in the driveway. We were on the couch. Clothes jumped apart when he walked in. I stood quick, just leaving. He invited me to stay for dinner. What a pushover. I looked at Alina, she said softly. "Stay." I sat back down. Dinner was hilarious. We sked perfectly, reaching for salt. Same time inside. Laughs. Marcus outsider in his own home. Priceless.
After I left that night, he finally asked her, "Are you having an affair?" She said, "No." He pushed. "But you want to silence?" He begged to fix it. She said she loved him like a brother. I laughed when she told me later.
September, I floated a fake transfer to New York. Marcus relieved. Elina devastated, withdrawn, crying. He held her. Then my text buzzed. She pulled away to read it. His moment shattered. Tough luck. Transfer fell through on purpose. Elina lit up. Marcus died inside a bit more.
October, their anniversary. He planned romantic dinner. She worked late. My car parked blocks away. We were upstairs kissing deep when I cradled her face. "I can't pretend anymore," I said. "He's my best friend. But I can't give you up." "She whispered. We didn't wait. Frantic, urgent, clothes off on the bed. Familiar by then. Wasn't our first time. Marcus watched from the door crack the whole thing. Didn't burst in. Just stood there, masochistic idiot, witnessing his own cucking. He left quietly. Drove around. Came back after I was gone. She pretended sleep. Next morning normal routine. He played along. Numb loser.
It kept going. Evidence everywhere. My cologne on pillows, extra glasses, texts open. Caught us twice more. Once in living room, her straddling me. Didn't notice him till he cleared throat. She scrambled. I stood calm. "Get out," he said quietly. I grabbed jacket, left. No fight in him. She cried. "Sorry." He asked why. "It just happened." Lame excuse. He knew she'd keep doing it. Slept in guest room. Heard her cry. Music to me.
November, stopped pretending. I came over openly, hand on her thigh during movies, glances at dinner. Marcus watched like a spectator. Didn't object. Self-destructive [ __ ] afraid to be alone, hoping she'd choose him. Never would.
Final conquest late November Friday. He came home early for the talk. Heard us upstairs. This time he didn't hide. Push door open. We were fully into it. Naked, passionate. Didn't notice at first, then she saw him. Gasped. I froze when I looked up. "Don't stop on my account," he said hollow, clearly enjoying yourselves. She pulled sheet, begged. He sat in the chair. "I want to watch. See what you have that we don't." Insane but perfect. I looked at Alina, silent. "Yes." Sheet dropped. We continued, better with audience. She abandoned like never with him. Performed for his humiliation. He watched till he broke. "Then I'll be in guest room." Left us to it. Heard everything through walls. Crushed him completely.
Morning he packed bag. She asked where. "Does it matter?" She desperate. "I love you." Maybe, he said, but you love him more. Can't watch you choose him every day. Left her crying. I pulled in as he drove away. She ran to my arms immediately. Comfort please. Victory sex. He checked into hotel. Stared at ceiling empty. Betrayed by wife, best friend, me, and himself for letting it happen. Couldn't stop it. Helpless from start. Divorce coming. Sure he'll lose everything. I'll have her fully now. No more sneaking. What a rush. Taking your best friend's wife inch by inch while he watches powerless. Laughable how he facilitated it all. Invites, thanks, excuses. Thought trust made him strong, made him weak. He's broken now. Alone in some hotel replaying it. Good. Deserves it. And me winning, always do. Marcus never stood a chance.