The Stranger Behind My Orgasm novel Chapter 2

Chapter 2: DRAKE, THE DICK

Abigail

A sight I never expected in my entire life stretched before me.

A fucking orgy.

Drake, my fiancé, the man I was supposed to marry in three months, who had slipped a ring on my finger a year ago and promised me forever, was buried balls deep inside a blonde woman I’d never seen before.

In our bed.

Surrounded by his model friends doing the same thing all over our bedroom.

He’d mentioned us getting involved in an orgy a few months back. I’d laughed it off as a joke, said no way in hell I’d share him with anyone else, and he’d grinned, claimed it was an April Fool’s prank. Apparently, I was the fool he’d been fooling all along.

The blonde arched beneath him, her nails raking down his back, leaving red trails across his skin. Her moans bounced off our walls, our white walls that we’d painted together last summer, laughing as we got more paint on each other than the room.

Our framed photos hung above them like silent witnesses. Our engagement photo. Our first kiss under the mistletoe. The picture with my grandparents at the beach, all of us grinning.

Drake wasn’t looking at those photos.

He was looking at the brunette pressed against his side, her lips trailing down his neck, her hand wrapped around his balls while he thrust into the blonde. His cock disappeared into her pussy with each stroke, glistening wet when he pulled back.

"Damn, that’s it baby," one of his friends groaned from my reading chair, my chair where I’d spent countless nights curled up with books. A woman rode him, her red hair flying, her tits bouncing with each roll of her hips.

Another man sat on the floor beside our bed while a third guy wrapped his lips around his cock, his head bobbing in rhythm. Their moans echoed through the room, each one splintering my heart.

Skin slapped against skin, wet and obscene. The smell hit me next, thick and musky, sex and sweat permeating the air. Burning bile rose in my throat.

I had to be dreaming. Drake would never do this to me, right?

Maybe, it was

"God, Drake, you’re so fucking good at this," the blonde gasped, head thrown back, throat exposed, as if snapping some sense into me that this was realer than it could ever be. "Your cock is so much bigger than..."

He didn’t even know I was here. His jaw was clenched tight, his face flushed dark red, his eyes half closed. He was close. Lost in it.

Completely gone. I’d seen that face a thousand times. Had felt pride that I could do that to him.

"Yeah, because you’re not my bland fiancée," Drake’s voice cut through the music, slightly breathless but crystal clear.

My heart stopped.

"God, Abby makes so much noise it’s fucking irritating! She just lays there like a dead fish. ’Oh Drake, oh yes.’" His voice went high and whiny, mocking me.

The brunette giggled against his neck, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. Another crack split through my chest, deeper this time, reaching bone.

His friend on the chair burst into a mocking cackle his hips still moving as the redhead bounced on his dick.

"Duuudee, that sucks."

"You’re telling me... oh fuck baby I’m gonna cum!" Drake threw his head back, letting out a raspy groan.

"I keep thinking maybe she’ll get better, you know? But four years and she still can’t even suck dick properly."

Four years.

The number echoed in my skull, bouncing off the inside of my head until it was the only thing I could hear.

Four. Years.

I’d moved in with him after our two years anniversary. Said yes when he proposed at that restaurant overlooking the bay, the one where we’d had our first date. Started planning a wedding, a fucking wedding.

My grandparents had already bought their plane tickets. My best friend Annette had her bridesmaid dress hanging in her closet, tags still on, waiting.

The brunette kissed his shoulder. "Poor baby. You deserve so much better." Her hand slid down to stroke his balls, cupping them while he fucked the blonde harder.

"I know, right?" Drake’s hips snapped forward again, his cock pounding in and out of the blonde’s dripping pussy.

My vision blurred. That fucking music kept pounding in my ears, bass vibrating through the floorboards, through my bones.

How long had this been going on? Had he done this before? Was this a regular thing? Was this one of the models he worked with?

He’d wait for me to leave for work, invite his friends over, hire some prostitutes, and laugh about what a terrible fuck his fiancée was?

His friends were here. God, the whole time I’d been running around looking for the best wedding planner, they must have been laughing at me.

Droplets of sweat glistened on Drake’s forehead. A flush painted his chest, his neck, his face. He was enjoying this, getting off on humiliating me even when I wasn’t supposed to see it.

My heart didn’t just break. It shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, each one sharp enough to cut. My bag slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a thud.

Drake’s head snapped toward the door. Our eyes met and for one second, everything stopped. His eyes widened in shock, then morphed into horror.

"Abby..." His voice cracked on my name.

"You’re not supposed to be home."

You’re not supposed to be home.

Not "this isn’t what it looks like." Not "I’m sorry." Not even "I can explain."

Just that I wasn’t supposed to witness this.

His friend on the floor pulled back from the woman sucking him off, his cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop. He glanced at me, smirked, then actually whistled.

"Damn, Drake, your girl’s hot. Now that she knows, care to share?"

The redhead on the chair slowed her movements, looking over her shoulder at me with vague interest before resuming her ride. The man beneath her groaned, his hands gripping her ass, clearly unbothered.

But the guy getting blown looked uncomfortable now, his erection flagging slightly as he shifted. "Uh, Drake, man..."

They didn’t all care. It hit me like a freight train. This wasn’t the first time. Something inside me snapped like a wire pulled too tight, finally giving way.

The fool was going to break up with me.

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