Page 20 of Opening It Up (Humbled Superstars #2)

Harley

A ll I could do was wait in my stupidity for the three months to be over.

Three months of my wife apple-picking, going to pumpkin patches, and horror movie marathons with other men, while I begged for the tiniest scraps of her time.

Three months of remembering how she had looked in between Leopold and Brayden—their faces rough with lust, their hands all over her, their mouths eager for her, the sickening dirty sounds of their cocks sliding in and out, wet with her arousal.

The fucking infuriating way all the tendons had been standing out in Brayden’s throat and arms because he was penetrating slowly, so slowly, into her tight little asshole.

I didn’t think I would ever get that image out of my head. It would constantly be a reminder of my mistake.

I fell on my damn knees for her every single day. I didn’t even care about my fucking podcast. All I cared about was researching ways to pleasure her.

“I love you,” I mumbled around the release dripping down my chin. “Love you so much. Was that good? Was it good for you?”

“Hmm,” she said noncommittally, twisting up her glorious curly hair. “It was very nice.”

“Forgive,” I begged. “Forgive a poor fool who loves you.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t also take advantage of your open marriage idea?”

“I didn’t know,” I wept. “I didn’t know how much it would hurt. Or how much I needed you.”

“Hmm,” she said.

And then I did it all again the next day.

Every day I sat in my new recording studio that smelled strongly of pet shop byproducts, and I didn’t know what to say.

Every day I got hundreds or thousands of angry messages about why I had ended the podcast so abruptly.

Because I felt like a fucking fraud giving anyone advice about anything.

How could I dispense advice? I was a moron who had blown up my own happy marriage with the love of my life because my dick had been itchy.

And the second I had dipped it elsewhere, I had realized what a massive mistake it was.

But by then it was too late.

However, I couldn’t avoid the truth any longer.

Finally, I sat down with my microphone. Maybe getting all my sins out would help me find a way to explain to Lily-Mae how desperately sorry I was.

“I’ve been so absent from Self-Actualizing Your Way to Marital Delights,” I said. “And I’m sorry for that. The truth is, I’m the last person to be giving marriage advice. I couldn’t self-actualize my way out of a paper bag. The truth is: I fucked up .”