Married Superstar After My CEO Husband Cheated

"Sixty-six times, George."

I threw my phone onto the marble console in the entryway. The screen cracked against the stone edge, but the glare stayed lit, flashing his missed calls.

"Are you fucking another woman?"

George shut the heavy front door behind him. He didn’t drop his briefcase. He didn't flinch. For three years, every argument had ended with slammed doors or icy silences that stretched for days. Tonight, he just set his keys down and walked straight toward me.

"Nicole," he said, his voice quiet. "Look at me."

"Don't tell me to look at you! The board meeting ended at five. It's midnight!"

"I had to smooth out the transition with the regional directors," he murmured. He reached out, his hands sliding over my ribs, pulling me firmly against his chest. "You think I want to be anywhere else after a twelve-hour day?"

"I don't know where you want to be anymore," I choked out, trying to push against his shoulders. "You smell like hotel soap."

"I used the gym shower at the corporate suites because I didn't want to bring grease and exhaust home to you." He caught my wrists, pinning them gently behind my back. He leaned down, pressing his lips against my throat, right over my racing pulse. "I'm right here. I've always been right here."

"George—"

"Stop torturing yourself, Nicole," he whispered against my mouth before kissing me hard.

The heat of his mouth crushed the next accusation right back down my throat. His tongue swept inside, possessive and deep, tasting like black coffee and mint. My knees went loose.

He didn't give me time to pull away. He gathered the hem of my silk skirt in one hand, yanking it up past my hips. He backed me against the foyer wall, his thighs crowding mine so hard I couldn't shift an inch.

"You want proof?" George asked, his dark eyes fixed on mine. His free hand tore my lace panties aside, his blunt fingers sliding straight into my wet heat. "You want me to prove where my cock belongs, Nicole?"

"Yes," I gasped, digging my fingernails into his wool lapels. "Tell me the truth."

"I fucking love you," he growled. He unbuckled his belt, unzipped his trousers, and freed his thick, pulsing shaft. "Only you. Look at my face, Nicole. Look at who is inside you."

He shoved forward in one deep stroke, burying his entire length into my cunt.

A sharp cry tore from my lips. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.

"Say my name," he ordered, his hips slamming into me, driving me back against the cold wall.

"George... ah, George!"

"Who owns this pussy?" He fucked me with brutal, relentless thrusts, his breath hot against my collarbone. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," I sobbed, the heavy friction melting every shred of doubt I had hoarded over the last six months. "Only you."

"Damn right," he groaned, snapping his hips harder, driving deeper until the room spun. "Three fucking years, Nicole. I don't want anyone else. I only want my wife."

When he came, he buried his face in my neck, spilling thick and hot deep inside me while muttering my name over and over like a prayer. He held me there against the wall for a long time, kissing my damp forehead, wiping the stray tears from my cheeks.

I felt completely humiliated by my own paranoia. He loved me. He had always loved me.

***

The next afternoon, the steam from my latte rose between Becky and me at our usual corner cafe.

"George proved to me last night that he has never betrayed me," I said, unable to hide the giddy grin spreading across my face.

Becky paused, her silver spoon hovering over her iced glass. For a fraction of a second, her pupils shrank, and something cold and calculating flickered behind her gaze.

Then she smiled, resting her chin on her manicured hand.

"Did he?" Becky asked.

"Completely," I said, leaning over the table. "I've been acting like an insane person, Becky. Sixty-six phone calls in one night. Checking his shirts for makeup, searching the glove box. I almost ruined everything. But he didn't even yell at me. He just held me and told me he loved me."

Becky’s red lips curved into a smooth, practiced line.

"Nicole, you're finally willing to believe him."

"I am," I said, laughing with pure relief. "I'm done questioning him. He's a good husband."

"I'm glad," Becky murmured, pulling her hand away to smooth down her cream-colored knit dress. "A woman should always know where her man stands."

***

At seven that evening, my phone buzzed while I was chopping vegetables for dinner. It was Becky’s mother, her voice trembling over the speaker.

"Nicole? Thank god you picked up. Becky collapsed at her flat an hour ago. Acute appendicitis. They took her into St. Jude's Hospital."

"Is she in surgery?" I asked, dropping the paring knife onto the cutting board.

"Not yet, the doctors are running prep and scans now. Room 314. I'm three states away, Nicole, please—"

"I'm leaving right now, Mrs. Miller," I promised. "I'll stay with her."

I grabbed my coat, stopped at the florist two blocks from the hospital, and bought a large bundle of yellow tulips. Becky always swore yellow tulips cured any bad mood.

The third floor of the hospital was deserted, bathed in dull fluorescent lighting and the sterile hum of monitors. I carried the flowers in the crook of my arm, checking the door numbers as I walked down the hall.

310.

312.

314.

The heavy door was cracked open an inch.

I raised my hand to push it open, but a sound from inside froze my knuckles in midair.

It was the wet, rhythmic slapping of bare skin.

Then, a low, ragged moan echoed through the gap.

"Fuck... George, right there..."

My blood turned to ice water. That was Becky's voice.

"Take all of it," a man's gravelly voice commanded.

The floor seemed to tilt beneath my shoes. I knew that voice. I had fallen asleep listening to that voice every night for three years.

"Turn around," George ordered, his voice thick and heavy. "Get on your knees. Arch your back higher."

"George, wait... the nurses..." Becky whimpered, but the whimper ended in a sharp, dirty giggle.

"The nurses won't be back for forty minutes," George sneered. "Now grip the bed rail and push back against me."

A loud, stinging slap echoed through the quiet room—palm striking bare ass. Becky gasped, a shameless, breathless whine spilling from her throat.

"Does that hurt your appendix, baby?" George laughed darkly, his breathing ragged as the squeaking hospital mattress groaned under violent, pounding thrusts. "Tell me how my cock feels inside you."

"It feels so big... fuck, George, you're splitting me open..."

"You like it when I stretch you out, don't you?" George grunted, his hips slamming into her with sickening speed. "You're so much better behaved than Nicole, so much more cooperative."

"Nicole is a blind idiot," Becky panted, her voice bouncing with every thrust. "She sat across from me today... bragged about how you fucked the doubts out of her... ah! Deeper, George, right against the cervix!"

"She's a nagging, paranoid bitch," George growled. "She spends all day whining. You just open your legs and take my cock like a good girl."

The world went completely silent except for the roar of blood in my ears.

My fingers went numb.

The yellow tulips slipped from my arm, tumbling onto the cold linoleum floor without a sound.

I didn't think. I reached out, grabbed the brass handle, and shoved the door open.

The wood slammed back against the wall stopper with a loud, violent crack.

Becky was on all fours on the narrow hospital bed, her thin gown pulled up to her shoulder blades, her pale hips bruised red from his handprints. George was standing behind her, his suit pants pooled around his ankles, his dress shirt unbuttoned, his fists buried in the flesh of Becky’s hips as he drove himself deep inside her glistening cunt.

Both of them froze.

George whipped his head around. His eyes locked onto mine, and the flush on his cheeks instantly vanished, replaced by an ash-gray terror.

He scrambled back, his wet, slick cock slipping free from Becky with a wet pop.

George grabbed at his unzipped trousers, his voice cracking into a high, panicked squeak.

"Nicole, why are you here?"

I didn't blink. I didn't cry. My eyes drifted slowly down from his horrified face to the gold wedding band gleaming on his left hand, wet with my best friend's juices.

Slowly, I reached my hand into the right pocket of my wool coat.