Big thanks to those who are sticking it out! We get more back story soon as to why this kink even started at all for Bella/them.

Mistakes are all mine.

4
- flight risk -

I left my ring behind when I left him.

A ring I wore for ten years.

I'm not sure what he did with it.

Sold it?

Left it there on my bedside table, collecting dust and glares every time he saw it?

No one knows why I left him. Or if they do, they haven't heard it from me. I can't deal with the shame of exposing the truth.

I found the idea of my husband fucking another woman highly arousing, but when it finally happened, it broke us.

But his face.

His hands, his body, his groans.

He wanted it, maybe even more than I did.

He insisted it was all for me. That he wanted to make it good… for me.

But he never once looked at my face when he was inside her. It was all about her. If he had looked at me, he'd have seen how badly I was responding. He'd know I didn't want it, and he'd stop. Or maybe he wouldn't. That thought made me even sicker.

How would he not think about her going forward? How would he not compare us? Those thoughts that once turned me on now repulsed me after seeing it happen in real life.

After we got home that night, I told him all of my fears and worries. He denied everything I was saying. Promised it was all for me, me, me. He would never think to do anything like that if I hadn't seemed into it. It was something we'd talked about doing, and we finally did it. That was all, nothing more. He had no interest in doing it again if I didn't want to.

I couldn't move past it and accused him of liking it. And I'll never forget his answer.

"Of course, I liked it."

Simple.

Truthful.

In a way, I was glad he said it because if he said he didn't, I'd know he was lying. And I didn't want him to be a liar.

"Of course, you did," I echoed, glaring because hearing it still stung. "You picked the woman you wanted to fuck, and you got to. I made it easy for you."

I was mad and sickened with myself. With him. With us.

He looked scandalized, like my accusation actually hurt him. "What the fuck, Bella? I just meant I wouldn't have done it in the first place if I wasn't comfortable doing it at all. I liked it because you liked it."

"Do you have feelings for her?" I asked bluntly. Straight to the point because I had to know.

"What? Fuck, no. Feelings? No, it's not like that for me," he said, looking irritated.

"But you think she's attractive?"

"I mean, yeah?" he said honestly.

My face fell, and my heart sank.

I thought he suggested Maria because of her attraction toward him. It never crossed my mind that he felt it, too. But that night, I could feel it in that room, and I knew. Their connection was palpable. A connection I thought only he and I had.

"You didn't tell me that beforehand," I mumbled, confusion and doubt swirling inside of me, wishing we wouldn't have let it get that far.

"I assumed you knew. You get off on it when we talk about it in bed, so I assumed you liked that. I wouldn't have suggested I do this with someone I didn't find attractive…"

Again, it was honest.

I said I didn't want to do it again. For him to fuck anyone else. That it didn't interest me anymore, and he agreed without hesitation that it wouldn't happen.

But it was already too late. We couldn't go back.

I knew it had been a mistake. I knew we hadn't communicated clearly or effectively enough before making such a monumental decision in our relationship.

For an entire month, my mind wouldn't stop. I couldn't stop seeing what happened in that hotel room.

I'd started to resent him and lose my trust.

I was cold toward him. Hurt. Insecure.

We only talked when we had to.

No touching.

No sex.

That was more on my part. He tried. I just… couldn't. Not yet.

I didn't know how to be intimate with him without assuming he'd be thinking of her.

"Tell me what I can do to fix this, baby," he asked in earnest one night.

I had no idea, so I said, "I just need time."

I wanted it to be true.

And then he had her on his fucking podcast.

He told me beforehand because he didn't want to blindside me. His original guest canceled at the last minute, and they needed someone.

It wasn't unusual for other podcasters within the network to guest-star on each other's shows. She had been on his show before, a few times in fact, since her podcast also specialized in sports. They had that in common.

"Say no," I told him indignantly.

"This wasn't my decision, Bella. There are other people involved in this. My producer. My co-host."

I looked at him like he was crazy. "I don't fucking care! Say no."

"And say what? 'Hey, I know we're desperate for a guest tomorrow, and she's been on my podcast before, but I fucked her, and now it's awkward, and my wife is pissed at me?'"

"I don't give a shit what you say. How would you feel if I fucked another man in front of you and still had to interact with him?" I asked rhetorically, then twisted the knife a bit more when I finally had an idea of how to fix this. "Maybe that would make me feel better actually. Make us even. Maybe I need to fuck someone and—"

"That's not fucking happening," Edward growled, his jaw tightening.

"Why not? You fucked someone else, it's only fair."

"Because you fucking wanted me to!" he roared. "It supposedly turned you on. Nothing about you fucking another man makes me aroused. The thought makes me fucking sick."

"How the fuck do you think I feel?" I cried.

He fisted his hair. He was still angry, fuming, but looked torn at my emotion.

But it was black and white to him—he did what I wanted and that was that.

"I don't want her anywhere near you," I sniffled while glaring. "That's all I'm asking."

"You're being unreasonable about this," he insisted. "I haven't seen or talked to her since that night. I've avoided events because she was there. I can't do it forever, Bella. That's not realistic. I'm not going to be alone with her tomorrow. We're going to be in a room full of people. We'll be working. It's not—"

I was done listening to his excuses.

I was pissed.

He was pissed.

The next day, they recorded the podcast.

Instead of listening live, I opted to watch the video version of the show.

I dissected every laugh. Every smile. Their easy banter. Stolen stares. Her coy looks, even when he wasn't the one speaking to her.

She was enamored.

I was sick. So fucking sick. The resentment I felt previously grew into something more. Something I couldn't come back from.

I'd started to hate him.

He knew I was upset, and he didn't do anything to stop her from being on his podcast. Didn't do anything to downplay their attraction on air. Was this just the beginning?

What would happen when their podcasts went on a month-long tour together in September?

What would happen if they drank a little too much, and decided to act on their mutual attraction again, but without my knowledge? They'd fucked once, what was one more time?

What if after some time he suggested we do it again but with a different woman? Or worse—what if he didn't say anything at all, but secretly wanted to? What if our kink turned into a fetish and our sex life would lack without it?

What if he started to resent that I'd presented a certain lifestyle to him and then ripped it away?

What if my kink accidentally turned into his?

All of the what-ifs were too much.

So, I didn't stay to find out.

He couldn't eventually leave me for someone else if I was already gone.