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Summary
Marco didn’t cry. He didn’t make a single sound or open his eyes until he heard the soft murmur of conversation rather than the cries and moans of pleasure, some of which were far too familiar. He forced down the bile rising in his throat as the door opened, revealing a half-dressed girl he’d never seen before.
The girl saw him and froze, confusion gracing her (admittedly attractive, though that didn’t matter) features. “Who’s this, Jean?”
“Who’s-- what?” Marco heard Jean say, and he stopped breathing the moment that Jean emerged from the bedroom.
Jean was dressed only in his boxers, with his hair deliciously disheveled-- a sight that Marco had seen many times before. Not once had it sickened him.
“Marco,” Jean breathed, his voice dripping with dread and shock. “What… what’re you…”
“I came home early, Jean,” Marco said in a hollow, yet surprisingly stable voice. “I came home to surprise you. Are you surprised, Jean? Because I certainly am. It’s not every day that I’m greeted with my husband fucking someone else.”
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