The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)
The Home-wrecker: Chapter 14

It’s well after eight thirty at night when I finally pull my car into the garage. Briar is at Bible study tonight, and Abby is over at my mom’s. I sit behind the wheel for a while instead of getting out.

My life feels like one fucking mess after another.

I haven’t responded to my father since our meeting last week.

I haven’t even talked to Briar about it.

My wife is miserable, and I don’t know if she’s unhappy with me or she’s unhappy in general, and I have no idea how to fix it.

The only thing I do know for sure is that inviting Dean Sheridan to live on my property was a fucking mistake. I spend all day at work, unable to focus because I know that back at my house, he’s alone with my wife and daughter.

Yeah, he might be in the apartment, but he’s still there.

And to make matters worse, I know that Briar likes him. I trust my wife. I know that what we have is stronger than anything he might tempt her with, but the idea that he’s here grates on my nerves every minute of the day.

I finally climb out of my car with a sigh. But as I walk toward the house, I find myself pausing and looking up at his apartment instead. Since moving in, he and I haven’t been alone or spoken a word to each other. I have no clue what I would even say to him, but this feels like an opportunity to at least say something.

So I quietly climb the steps up to his place. There’s a window next to the door, and while the curtains are closed, there is a sliver of light shining through. Just as I pass the window, I pause when I see Dean inside.

It’s not the sight of Dean on the couch that stops me in my tracks.

It’s the sound.

Through the thin walls and glass pane, I can just make out his low moaning grunts.

There’s only an inch of space between the curtains, but it’s enough to make out exactly what Dean is doing. With his head hanging back on the blue sofa, the quick stroking motion of his arm is unmistakable.

Seconds pass by as I stand there, watching without reason. I could easily walk away or knock and make my presence known, but I don’t. I find myself watching for far too long.

With every pained-sounding cry of his, I am more and more enthralled. And I certainly can’t ignore the thickening of my own cock behind my zipper.

My lips part as I stare in awe.

As I watch the way he struggles, I feel the urge to bite my bottom lip. By the look of his violent stroking, it almost appears as if he’s abusing his own cock. And the sounds that are coming from his mouth are not sounds of pleasure. It’s almost as if he’s trying his hardest to come, but he can’t.

When I force myself to swallow, my mouth is as dry as a desert. But I can’t tear myself away. I just stand there and wait, gawking at him like some sort of pervert.

What is wrong with me?

What is wrong with him?

Just come already. Why is he struggling so hard?

After what feels like forever, he lets out a disgruntled “Fuck!” before dropping his arm and collapsing against the couch in frustration. He lets his head fall back as he stares at the ceiling.

Holy shit.

I move away from the window and hide behind the door, giving him a few moments before I decide to knock. Besides, I have a raging issue of my own that I need to give time to go down before I’m ready to face him. It would be awfully suspicious if he opened his door to find me standing here with a stiff dick for no reason.

It’s not surprising that watching him jack off made me hard. That would happen to anybody.

When enough time has passed, I finally tap against the wood. He lets out a grunt, and a moment later, he opens the door.

When our eyes meet, he’s wearing a rueful scowl.

And I don’t know if it’s because I’m the one at the door, and he hates my guts, or if it’s because he just yanked the fuck out of his own dick without getting his release.

“Can I help you?” he asks with a crass tone.

Fuck, why did I come here?

After the scene I just witnessed through the window, my brain has become foggy. I forgot what the whole point of me knocking in the first place was. And seeing what he just went through, I might be feeling a hint of sympathy for him and not really in the mood anymore to give him shit.

Then I remember him on my porch the other night, no doubt conversing with my wife. And something territorial takes over.

“I’m here to set a boundary,” I say sternly.

His brows shoot upward as he stares at me in astonishment.

“Excuse me?” he asks.

This is just like any case at work, Caleb. Be stern and concise.

“The deal is that you can live here at this apartment because you need a place to stay, and I’m not taking that away. But I want you to know your place when it comes to my wife.”

When his expression of astonishment morphs into a smug grin, my blood starts to boil. His full, pink lips stretch into a wicked smile, giving him two deep dimples on either side of his cheeks. And when his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip, my fists start to clench at my sides.

“I’m serious, Dean,” I mutter.

He only laughs. “Oh, I’m sure that you are serious, but it sounds like a joke to me.”

“This isn’t a joke,” I reply angrily.

“Yes, it is, because you’re feeling insecure, right? And that’s somehow my problem.”

“I’m going to be your problem in a minute,” I growl.

As he steps forward and meets my gaze, I fight the urge to grab him by the throat and shove him against the wall.

“Listen, Caleb,” he says bitterly. “I haven’t touched your wife. In fact, I haven’t even tried because we both know that if I wanted to, I would have already.”

“Lay a hand on Briar, and I’ll fucking bury you in the backyard, you understand me?”

At my brutal threat, his eyebrows pop upward again, and he looks almost impressed.

“Tell me, Caleb, what exactly am I supposed to do if it’s your wife who wants me?” he says.

I take a step forward, cornering him against the doorframe, and he stares at me with intensity. We’re so close I can feel his breath on my face.

“My wife would never want you,” I say in a growly, deep tone.

“Are you sure about that?” he replies with a grin that I want to smack off his face.

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure. You can try all you want, but Briar is loyal to me.” My chest puffs up as I try to make myself taller, but he meets me eye to eye.

“If you’re so sure, why are you here at all, then?”

I jab a finger in his chest. “Because I see the way you talk to her, and she’s a good person, so she’ll be nice to you. But I don’t want you getting in her head or making her feel things she doesn’t want to. She is my wife, and it’s my job to protect her.”

“From people like me?” he asks with a lopsided grin.

“Yeah, from people like you.”

“Well, what if I told you it was your wife who knocked on my door?” he says.

“Like I said, she’s just being nice,” I grumble in return.

“Oh yeah, she’s very nice,” he replies in a sultry tone, and suddenly, his back is against the wall, and my forearm is pressed against his throat.

“Do you want to fucking play with me?” I shout in his face. “Because I’ll kick you the fuck out of this apartment right now. Do you understand me?”

“Why don’t you, Caleb? Why am I here?” he replies.

“Because she’s a much better fucking person than I am,” I say.

And although my arm is cutting off his windpipe, he still holds that smile.

When he presses on my chest, I let up just a little, so at least I don’t kill him. I don’t need to deal with that right now.

“So you think you really know her, huh?” he asks, and my brows furrow in confusion.

“Of course I fucking know her. She’s my wife.”

“Okay,” he replies in a smooth tone. “Then why don’t we make a little wager?”

At that word, I pause, my curiosity piqued. “The fuck are you talking about?” I grumble.

“Well, you’re so sure that your wife doesn’t want me, right?”

“I know my wife would not cheat on me,” I say assuredly.

Again, he laughs, and I find myself holding back my fists. “You think you know her so well. I’ve only been here nine days, and I can tell you don’t know shit about your wife, Caleb. But if you’re so sure, then let’s put it to the test.”

“Put it to the test?” I stammer. “Are you seriously suggesting that we toy with my wife like she’s a trophy to be won?

“Isn’t she?”

“You’re fucking insane,” I mutter, stepping away from him.

“You’re the one who started threatening me, shoving me against the wall, yelling in my face, and why? Because I talk to your wife? It sounds to me like you’re a man who’s a little insecure and is afraid his marriage is falling apart. So maybe, instead of coming over here and talking shit, why don’t you fucking prove it, Caleb?”

“Prove it how?”

“Let’s see how faithful your wife is. I won’t even initiate it, and I bet she’ll still want me.”

Even as my blood boils, I do my best to keep calm. He’s trying to provoke me, and it’s not going to work. He’s been here nine days. He thinks he knows Briar better than me? He’s crazy.

“Fine. What do I get if I prove to you that my wife will not cheat on me with you?”

“Bragging rights,” he shrugs. “And a faithful marriage.”

“And that’s all you want? Bragging rights?”

“That would be enough for me to know that I beat you. To know that I finally got back at you for what you did to Isaac.”

My jaw clenches as my molars grind together. What I did to Isaac?

“Is there a better prize than that?” he asks.

“And how the hell am I supposed to know if she wants you or not? You think she’ll admit that to me?” I ask with fiery resentment.

“Oh, trust me, Caleb. I will let you know. And I’ll savor the look on your face when you find out.”

“Fine, you arrogant son of a bitch,” I reply sternly. “Do your best, but I promise you, Briar will never fall for you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He grins as he backs away from the door and then slams it in my face.