Chapter 4: The Phone Call
The buzzing was a trapped fly against the carpet.It stopped, then started again, a frantic, digital heartbeat in the stale silence.
Josh watched her, his eyes tracking from her face to the floor where the light of the screen leaked from her purse.A slow smile spread. “Persistent fucker, isn’t he?”
He moved before she could, swinging his legs off the bed in one fluid motion. He crouched, dug through the clutter of her clutch, and pulled out the phone. The screen illuminated his face—David Home flashing over a photo of her two children at the beach. He studied it for a second, his expression unreadable, then swiped to answer.
He didn’t hand it to her.He stood, walked back to the bed, and put the phone to his own ear. “Hello?” he said, his voice suddenly easy, friendly, normal.
Lisa froze, her blood turning to ice. She heard the faint, tinny squawk of David’s voice through the speaker but couldn’t make out the words.
“Yeah, she’s here,” Josh said, looking directly at her. He reached down and wrapped his free hand around his cock, giving it a few lazy strokes.It hardened instantly under his touch. “A little worse for wear, but she’s safe.” He paused, listening.“Oh, the bachelorette thing got a little wild. She’s crashing at her friend’s. Lisa?” He held the phone out toward her, his eyes glinting with a terrible promise. “Your husband wants to say goodnight.”
Her hand trembled as she took it.She brought it to her ear. “David?”
“Jesus, Lisa, I’ve been calling for an hour!” His voice was strained with worry, a familiar sound that now felt like a shard of glass in her ear.“Are you okay? Who was that?”
“I’m… I’m fine,” she said, forcing lightness into her tone. It came out thin and brittle.“That was… that was Jenna’s brother.He picked us up. I’m staying at Jenna’s cousin’s place.” The lies tripped out, automated and smooth, a script written by a thousand mundane deceptions.Josh was moving. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and pushed, rolling her onto her stomach. The phone was still pressed to her cheek.The stiff, mildewed sheets scratched her nipples. She felt his knees wedge between her thighs, forcing her legs apart.She knew what was coming. A wild, hot panic seized her, mixed with a thrilling, bottomless depravity.
“You sound out of breath,” David said.Before she could answer, Josh’s hand was on her hip, his other guiding himself. He didn’t bother with spit or preamble; he was ruthlessly efficient. The blunt, wide head of his cock pressed against her tight, already-used back hole.She clenched, a futile defense.
“Just… tired,” she managed to whisper into the phone.
With a single, brutal thrust, he buried himself inside her ass.The invasion was a white-hot lance of pain and shocking fullness. A sharp, strangled cry burst from her lips, which she tried to mask as a cough.
“Lisa? What was that?”
Josh began to move, a slow, cruel withdrawal and a deep, grinding re-entry.Each motion stretched her brutally, a raw, obscene friction that began to burn. “Nothing,” she gasped, pressing her face into the pillow to muffle her breathing. “Just… stubbed my toe. In the dark.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” David’s voice was softening, believing her.The good husband.The trusting man. “The kids are asleep.Missing you.”
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling onto the cheap polyester. Josh set a steady, punishing rhythm now, each thrust punching a wet, soft sound from her core. Her body was betraying her, the initial pain smearing into a grotesque, deep-throated pleasure. She was being split open on a stranger’s cock while her husband spoke of bedtime stories and missed kisses.
“I miss them too,” she said, her voice hitching as Josh slammed particularly deep.
He leaned over her then, his chest a hot weight on her back, his mouth next to her ear that wasn’t pressed to the phone. His sweat dripped onto her shoulder.“Tell him you love him,” he whispered, a low, venomous command. He punctuated it with a sharp, relentless snap of his hips.Lisa squeezed her eyes shut. The words were ash in her mouth.“I love you, David.”
“Love you more. Get some sleep, okay?”
Josh’s hand snaked around her hip, his fingers finding her clit.He rubbed rough, tight circles, the stimulation direct and ruthless. The dual assault—the deep, filling stretch in her ass and the frantic pressure on her nerve-endings—coiled a spring in her gut. A second, shameful orgasm began to build, a tsunami gathering force from the deepest, filthiest part of her.“Okay,” she breathed, barely audible. “Goodnight.”
She heard his soft, “Goodnight,” just as Josh bit her shoulder to stifle his own groan. He was pounding into her now, losing his rhythm, his own climax approaching.The phone slipped from her nerveless fingers, landing screen-up on the sheet. The call timer was still counting.2:47.David was still there.Listening.
That knowledge pushed her over the edge. Her body convulsed, a silent, violent earthquake, her ass clamping rhythmically around Josh’s driving cock.The pleasure was pain, was humiliation, was utter liberation. It wrung her empty. A moment later, Josh stiffened, driving in to the hilt with a final, shuddering thrust. She felt the hot pulse of his release deep inside her, a claiming in the most forbidden place.
For a long minute, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the faint, digital hiss from the phone on the sheets.Josh pulled out slowly. A wet, terrible sound accompanied his exit.He reached over her and picked up the phone. He put it to his ear, listening.Lisa saw the red end-call icon flash as he disconnected.
He dropped the phone onto the bed beside her head. “He hung up a while ago,” Josh said, his voice flat.“Right after you said you loved him.”
The words hung in the air. Lisa couldn’t move. The physical sensation of being utterly filled was gone, replaced by a hollow, aching emptiness.The fluids leaking from her body felt cold and accusing.Josh got off the bed. She heard the whisper of his jeans being pulled on, the buckle of his belt. He didn’t look at her.He collected his wallet, his keys from the dresser.
He walked to the door and paused, his hand on the knob.He didn’t turn around. “The game’s over,” he said, not unkindly.It was just a fact. “There’s a shower.Water’s kinda brown, but it works.”
Then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him, a sound of finality more profound than any lock.
Silence rushed in, louder than anything before. The neon light bled through the curtains, painting the room in a constant, sickly pulse. The phone, dark and silent now, lay beside her like a dead thing. She was alone with the smell of sex and sweat and mildew, with the ache in her bones, with the words she had screamed and whispered hanging in the air, and with the echoing, vacant sound of a disconnected line.