Her New Boyfriend

After that night, I stopped leaving my bedroom altogether in the evenings. But since we were all living under the same roof, I couldn't avoid Frida and Bryson entirely.

To make things worse, the couple just couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other. Sometimes, they didn't even bother going to their room and instead made out shamelessly on the living room couch.

One evening, after I was done showering, I stepped out of the bathroom and was immediately met with the unmistakable sounds of lips and tongues smacking against each other.

And there they were, entangled on the couch. Frida's blouse had slipped almost entirely off, and a large area of her bare skin was exposed.

The scene was so explicit that my face burned with embarrassment.

Even though I saw them going at it, they didn't stop. If anything, they got even more brazen. As if trying to show off, Bryson grabbed Frida's chest firmly, eliciting a series of breathy gasps from her.

I fled back to my room as fast as I could right before she was about to take off her pants.

I couldn't take it anymore. Those two weren't exactly young, yet their urges and desire drove them to amorous acts that were even bolder than young lovers.

Feeling troubled, I called Chester, who was still away on business.

"Can't you talk to your mom about this? Like… What if we rent them a place of their own?" I asked in exasperation.

I didn't mention how Bryson occasionally acted inappropriately toward me. Instead, I focused on how their nightly activities were disrupting my sleep and how it had even led to some neighbors complaining about the noise.

"Honey, you know how hard it was for my mom to raise me on her own. Now that she's found someone who makes her happy, can't you be a little more understanding? Besides, she's going to help us raise our kids someday," Chester replied.

He was just making excuses. There wasn't even a bun in the oven yet. The truth was, he was a mama's boy who couldn't bear the thought of living apart from Frida.

Before we got married, I had already made it clear that I didn't want to live with Frida, but Chester disagreed with me vehemently. He kept saying how hard she worked to raise him and how children should take care of their parents to guilt-trip me.

We had fought about it to the point of almost breaking up. I even blocked him on all social media and my phone, but he started showing up outside my office every day.

When Frida found out, she came to my parents' house and told them her sob story, painting herself as a tragic, lonely widow. My parents ended up scolding me for being heartless.

"You've been with Chester for four years. You've always known about his situation. How can you expect a single mother to live alone for the rest of her life?" they had said.

Under pressure from both Chester and my parents, I caved in. Not only did I not break up with him, but we even got married soon after.

If I were being honest, it was also because I couldn't bring myself to let go of our four years together. I convinced myself it was the right decision.

Now, Chester continued making excuses for Frida. He said, "My mom has said that we're all family now. You shouldn't act so distant. Try not to spend all your time holed up in your room…"

I had expected his answer, but it didn't stop the wave of disappointment from washing over me.

I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him about Bryson's inappropriate behavior. Before I could speak up about that, I heard a woman's voice calling Chester's name loudly in the background.

There was also the faint sound of an announcement in the background. It sounded like the ones I'd heard in a hospital.

Why was Chester at the hospital?

I asked anxiously, "Dear, are you not well? I—"

Before I could finish, he cut me off, "I'll call you later, honey. Something has come up."

The line went dead. He had hung up so quickly. This wasn't unusual, but this time, it left me with an unsettling feeling I couldn't shake.

Before I could dwell on it, the familiar sounds of moaning and grunting started up again from the room next door.

"Don't they ever take a break? At this rate, they're going to exhaust themselves to death," I ranted under my breath.

It was as if Frida heard me because her cries of pleasure grew even louder.

Frustrated, I put on earplugs and buried myself under the blankets, willing myself to sleep.

I didn't know when I finally fell asleep, but I woke up to the sensation of large hands gently caressing my body.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. It wouldn't have been the first time—I often fell asleep to the sounds from the next room and dreamed about things getting hot and heavy with Chester after one of his business trips.

But then, the hands moved from my thighs to my abdomen, and they lingered on my chest.

In the next moment, I felt a warm, wet sensation envelop the tip of my mounds. Then, there came the feel of a wet tongue licking them.

This felt too real to be a dream!

I was jolted awake.

My eyes flew open to find a dark figure looming over me, their head buried in my chest and moving with purpose.