My Adulterous Wife, a twilight fanfic
By Mikarin Aoi
Summary: When Emmett learns of his wife's infidelity, what will he do and how far will he go for Rosalie to stop her sexual vice?
Warning: Rated M for Mature content Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst, Alternate Universe Pairing: Emmett/Rosalie and Edward/Bella (All Human)
Disclaimer: I don't own the Twilight Saga.
Author's Note: I have a feeling that the only ones who will be able to relate to this story are people who actually know the pain of infidelity… who have experienced the pain firsthand… like me. I guess I'll just have to see for myself in whatever feedback I get through reviews…
IMPORTANT! Just like my first fanfic "The Only Way," this story has disturbing matters and just like I used the dark personalities of Carlisle and Esme there, in this one, Emmett and Rosalie's dark sides will be revealed, which to you, dear reader, will most likely be "out of character." I seemingly like writing the dark personalities of fictional characters…
Same warning as I had in "The Only Way"… This is about a painful, dysfunctional relationship which includes disgrace, humiliation, and shame. I advise whoever finds this offensive that you go back to the previous page and skip this awfully depressing, disconcerting read. It isn't my intention to bring forth any unpleasant memories through this written work of art.
I dedicate this fanfic to my fiancé. Our relationship inspired me to write this story, love. Te amo.
Solace for Adulterers
Of course I couldn't disagree to anyone claiming that my wife's beauty was otherworldly. Her beauty was ethereal, and the vision of her perfectly shaped figure was something so forbidden, that in her presence alone, you could drown from the sin of observing her perfection, blessed by the fact that you're alive to witness such flawlessness.
Skin as pale as the splendid magnificence of the moon, lips as red as the garnet stone studded in her engagement ring, eyes tinted so deep between the mixtures of a blue rose and the fragile tenderness of the shade found in violets, hair the color of fine riches in a merchant's pocket falling down her back in cascading waves, its texture as fine and smooth as silk.
Milk and honey, that's what she was to me.
Milk denoted everything about her. Her elegance, her genteel presence, the refined manners she upheld, the smoothness in her ringing bell-like voice, the shy color of her skin, it all reminded me of milk.
Honey was for her absolute charm, her innate ability to draw human beings as easily as attracting hungry bees with their jealous stings, ready to penetrate her skin and kill her off with their spiteful venom, wanting to rid the Earth of her unnatural beauty which they were all envious of.
Her name, as delicate as how she looks, composed of two flowers as beautiful as she. The elegant grace one sees in a rose, combined with the sprightly life one finds in a lily make up her identity as Rosalie. Her parents have always been fascinated by their daughter's beauty ever since her birth and so decided that one name wasn't enough to make her special. They added Lillian, adding more lilies to her personality.
Being her husband made me more blessed than anyone else. More lucky than any other man could be. I should feel ecstatic that the world's most beautiful woman belonged to me. I should love her as much as she loves her beauty. I should. But I don't. One thing her beauty didn't account for, was her inner attitude that she kept so well hidden in front of other's wondrous gaze they laid upon her.
Only I knew who she really was. Who that woman was under all those glittering clothes, how she behaved when eyes were turned away, what she was doing behind my back, hidden from the world, I knew her deepest and innermost secrets. Why wouldn't I know? She is my wife, after all… And though she thinks I wouldn't figure it out, she underestimated my sense of intuition. She can't hide anything from me. Ever since I slid that engagement ring on her finger, I've known everything about her. Known all she was capable of doing. The one thing that she was more than capable of doing was something that came so easily to someone as beautiful as her.
Since before she said yes to my proposal, I already knew she had plenty of other suitors, probably more suitable than I was for her. But she chose me. Now, I know I should be content that she chose me, but even though she did so, she didn't settle down. I'd expect this from rich men who'd marry but never really "settle." But in this case, the rich, young beauty from the Cullen family was the one who couldn't settle even though she's already married.
Turning my gaze away from the poisonous bitch that was my wife, I met the green eyes of Edward Anthony Masen, Jr., the host of this uneventful gala my wife loved attending. Who incidentally was also the man she was fucking behind my back. Who, for some distasteful twist in this story, was also the husband of Rosalie's younger sister Isabella.
The Cullens consist of Carlisle and Esme, parents to Jasper, Rosalie Lillian and Isabella Marie and parents-in-law to me, Edward and Alice, Jasper's wife. Edward here, our host for tonight, is Bella's husband, therefore, the brother-in-law of Rosalie.
What would happen, I wondered, if Bella were to find out that the sister she so loathes, was fucking her husband? And what would happen to Edward if his wife found out? Ah, a scandal this huge would be worth so much to paparazzi. But I didn't intend for this to get out. I had different plans in mind. I'd handle this in my own way.
"Mr. Masen," I acknowledged with a courteous nod.
He handed me a wineglass filled with the best red wine Italy can offer, the Brunello di Montalcino. I had to admit, our host here had fine taste in wine that spoke of both wealth and class. We both sipped our drinks in silence, both of us scanning the room filled with all kinds of socialites, both our wives amongst the throngs of people.
"Wonderful evening, isn't it?" he then spoke up, pissing me off that he broke the decent, civil silence that was going on between us just seconds ago.
I kept my words to a minimum, trying to rein my anger in. I knew very well it wasn't Edward's idea to be fucking my wife. Rosalie was a goddamn natural when it came to seducing. I couldn't blame Edward for giving in to the luscious temptation especially with the way my wife kept emanating all these pheromones, latching it onto every person that moved.
"Will you be bidding at the auction?"
For some reason, this bastard didn't pick up on my hint of unwillingness to respond with longer sentences, clearly stating that conversing with him wasn't something I was eager about.
"If there's something that'll interest me," I answered curtly. "But most likely, Rosalie will find something that's worth her interest."
Watching him closely, I was impressed that no reaction whatsoever came from the mention of my wife's name. Instead, he replied with, "I guess I'll see both you and your wife in the Grand Hall, then" and left with a polite nod.
'Fuck, I want this goddamn night to be over already. If only Rosalie wasn't into all this shit–'
'Speak of the devil and she always appears.'
From afar, I watched how my wife sauntered over to me, stunning as hell in that glitzy red gown that reached the floor. Why women always felt the need to sweep the floors clean with those floor-length gowns of theirs, I had no idea. But damn those designers for making such revealing gowns to be so fucking tempting.
No matter how much I despised my wife for cheating, I wanted to just rip that red piece into shreds and fuck her while she's just in those outrageously high heels of hers. Damn her, only she had the ability to make me feel this pathetic.
Champagne in one hand, she made her way to me. The sway in her hips was hypnotic, and those two slits on the sides of her dress showed off her gorgeous legs that I wanted to spread apart, making the mound of her pussy visible to me.
'Fuck, calm yourself, man,' I cursed inwardly.
Things didn't get any better as my eyes dropped to her breasts, swelling brazenly under the V-shape neckline, her cleavage such a seductive sight, an open invitation to stare. God, that woman is the death of my existence, of any man's existence, for that matter. It was an excruciatingly difficult task to be angry at such a cheating whore if all I can think of is her writhing body under mine as I pound into that wet cunt of hers.
"There you are, I was looking for you!" she trilled from afar, catching the attention of some people who turned around to see who she was referring to.
As she arrived by my side, she quickly dropped a kiss on my cheek then slid her arm around mine, her hands eagerly clinging onto the material of my suit jacket, her fingers sending my mind reeling as they trailed along my arm. She always had this hypnotizing effect whenever she touched me, even through the thickest of clothing.
"The auctions' about to begin, let's go, baby," she chirped happily, already pulling me in the direction to the Grand Hall.
Keeping her in full sight during the event, I watched how she spent time talking to Edward and to another man I didn't recognize. The auction was boring as hell. Nothing of interest came up on the stage, but my wife ended up buying three totally unimportant things that would only take up more space in our home. My anger seemed to ebb away during the endless dross being shown onstage, until I caught sight of her hand, which was resting on Edward's thigh, sliding back and forth on the fabric covering his leg, while her other hand rested on the other guy's arm.
Bitch was going too far.
Just a little more and I'd be ready to explode. How can she just think I'd never figure it out, if she was as blatant as a drunkard lying to a sober person?
I wasn't one to meddle into relationships, but suddenly, the thought of telling Bella occurred to me. Though she and Rosalie were never the best of friends, in fact, the total opposite, I still cared for her since she was my sister-in-law after all. But if she'd find out through me that Edward was cheating, she wouldn't be able to handle the pain as much as I'm able to keep control of my own within myself.
Bella's self-destructive nature would return and who knows, might end her up in rehabilitation again. Edward was the one who helped her out of it. How ironic that he'll become part of the reason why she'd start using and cutting again.
My anger resurfaced and part of it was for Bella, if only she knew what her older sister was doing. I needed to teach my wife a lesson until she'd stop being this slut who even had the galls to steal her own sister's husband through sex. And afterwards, Edward would get a piece of what he deserves. But let's begin with my wife. She, after all, is the core and bane of this family dilemma.
Waiting by the driveway leading up to Edward's mansion for my car to be brought out front, my wife's voice from behind me made me turn around.
"Hey, darling, you go head on home. My signature's still required on the things I bought at the auction. I'll just call our driver to take me home when I'm done."
That was an awful lie to tell me. I already knew who'd be driving her home.
"I can wait. It won't take long, right?"
"No, baby, go on home," she opposed, a little too quick, in my opinion. "You did tell me you have a massive headache, right? Besides, I might stay for the after-party. You know how much I love dancing," she quickly added with a smile.
Oh, I knew she did. She loved it as much as she loved fucking.
"You sure, babe?"
"Yeah. I'll meet you at home, all right?"
Rosalie then leaned into my body, and I flinched at the absurdity of this relationship.
"Take something for your headache, but don't go to sleep yet. I have a surprise for you," she whispered against my ear, and the sudden flick of her tongue across my earlobe sent a new refreshed wave of loathing for this bitch, knowing very well she'd be licking something else on someone who wasn't me. The thought alone sickened me to my very core.
"I'll see you at home, then."
I resisted the urge to sound so biting and to cover the hatred that was easily bubbling up to the surface; I cupped her cheeks and bent down to plant a little kiss on her lips. Those lips that had the aftertaste of the strawberry found at the bottom of the champagne flute effortlessly transferred the slight trace of ripe sweetness that now lingered on my own lips.
I was irritated that she left a hint of her on me. I didn't want anything of her on me. I was utterly disgusted.
"Drive home safely, darling," she called out to me as I walked to my car.
Receiving my keys from the valet, I turned around one last time to find the wife that I so loathed giving me a little wave of her hand, granting me that fake, forced smile of hers. So after a curt wave of my hand in return, I got into my car and drove away, relieved to finally be out of her toxic range.
As I stood there, watching my husband drive away, I knew we both knew what I was about to do. I was well aware that he was no fool. And the truth of this reality was enough to shatter my soul, killing me inside as it slashed against my heart repeatedly due to my addiction to the carnal urges, too tempting for me to ignore.
Weak, that's what I was.
Weak, pathetic, a liar, a cheater. I knew this very well. But I couldn't stop. And neither could he.
Neither could Edward.
"Is he gone?"
His voice alone weakened my senses, and as his hands found my waist, my body fully surrendered and leaned against his.
"Yes," I managed to let out as his palms already found my breasts through my dress. "Edward… not here…"
His nose grazed my cheek then travelled further down until the spark of his lips on my skin met the curve of my neck, his kiss lingering upon my flesh. The silent whisper of his words against my ear added to the chill running through my body from the icy breeze that swept in the wind.
"I want you right now, Rosalie… Here and now…"
The burning sensation of his hand slipped between the slit of my dress and rested atop my thigh, the current of electricity in his fingertips igniting a soft flicker across my skin as they traced their way up to my center.
"Don't what, my pretty little rose?" he asked.
The endearment drifting in the wind reached my ears, and combined with his hand fully cupping my entire being, his fingers light grazing across the parted flesh, a digit lightly tapping against my soaking entrance, my senses were overwhelmed, undeniably making me lose myself in this drowning feeling.
"Don't do this here…" I pleaded.
"Turn around and tell me that while you look at me."
With a sharp yank on my arms, I felt my body turn and the incredibly hard virility pressing up against me made my knees weak, the strength of his hands the only support holding me up.
The spicy scent of his cologne was such a delight to my olfactory senses that clouded my sanity, his breath spreading across my lips a mesmerizing tickle sending a shiver down my spine. The red and brown shades in his hair so distinctly discernible under the moonlit sky was such a glorious sight, this man was a divine vision in every right. This man was someone I could never deny.
So I couldn't even bring myself to repeat my words. With a moan escaping my lips as his palms rested on my backside under my dress, my legs urged by his hands to wrap around his hips, the amazing lapses of losing consciousness whenever I was with him surprised me once again as I felt myself backed up against the wall of his chamber then falling onto the marital bed he shared with my younger sister.
Standing before my reflection, all that was visible to everyone else was a naked woman, sated and satisfied in that smile of hers, but no one saw the tragic truth behind that smile or far beyond the sparkle in her eyes. The woman who was drowning in her own tears, her own tears that betrayed her and filled her up inside, her guilt eating away on her soul, her heart being chewed upon by the emptiness she felt from the string of one-night stands.
Countless times, I've tried to break free from the chains that bind me to this wretched addiction. But fighting against something that you find pleasure in was like fighting a losing battle. And so, I found myself every night in another man's bed, instead of taking up the space beside my husband on our marital bed.
When I first met Edward, every cell, every nerve, every vein and even the blood flowing through it changed the reason of their existence. They no longer were meant for me to be alive; they were present inside me to be alive for him. And after he responded to my advances, he became my reason for living.
One night with Edward turned into a lasting affair, both of us trapped in the haze of our lust, our forbidden desire, the ember of our passion never fading into the background but blazing even more with each day that we didn't see each other.
He was my vice.
And if I didn't get my daily dose, I died each time, suffering with the frustrating longing to feel his touch, feel his body, hear his voice, have him deep inside of me.
Emmett is… He is… simply my husband. There was always something missing with him though. He is a good man, a good person, but something inside me just couldn't feel complete with him. I was searching for something I only found with Edward. Even up to now, I was still in the dark as to what Edward had that my husband didn't possess.
Before long, the tears appeared.
Appalled by the ugliness taking over my beauty's reflection, my hands grabbed the sides of the mirror and lifting it over my head, I then smashed the real me into smithereens.
Losing consciousness for one single second, confusion settled in, but as I found myself in the midst of shards of broken glass, a smile crept up my lips, and with the heavy burden on my heart, I dropped to my knees, taking a piece of myself then letting it slide in one quick graze down my forearm.
Exhaling at the instant relief the pain brought about, the weight in my chest seemed to lighten. This was my own form of punishment.
Just as my blood trickled to the floor, he appeared by the doorway.
"Time for punishment?"
I nodded absentmindedly in response.
"Good. I've been waiting," I heard him utter, his words echoing off the blank walls, reverberating through the shattered pieces on the floor, creeping up my body, filling me up with the comfort I knew was about to receive.
I heard him move about until I found myself staring into the depth of his green eyes. Warmth crossed my cheek as his palm rested on it, and as I stayed gazing into the captivating emerald orbs, far beyond the green of the forest, I also found the black emptiness inside him.
"My beautiful broken porcelain doll," he whispered to me before lifting up my forearm.
Unmoving, that was exactly how I felt. And maybe that's what I really was. I watched in amazement as his lips enclosed over the open wound, his tongue licking the blood off, his mouth sucking on it eagerly like his life depended on the nutrition only my blood could provide.
Mere inches from my face, his lips coaxed my own to part as he lightly brushed against them. Too blank to think, my lips parted of their own accord, and his tongue slid alongside mine playfully, the taste of my blood transferring from his tongue to mine, filling the cavern of my mouth with the taste of metal. Our tongues twisting and turning, playing a duet with the notes written in the red ink made up from the liquid we exchanged, my body so effortlessly responded to him. My lover's hands eased me onto the floor, his lips travelling down to capture a pert nipple into his mouth, his tongue smearing the remains of my blood across the tautened peak.
Between these broken pieces, we were two broken souls trying to fit together, but never finding completion despite our myriad attempts, desperate to be complete within one another, something that we both couldn't find in our spouses.
This emotional pain we both shared, combined with the physical pain I endured that kept me sane, this was what kept me going back to him. He made me loathe myself, thus leading me to the delicious moments of my self-infliction of pain, adding to the emotional guilt eating away at me.
This was my life, my only way of life.
Without him, my marriage to Emmett would never work. I needed Edward to keep reminding me that I was married to a man who loved me more than anything money could buy. I needed this pain to slap reality into my face over and over until I finally realize that I have a husband waiting for me to be loyal and stay faithful to him.
Yet all I receive is this.
This, becoming a disgusting addiction that neither I nor Edward can break free from.
As tears turned to blood streaking down our faces, we clung onto each other for hope, realizing that if neither this nor our meaningless strings of one-night stands with random strangers could complete us, then nothing could. This fear was one we shared, one we both understood.
Yes, I needed Edward. And he needed me.
Expecting my spouse to be awake, there was a certain disappointment coming home to the darkness greeting me in our foyer, engulfing my shattered soul in an eerie attempt to crush me more than I already was. Even the darkness loathed me. Could anyone still even love someone like me?
Walking down the exquisitely decorated halls, the sound of my heels echoing off the empty spaces, my fingers grazing along the breathtaking murals, resting my palms on the cool, smooth surface of the marble pillars, marvelous in holding up our second floor, I took in the sight of the splendor of our mansion.
Ascending the grand stairs, my hand gliding along the polished rails, I knew this was a life I was lucky to have. I was more than content with my riches, content with the luxury in my life. Even content with the man I chose to be my husband. Then what was lacking in my life?
I had all these materials making up a home, nothing less for a woman of my status in society, but I only wanted one thing. The one thing that could make me feel complete. I was still so empty, so broken, so incomplete. For years, I've tried searching for it, and was eager to know what it was when I married Emmett McCarty. But it never showed up.
Marrying Emmett isn't something I regret. He makes me happy, but not complete. Isn't that how one is supposed to feel when one has found their other half? I was – no, am – certain that Emmett is my other half. I've only felt real happiness with him. He was different. He handled me differently. He didn't treat me like other men who just wanted me for my beauty. He wasn't even intimidated by my usual aloofness whenever I was approached by someone lower than myself in society.
The McCarty's were, for quite some time, not a part of the social circle, and I would've never expected myself to be married to someone like him, given the fact that he was just a bartender when we met. After his great-grandmother died, the last McCarty known in the social circle, Emmett, as her only great-grandson, inherited everything in her will, becoming the owner of several bars and restaurants in most part of the west side of this city.
His grandfather and parents weren't too keen on what the will stipulated; knowing full well how much impact owning such a large part in the city would do to their standing in the community. Nevertheless, they respected the last dying wish of the estranged head of the McCarty family.
Emmett's grandfather and parents were simple, humble people who kept to themselves and so was he, remaining that way to this very day, which pleased his grandfather more than anything, proud of his grandson that he didn't fall into the fast lane of high-class society just by gaining so much wealth overnight.
The bloom of our relationship was scrutinized under every socialite's gaze, but my standing as a Cullen kept Emmett out of gossip for too long. After we married, with all the socialites present, Emmett no longer became part of the usual small talk socialites would always busy themselves with. Frankly, to me, I realized making small, nonsensical gossip was much of a nuisance as much as being the topic of the talk was. But I still enjoyed this life, for I was raised in this environment, and being a celebrated socialite, with the title of being the most beautiful with the loveliest voice in my generation, I have to say, I was more than pleased.
Emmett, though, I knew, was frequently bothered with my required attendance at events that he found utterly uninteresting and totally unworthy of his time. This house we lived in belonged to his great-grandmother, and though I knew he didn't exactly think much of riches and would've preferred something much more low-key, he willingly stayed in this mansion to keep me happy. That alone said much about how greatly he considered and wanted to keep my happiness intact.
He only had one condition: that we wouldn't have any butlers, maids or drivers staying in our house, but they would be called when they were needed. I could live with that. Besides, during the first months into our marriage, having people around the mansion wouldn't have made sex all around the place in any way possible.
Finally reaching the chamber I shared with my husband, opening the door a tiny inch apart, I made my way inside, leaving my shoes by the entrance, then slipping between the parted French doors, until I stood by his side.
The moon's rays breaking through our pale blue draperies crossed the childlike features of my husband. Such innocence seen on a grown adult man's face was so refreshing, intriguing and eye-catching. Black mess of curls on the top of his head, long feminine eyelashes guarding and protecting his closed, bright, calming blue eyes, as clear and transparent as crystal, mixed with the deep dimples when he smiled were the attributes that captured my attention instantly one January evening.
The night I turned twenty-four.
His proposal came exactly one year later, on my twenty-fifth birthday, and we were married three months later, the ceremony held outside, in our wonderful garden on a lively April morning in the midst of springtime's new blossoms. It's been two years and seven months now since we've tied the knot, exchanged our vows, exchanged rings and sealed our vows with a kiss.
Our married life was filled with so much bliss, that is, until I met Edward exactly two years later. Seven months it has been since all this started with Edward. When I met him, the nagging feeling in the back of my head ever since Emmett proposed to me resurfaced with so much more intensity, to the point that I got confused as to who I was, what I was doing in life, and where I was going.
For a rich girl like me, who should have had her life pointing in one direction with my family's money and connections leading my path to success, I had no clue what I wanted in life, and suddenly, my whole life made no sense to me.
Since then, Edward became my source of reality, the chains linking me to him also pulling me back to my real life with my husband. Though my affair with him didn't clear up any of the confusion I felt, being with Edward gave me something we both knew was missing in our own marital relationships.
We found a certain kind of solace in each other.
As I stood in silence beside my sleeping husband's figure, a sharp constriction from the strings wrapped around my pulsating heart made my body jump, and the ache formed into tears as my knees collapsed to the ground. Clutching onto the sheets, refraining the pathetic sobs to not disturb my husband's peaceful sleep, I wept, late into the night, crying, wondering, pleading for someone to answer this one recurring question.
'Why can't I find solace in my own husband…?'
Author's Note: Please do leave a review... I'd really appreciate it…