Married for Debt, Betrayed on My Wedding Night

Alexander lay sprawled on his back, naked, his powerful body glistening with sweat, a soft smile lingering on his lips. His best man, Marcus, tall, dark-haired, the man who had stood beside him at the altar where he walked down the aisle with his bride, only hours ago, straddled him, riding him with shameless abandon. Marcus’s muscular thighs flexed as he sank down onto Alexander’s thick c**k again and again, taking him deep. Alexander’s hands gripped Marcus’s hips, guiding him harder, faster, his face twisted in raw pleasure. “f**k, Marc… just like that,” Alexander groaned, thrusting up to meet him. Their mouths crashed together in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, tongues tangling as Marcus moaned into him, stroking his own leaking erection between their pressed bodies. Emily stood frozen in the doorway, her white lace wedding gown suddenly feeling like a cruel joke. The bouquet she still clutched slipped from her fingers. The two men stilled. Marcus turned his head first, eyes widening, but not with guilt, with mild surprise. Alexander’s gaze met hers over Marcus’s shoulder, his expression shifting from ecstasy to something colder, something that looked like resignation. “Emily…” Alexander said, voice still rough with arousal. He didn’t push Marcus off. He simply sat up slightly, keeping the other man impaled on him. She tried to speak, but only a broken sound escaped. “What… What is this? Will somebody f*cking tell me what's going on?” Marcus let out a low chuckle, rolling his hips once more against his butts as if to prove a point, drawing a hiss from Alexander. “This is the truth, sweetheart. You walked in on the real honeymoon.” Tears burned her eyes, her lips quivered as she mustered strength to speak. The f*CK she was still in her wedding dress, one moment to wash a thing or two off her face and she walked in on this…this freaking gore! “Alexander, please… tell me this isn’t happening. Not tonight. Not after everything… You're gay?” “Yes...and it is happening,” Alexander cut her off, his tone firm but almost gentle, as if explaining something obvious to a child. He finally eased Marcus off him with a wet popping sound that made Emily’s stomach churn as his c*ck slipped off his ass. Both men stood, unashamed in their nudity, bodies still flushed and hard. "Then why did you marry me?" she laughed bitterly. “Because, I love you, Emily. I do. But I love Marcus too, including the moment you told me he was your best friend. Only differently. I’ve loved him for years. You were always going to be my wife, the perfect, beautiful face of our life together. But he’s my passion. My equal in bed.” Marcus smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. “You can have the ring, the house, the money. Just don’t be dramatic about sharing his c**k. I mean…We’ve been besties since grade school and I know I didn't tell you, that's on me but…now that you're here, You don't have to compete with me, Emily. There's room for all three of us. We can make this work, together, on this bed, even now…Depends on how you see things but…” He laughed, his eyes searching mine, as though he expected me to accept his ridiculous proposal. My pulse quickened, my breath growing rapidly, like I was going into a daze. Emily’s world cracked down in the middle. “Share him?” Her voice rose, trembling. “You want me to… accept this? On our wedding night?” Alexander stepped closer, reaching for her arm. “Yes. If you want to remain my wife. We’ll be discreet in public. But in private… this is how it is. You’ll learn to live with it. Many wives do. I mean best friend, husband and wife. It isn't as uncommon as you think. We can make this work!” The humiliation was a living thing inside her, clawing at her throat. All those years of dreaming, planning, sacrificing. All the times they were engaged, all those night out on dates, the amused glances she couldn't explain between them and how their stares seemed to linger a little longer than usual at each other, she chose not to question it, they were boys, friends she told herself. But tonight, she discovered it was something more. The way she had given him her heart, her body, her future. And this was what he offered in return, a half-life as his cover story. “No,” she whispered. Then louder, “No!” She tried to wrench away, to run, but Alexander’s grip tightened. Marcus moved to block the door, still naked and smirking. “You’re not leaving like this,” Alexander said. “We’re going to talk…” “I'm not talking to you…man-w***e!” She screamed. His eyes met hers in a furious stare, she hurled a glob of spit at his nose in a blink. “Let me go! I said, We're not talking sh*t!” She yelled, tears trickling down her right cheek. His jaws tightened so hard, she could see his teeth grind from his skin. He wiped her spittle off his nose with his left fingers. “Oh, you are…b*tch. I'm married your little ungrateful a** . I don't expect this much drama from you” "Oh c’mon! You were so desperate to be Mrs. Alexander that you never noticed what was right in front of you.” Marcus snickered. Alexander's grip tightened against her wrist, pulling me forward. “You need to listen to me, Em!” He said gently despite dragging me forward. “No, I’m not listening to…” Something inside Emily snapped as she struggled to free herself of his grip. Her eyes fell on the open champagne bottle on the nightstand, the one she had imagined them sharing in celebration. She grabbed it by the neck, the cold glass solid in her trembling hand. In a fit of pure anguish, she swung. The bottle clashing in a smash, with the side of Alexander’s head and a sickening crack. “You filthy scums!” She completed her previous sentence, panting, her shivering hands covered her mouth. What had she done? His eyes widened in shock before he crumpled to the polished marble floor. Blood bloomed instantly across his temple, pooling dark and glossy beneath him. Marcus lunged forward. “You crazy b***h! Alex! f**k…someone help!” He scrambled for his phone on the dresser, already shouting into it. “He’s bleeding! She attacked him…hurry!” Emily stared at the blood. At her husband’s still form. At the man she had married only hours ago, possibly dead by her hand. Terror flooded her veins, drowning the heartbreak. Her vision stirred as her anger settled somewhere between feverish fear. Still shivering, the blood in her veins running cold, she turned and ran. Barefoot, still in her blood-spattered wedding dress, the heavy lace tangling around her legs, Emily nearly fled into the night. The mansion’s grand doors slammed behind her. Cool night air hit her tear-streaked face as she sprinted down the long driveway, the distant sound of sirens already rising in the distance. Her dream of forever had lasted less than one night. And now it was drenched in blood.