What's Left Unsaid

Chapter 1

I was in my home office when Daisy got home near 1 AM. She didn't see me. The lights were off, and I was sitting in the dark, a glass of Scotch in hand that I hadn't touched since I'd poured it an hour before. I was sitting on the small couch tucked into the corner of the office, deep in the shadows away from the bay window and the soft glow of my computer screen.

She didn't see me. But I saw her.

Her hair was a matted mess, which she was trying to tame as she slipped through the front door. I watched her from behind the French doors that separated the office from the living room. The front door just beyond. She quietly closed the door, clearly trying not to make any noise. Slipping off her heels, a pair of black stilettos, she held them and began to quietly tip toe towards the bedroom. Her dress was a simple black number, the neckline modest but only long enough to reach her mid-thigh.

I watched as she passed by the office, looking tired. Her face flushed. She was beautiful. Dark, straight brunette hair shining in the dim light of the moon coming through the windows. Short, but slim and fit from her long hours working at the Gray Cliffs Rock Gym. Her hips swayed gently as she moved and vanished from view.

My chest ached. She'd been coming home late a handful of times over the past month. And I knew why. It was never even a question. I wanted to be mad. But... I couldn't be. Considering the place we had found ourselves over the last year... I don't know that anyone could blame Daisy for what she was doing. Least of all me.

As quietly as I could, I got up from the couch, put the glass of Scotch on my desk and left the office, quietly following my wife's path. My bare feet softly skidded along the carpet. I'd gotten ready for bed around nine, pajama pants and a t-shirt, but hadn't gotten any sleep. Never even tried to lay in bed. With Daisy being out again, it was impossible for me to just lay down and forget. To ignore.

The sound of the shower caught my attention as I entered our bedroom. A sliver of light showed through the crack in the open door leading to the master bathroom. Daisy hadn't closed it all the way. Did she think I was asleep?

I glanced at the bed. It was made. No possible way to think that I was bundled up under the blankets. Either she hadn't looked at the bed... or maybe she just didn't care. That thought made my chest twist again.

Carefully, I peeked in through the crack, eyes landing on the mirror that was reflecting my wife as she slipped her dress off. Even after ten years of marriage, she was still stunning to me. Slim and trim. A soft V along her thighs and waist. Strong flat stomach. As she stepped out of her dress where it pooled on the floor, she began to unhook her bra. A lace, black, half-cup that almost let her nipples peek out along the intricate trim. She let the bra fall to the floor and put her hands along her breasts, as if massaging them from being cooped up for so long. Her sigh was weary, tired. Her little pink nipples looked puffy.

She turned from the mirror towards the steaming shower and slipped off her black lace thong, bending just enough that I had a clear view of the small thigh gap and her slightly red ass cheeks. Her pussy was smooth and puffy. Strings of something sticky and glistening in the vanity lights were attached to her panties as she pulled them down and kicked them to the side.

I stared at the mess between her thighs. Daisy's hand went to her vagina, hidden from my view. She sighed, as if massaging herself. Not in a sexual sort of way, more like you'd massage or rub a sore muscle. "He always goes so hard." She grumbled and then stepped into the shower, sliding the door closed. Now she was just an obscured shadow, steam and frosted glass keeping her defined figure obscured.

My gaze went to the panties she'd cast aside. There was a clear stain along the gusset, thick and white. Gooey.

A soft sound of humming mixed with the splashing water. For a while, I simply watched. Eyeing the hazy figure of my wife. Washing away God knew what from her body. Letting any evidence of her transgressions circle and vanish down the drain.

Eventually, it became too much. I left the bedroom, letting the soft sounds of my wife and the shower fade behind me as I returned to my office. I curled up on the couch and shut my eyes. The idea of sleep was hardly appealing. But I had work tomorrow. Or rather today. And I couldn't let what was happening ruin everything. I wanted to keep as much of my life together as possible.

After a few minutes of trying to sleep, I heard the door to my office creak open gently. My eye cracked open just enough to see Daisy, a soft blue fuzzy robe tied around her. Her hair was still slightly damp, and the moonlight that hit her face made her look as if she were a sort of living statue, carved from marble and flawless.

"Hey." She whispered, coming close and sitting herself on the edge of the couch. I felt the press of her hip against me. "Honey. Hey. You should come to bed." Her voice was soft. Warm. She put her hand on my arm, squeezing. "You're gonna ruin your back if you sleep on this ratty couch."

"It's comfy." I muttered, trying to keep all my roiling emotions in check.

Daisy chuckled. "Sure. But the bed's a lot more comfy. And bonus, you can cuddle with your wife. Come on." She stood up and bent forward to try helping me up. I glimpsed inside her robe, breasts bare and gently swaying. She was naked. Beautiful.

I reluctantly got up and found myself settling into a warm hug. She was only an inch or so shorter than me, her head nestling in the crook of my neck and a soft kiss touching my throat. "Come on, sleepyhead. Let's get you to bed."

We left the office and quietly made our way to the bedroom. I wanted to ask her where she'd been. She'd texted to say she'd be late coming home again. A common occurrence now every few days over the last month. When I'd first asked, she'd always say it was work related. But what could she possibly need to stay late for at a rock climbing gym? Did she know how flimsy that excuse was? Did she care?

I knew Daisy didn't think I was naïve or stupid. Surely she knew that I'd start to question things. Maybe she didn't think I'd suspect anything, at least not so quickly. But I had my suspicions from the very first time she texted she'd be late. I'd seen the signs leading up to it. It'd been inevitable.

Crawling into bed together, Daisy keeping her robe on tight, we snuggled down under the covers, arms wrapped around each other. Her head lay on my chest, damp hair soft and smelling of lavender and peach. I kissed the top of her head and she gave a soft little sigh of contentment. She squeezed me tight and within minutes was asleep.

I remained awake. Wondering. Imagining. I felt foolish. Weak. Angry. I knew what was happening, but I couldn't bring myself to stop it. It felt unfair. Unfair to deprive my wife of something she needed and that I couldn't provide. Not because I was somehow lacking... but because I was no longer capable. Literally. I had my nearly naked wife pressed against me. My blood was hot. But downstairs, nothing stirred. Hadn't stirred in nearly a year. Not since my injury.

The lingering feeling along my spine, the memory of the impact. The pain. The sudden lack of it. Slipping in and out of consciousness as I saw the roof of an ambulance. Then an operating room with its bright lights. Ending in a small sterile hospital room. Then came therapy. Recovery. And the realisation that though I was fine in almost every other way, there was one way that I'd been irrevocably changed.

Reaching under the covers, sliding my hand into my pajama pants. I felt my penis. Limp. I tried, not for the first time and probably not the last, to stroke it. Wiggle it. Anything that might stimulate it. To get it hard. Even semi-hard would be enough.

But nothing happened.

Nothing.

Daisy snuggled closer. Her cheek rubbing against my shirt, leg slipping over mine. The feeling of her pussy pressing against my leg was torture. My heart was pumping. My penis should have been reacting. Everything in me said it should be raging hard. And...

Nothing.

I squeezed my eyes tight. Fury was bubbling inside me. Rage for what was happening, how I was being treated by someone who professed to love me. And yet... a nagging, treacherous part of me whispered. You deserve this. It's your fault. What would you expect her to do? It's been a year. People have needs. And if you can't meet them, why wouldn't she go to someone that can?

I knew those whispers were bullshit. After all the therapy I'd been through after my accident. I knew that this was the depression talking. Like a little demon on my shoulder whispering all the evil nonsense that would drive me crazy. But it was hard not to listen to it. Because my wife deserved to be fulfilled.

How could I blame her? She needed something, and I couldn't give it.

I had nothing. She deserved something.

My anger simmered. I let it fizzle out, at least for the moment. Right now Daisy was here with me. She'd come home. For now, I'd do my best to be happy with that.

...

The nightmare was always the same. My husband's eyes. Staring. Seeing me.

I woke up to an empty bed, and for a brief moment I wanted to cry. My dream had become reality. Conner was gone. But then the smell of coffee drifted from down the hall. The sound of something sizzling. Little clinks and clanks of pans and dishes.

My heart was still pounding from that little scare. For that one millionth of a second, my world came crashing down. All because... because I just couldn't stop myself. I thought I could. I'd tried. But... I felt so empty. It wasn't Conner's fault. I'd never ever blame him for his lack of attention in the bedroom. There was no way for me to know what he was going through. Even when we talked about it. With doctors. With therapists. It was always just a shadow of what was really going on in his head. And it broke my heart.

Laying back in bed, I let my hand drift between my legs for a moment. My labia was still puffy. Sore. A soft, distant throbbing echoed inside me, like I could still feel the rhythmic, pounding thrusts. I groaned and pulled my robe tight around me. It was so good. But every time... after... when I got home and had to sneak in. Hiding. In my own home! From my own husband!

I felt filthy.

But just like Conner had a condition that he couldn't control, I too had something that was hard to keep in check. It wasn't fair to compare his issue with my psychosomatic issues. Hypersexuality was not the same as ED, especially ED from the result of a spinal injury.

Fucking drunk driver. Damned stupid idiot nearly killed my husband. And what did he get off with? A suspension of his license. Fired from his job. Probation.

And what was Conner left with? Lingering back pain. A strange numbnessin his limbs. And the inability to get an erection.

And then... that left me. A wife who loved her husband. Supported him. Was doing everything I could for him. But... was lacking intimacy. Not that Conner wasn't sweet and giving. He was practically a perfect husband. But now, our bedroom was dead. Like it had died in that wreck.

At first he tried to satisfy me. His mouth was amazing. Fingers dexterous and nimble, knowing all the right spots. But no matter how hard he tried and how well he made me cum, it just wasn't enough. I'd always been needy when it came to sex. Easily able to go multiple times a day. My doctor said I had hypersexuality. Some had it worse than others. It was much like an addiction. If not handled carefully, it would consume a person's life. Their job would suffer. Their home life. Health. Everything.

My case was more mild, but still sex was on my mind more often than not, and though I'd learned some level of self-control, it had become increasingly difficult to keep things in check once our bedroom died. Before, Conner was able to keep up well enough. I could attack him at least twice a day, and he'd be more than willing and able. But now Conner was like a desert, and I was dying of thirst.

I took a deep breath and pushed myself out of bed. It was eight o'clock. Conner would need to leave for the office in a little while. How long had he been up?

Had he been up late waiting for me?

A shiver went through me at the thought of him seeing me stumble in at one in the morning... disheveled. Doing what was clearly a walk of shame.

Oh shit! My panties!

I got up quickly and went to the bathroom. Please, please, please don't let Conner have seen...

My soiled panties were right where I'd left them on the bathroom floor. The stains were still there but were mostly dried. Less obvious. I grabbed them along with my dress and bra and buried them in the clothes hamper. Breathing heavily like I'd just run a marathon.

Had he seen them when he got up? Had he used the bathroom yet? My chest was clenching as I left the bedroom and went into the kitchen. Conner was there, dressed in nice dark jeans, a casual blue button-up and sneakers. His office was fairly casual unless there was a presentation or meeting that he needed to attend. His short brown hair was sticking up in a bedhead mess and he was humming to himself as he flipped the bacon in the skillet he was cooking on the stove.

I watched him. Adorable. Sweet. A good man. A man who deserved so much better than what I was doing. I pulled my robe tighter, crossing my arms under my breasts, and took a calming breath. "Morning, honey." My voice was chipper, bright. Hopefully, it didn't sound strained, like the way my heart felt.

Conner turned. For a second, the look on his face... It made me pause. It was hard to describe. There was this spectrum of emotion all over. Resignation? Anger? Depression?

He'd been battling depression since the accident. Another contributor to his inability to perform. I'd seen plenty of moments where he'd been deep in a dark place. Upset that he couldn't have sex with me. What little he had been able to do just wasn't enough. I'd never say that to him of course... but Conner could pick up on it. I saw it. That he knew his mouth and fingers just weren't hitting the right spot. It was probably why he'd stopped trying.

It burned. Stung. I wanted him. So badly. But he'd retreated. A turtle hiding in its shell. And I just couldn't find the heart to really be angry about it.

The look passed and he was smiling. "Hey. Sorry. Wasn't trying to wake you. What time did you get in last night?"

I hesitated. I'd brought him to bed at nearly 2 AM. He'd fallen asleep in his office, something that had been happening more and more over the last couple weeks. Was that a coincidence? A little spike of fear ripped through me. Did he suspect?

"Um... I think around midnight? Not sure." I answered. I hoped it didn't sound as false to him as it did to me. Staying late at the gym had been working well enough as a cover, but that would only last so long. Conner hadn't asked for details. Why I was staying late. He'd just accepted my excuse. A husband who trusted his wife.

I didn't deserve it.

"Pretty late. Everything go okay at the gym?" He took the bacon from the pan, placing the pieces on a towel to soak up the grease.

"Um. Yeah. We are doing some re-organizing, inventory, stuff like that. Changing up some paths along the walls. They are thinking about adding a whole new wall." I came forward and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my cheek to his back as he was finishing up scooping the eggs onto two plates and then separating the bacon. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I just didn't want you to stress your back sleeping on that tiny couch."

Conner chuckled softly and turned, putting his arms around me and giving my forehead a kiss. "I appreciate it. I really should stop falling asleep in there. Just got a lot going on at work so I've been trying to get ahead on some of our projects."

I nodded, pressing my lips to her cheek. "Well. Try not to make a habit out of it. I prefer you in bed with me." I gave him a wink. Before the accident, I would have accompanied that wink with a little grab to his growing bulge... but I'd learned quickly to stop that. Cupping his crotch when nothing was happening... it was almost humiliating to him, and after the first time he'd spiraled into a depressive funk, I'd cried for nearly two days straight. I didn't want my husband feeling inadequate. It wasn't his fault.

His hand cupped my chin, eyes holding mine for a second. Searching. Sometimes I wish I could read his mind. More often than not, Conner had a perfect poker face. It only faltered on rare occasions. And right now all I could see was ‌desperate love and probing wonder as he looked at me. His thumb moved slowly over my cheek, and his smile was small. "Good to know." He muttered and then kissed me lightly on the lips.

Did I brush my teeth ‌last night? Oh, fuck, please don't taste it on me. Please. Fuck, I'm horrible.

Our lips parted, and we separated. "Here. Have some breakfast." He handed me a plate and then turned me around and gave my bottom a soft, playful swat. I giggled and went to the table, settling down and accepting the cup of coffee he handed me. Two sugars and a ton of cream, just like I love.

We sat together quietly for a few minutes. Eating. Stealing glances at each other and little smiles. As if we were teenagers with a crush. Even now... I was still so in love. Conner was so wonderful. I didn't deserve such a good man.

Which is why it hurt all the more when I told him I'd probably be home late again on Friday.

He just nodded. Jaw tensing for just a second as he took a bite of bacon and then grinned. "Don't wear yourself out at work. They don't pay you enough for all the overtime."

...

I sat at my computer late Friday morning, sequestered in my corner office, lights turned low and the computer screen glowing and reflecting off my glasses. My fingers drummed along my keyboard softly, just tapping the keys but not typing. Starting. Staring at the cloud drive my wife and I's phones were synced to.

Where her text messages were synced. And with the proper login, viewable.

I didn't want to snoop. I didn't want to be that sort of husband. The one that invaded his wife's privacy. But... there was no question in my mind what was going on. I'd seen the evidence laying on the bathroom floor just a few days ago. It didn't take a detective to notice the stain in her panties. To know what it was. I'd nearly vomited. Not because what I was seeing was gross or detestable. But because... because I was right. I was right, and it made my blood burn. Whether it was arousal, anger, despair, I couldn't tell. Maybe it was all three. Or maybe emotions I just didn't have a name for. Since the accident, everything was all screwed up. It seemed along with my spine, my emotions had been fractured as well.

There was no denying where my wife was the other night. Or where she'd been all the nights before. The question was... what exactly was going on? Obviously something illicit. But how deep did it go? Was it as bad as I thought? As my nightmares made me think? Or maybe... maybe I was wrong. I wanted to be wrong.

I kept staring at the folder that held my wife's texts. All her text strings, organized nice and neat. All it would take was a couple clicks and I could find out... something. More than I knew now at least.

But did I want to take that leap? To cross that line?

Lines had already been crossed. Was it so bad for me to step over the now blurred boundaries, if only to actually see how badly things had been broken?

I clicked.

A list of text strings appeared. Most I knew. Texts between family. Her mother. Me. Daisy's sister Rose. A few other friends, mostly women. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Nothing was glaring and screaming at me that it was wrong. So I just started to go through the ones I was least familiar with. First were the texts between friends, the ones from college she still chatted with and a few from a smattering of other places. There was nothing incriminating. Just the typical back and forth.