Secrets in Suburbia

by Melody Calder

  Secrects in Suburbia

  by

  Melody Calder

  Copyright © 2019 Melody Calder.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  Portions of this book are works of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Adherence to all applicable laws and regulations, including international, federal, state, and local governing professional licensing, business practices, advertising, and all other aspects of doing business in the US, Canada, or any other jurisdiction is the sole responsibility of the purchaser or reader.

  Dedication

  Pops, life is not the same without you here. I hope you are surrounded by hundreds of beautiful women in paradise. You were the best father in law a girl could hope for.

  Contents

  Copyright © 2019 Melody Calder

  Dedication

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  I have a secret that I’ve been holding onto for a long time now. Some days I don’t know how I can look myself in the mirror knowing what I’ve done. Other days I embrace what some would call my deviant nature. I feel like I need to purge my soul and tell my secret. I know I’ll be judged, but I think maybe some can understand the betrayal and anger that led me here.

  It all started out a couple of summers ago. My husband and I found the perfect little Victorian style house with a wraparound porch in a small suburb of Atlanta. It was the type of house I had dreamt of living in ever since I was a little girl. My 8-year-old self was obsessed with The Addams Family.

  We were ready to leave the city life behind and start a family, but this house sealed the deal for me. The neighborhood reminded me a bit of Wisteria Lane on Desperate Housewives, with the houses in perfect condition and the perfectly manicured lawns. Looking back, that probably should have been a warning sign as to what was to come.

  We thought we were so lucky that the owners were motivated to sell, and we were able to close quickly. Not to mention for a phenomenal price. The day we moved in, our neighbors came in groups to welcome us throughout the day, bringing us baked goods and drinks. That was something I thought was very cliché, but I forced myself to keep a smile on my face and stay polite. After living in the city for so long, where everyone kept to themselves, I was baffled, and admittedly a bit unnerved, by the friendliness of the neighbors. My husband reminded me that this was how we had dreamed of raising our future children, in a town where everyone knew each other. Since that first day, I’ve learned that people wear masks in this neighborhood. No one is insusceptible to the influence of this little suburban town, including myself.

  Back to that fateful day; we had finally finished unloading the moving truck, a small breeze providing relief in the hot July evening. We decided to sit out on the front porch swing that we insisted be put in the contract for the sellers to leave for us. I filled our glasses with lemonade that had been brought over by one of the new neighbors; Helen was it? Or maybe it was Hilda. I had heard so many names that day that I certainly couldn’t be expected to keep them all straight.

  Anyway, we sat on our swing, enjoying a little breeze, and sipping on some of the most delicious lemonade I’ve ever had. I really needed to get the recipe. We were comfortably enjoying the silence that comes with years of marriage. Or maybe we were just too tired to speak at that point.

  A group of three ladies, carrying what looked like casserole dishes and a basket, paraded up the sidewalk with huge smiles plastered on their faces. They all wore long skirts that went almost to their ankles, blouses with necklines so high I would choke, and updo hairstyles. I had a moment of wondering what century we were in because they almost looked like they could have lived in this Victorian house when it was built.

  My husband, knowing me well, whispered, “No being a naughty girl.”

  My panties instantly got wet with his use of our bedroom nickname. I shot him a devilish smile, “I’ll be a naughty girl for you as soon as we can get rid of these ladies.”

  The ladies finally made it up to our porch, interrupting our dirty banter. Victoria Taylor was the first to introduce herself. She was tall and lean. Her blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun that didn’t have a lock out of place. Her voice was as stiff as the way she held herself. Like I would imagine an etiquette instructor to be. Her skirt was a drab grey color and her blouse bright white, buttoned all the way up to her neck. Though she was polite, she made me feel a bit inadequate in my cut off shorts and sweaty tank top. I’m sure my curly blonde hair was sticking up everywhere.

  Elena Hughes was a short, stout young woman with mousy light brown hair piled on top of her head in a braided bun. Tendrils of hair had escaped and framed her cherubic face. She wore a skirt that did not match her quiet demeanor. Though it was plain, the color was a beautiful bright blue. She also wore a white blouse buttoned up to her neck, but it wasn’t starched and stiff like Victoria’s blouse. If I were to judge a book by its cover, I don’t think I would have anything in common with her but could at least feel at ease in her company.

  The third in the group introduced herself as Rachel Bennett. She seemed to be trying hard to match Victoria’s stiffness and formality, but with a haughty air about her. Her dark hair was in an updo with elaborate braids converging into one beautiful bun at the base of her neck. She wore a long burgundy skirt and a starched white blouse with a line of lace at the collar.

  “We thought you would need a nice home cooked dinner after such a long day of moving,” Elena quietly stated.

  “Yes,” Victoria added, “we know how difficult it can be to take care of a home in such a state of distress.”

  I wasn’t quite sure whether to take that as an insult or not. My husband covertly nudged my side. I plastered a smile on my face, “Why thank you! That was so thoughtful of you. I haven’t had the chance to unpack my kitchen, so we were just going to order out. You’ve definitely saved me from another night of pizza delivery.” I laughed, “I’m sure my husband, Rich, is also quite thankful for not having to endure another take out meal. I’m Samantha Sharpe, by the way.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you both,” Rachel replies. “And welcome to the neighborhood. We look forward to having you at all of our neighborhood festivities. We are a tight-knit community. To keep it that way we have ne
ighborhood barbeques and parties quite often. I’m sure we can talk about your expectations in hosting once you’ve settled in.”

  “Rachel, there will be plenty of time to discuss that later,” Victoria admonished. “We don’t want to overwhelm Samantha after what I am sure has been a long day for her.”

  “Thank you.” I’m quite proud of myself for remaining polite after these women pretty much invited the whole neighborhood to my house without asking.

  Elena stepped forward with a covered dish. “I’m sure you are quite famished from your day. We will just leave these here with you and be on our way.”

  Handing a basket to Rich, Rachel says, “Though we don’t usually use paper plates and plastic silverware, we wanted to make sure you could eat properly. I assume you haven’t had the chance to unpack and wash your kitchenware yet.”

  Rich winks at her and answers before I can, “That is mighty thoughtful of you lovely ladies. We are very lucky to have such concerned neighbors that have thought of everything. Sam will return this lovely basket and casserole dishes to you tomorrow.”

  The ladies point out which houses are theirs, then Rich and I say our goodbyes and head into the house to eat. Between moving and dealing with the neighborhood busybodies, I’m famished. I only hope what they brought is edible. Actually, I don’t even care if it tastes good or not at this point. I just want to eat, shower, and christen our new house.

  Rich grabs us a couple of beers and we set up on our kitchen island. Luckily, we had the foresight to keep the island clear and leave the barstools in an accessible place. We forgo the paper plates and just dig into the casserole with a couple of forks. It was quite delicious, some sort of cheesy potatoes and ham. Another recipe I would have to ask our new neighbors for. We joke about what horrified faces those ladies would have if they could see us now not even using plates, let alone fine china. Rich volunteers to clean up while I go jump in the shower.

  Chapter 2

  In the bathroom, I peel off my sweaty clothes and turn the shower on. I don’t even wait for it to warm up, appreciating the water cooling off my hot skin. The cold water makes my nipples pebble. They’re so sensitive that I groan as the water runs over them, making me wet in places the water can’t reach. I grab the travel size bottle of soap and start to clean myself up. The silky feel of it sliding over my body turns me on more.

  “Look at you touching yourself my naughty girl” Rich’s sexy voice startles me. I didn’t even hear him come in and wonder how long he’s been standing there. Judging by the bulge in his pants, he’s been there for a while.

  I look him in the eyes and start to work the lather onto my core, turning and tilting my hips forward to give him a better view. “Why don’t you come in and help me get clean. I’m very dirty,” I purr.

  Rich rips off his clothes, his lean muscular body glistening with sweat. I’m mesmerized by the tail of the red and black dragon tattoo swirling from his chest down to his pelvis. I salivate, thinking of licking his tattoo all the way down to his hard cock. He slides into the shower and I move aside, brushing my breasts against his back while he lets the warm water drip down his body. He turns to face me as I open the soap, emptying it in my hand, and start to massage it into his skin. The feel of his hard body under my soft hands, and the contrast of his hard hands gliding over my soft soapy skin, makes us both moan in pleasure.

  Our lips collide as we both move under the stream of water to rinse off, tongues dancing as our kiss becomes deeper. I break away to lick his tattoo, slowly lowering myself to my knees as I move down to his cock. I look up at him, our eyes connecting, as I lick his tip teasingly. He moans as I open my mouth and take all of him in me. When he’s fully inside my mouth, I gently bite down, eliciting a groan of pleasure from him. He grabs my hair as I release my teeth, giving him pleasure after pain as I slide him in and out of my mouth. I release him with a pop, “You want to fuck my mouth, baby?”

  Rich grips my head and pushes himself into my parted lips. He pumps his hips slowly at first, gaining speed and pushing in further until his cock is deep inside my throat. He stops right before his release. “Stand up naughty girl and face the wall.”

  I turn and place my hands on the cold tile. I feel his hardness brush against my ass as he reaches around and roughly grabs my breast with one hand, while massaging my clit with the other. I move my ass back to rub it on his hardness. “Do you want my cock inside you, naughty girl?”

  “Yes baby, I want you inside me so badly,” I whimper as he pinches my nipple and my clit at the same time.

  “Do you want me to fuck you hard?” I nod my head yes, the pleasure and wanting making me unable to form words. “Tell me how you want it. You don’t get this dick until you tell me” He punctuates with a slap to my ass.

  “I-I want you to bend me over and fuck me hard. P-please fuck me.” I manage to stutter as pleasure spirals through me, taking my breath away. Rich pushes my shoulders down and jams his cock in my wet, throbbing pussy. He slides it in and out, hard and fast, angling my body to reach my g-spot, hitting it over and over. I take over rubbing my nub as he moves his hand to grip my hip, pulling him into me deeper. My body trembles as I feel my orgasm building. His thrusts become desperate and I feel his hardened sac as it slaps against my ass. I know he’s just as close to finding release as I am. I clench hard around his cock and scream as my orgasm hits like a tsunami, riding it out as he slams into me from behind. He pumps hard a few more times and then roars as he shoots his seed into me. Breathing hard, he pulls me against him.

  “The water got a bit cold. I think we need to get a bigger water heater,” he laughs, moving me into the spray to wash up.

  ∞∞∞

  I wake up sometime in the middle of the night. I roll over to cuddle up to Rich, but his side is cold and empty. Looking at my Fitbit, I see it is two AM. I curl up into my pillow and begin drifting back to sleep. The sound of his voice in almost a whisper keeps tugging at my mind until I’m fully awake. Wondering who could be over at such a late hour, I quietly make my way out of the bedroom and follow his voice to the dimly lit room down the hall. I peek through the open doorway, not wanting to show my naked body to whoever he was visiting with.

  “I do miss you darling. I will come and see you as soon as I can,” I hear him say quietly into the phone that I could see glowing next to his ear.

  What the everloving hell is he saying? Who the fuck would is he talking to? My mind quickly running through his family members. Could he be talking to his mom? I know it’s the middle of the night, but maybe she was worried about our move and couldn’t sleep. He was definitely a momma’s boy and she had a few issues with him moving so far away.

  “…I will slide those sexy red lace panties down your legs with my teeth…”

  What. The. Fuck. My mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish. That sure as fuck isn’t his mom on the phone. My mind races, trying to grasp what is happening. I don’t know what to do. I want to stomp in there and rip the phone out of his hands and shout at whoever he is talking to. I wanted to curl up in a ball and scream and cry. I want to… I don’t know what I want to do.

  My heart is breaking into little tiny pieces. I must be in a state of shock because I do none of that. I quietly back away from the door and numbly make my way back down the hall to climb in my bed. I lay there, numb and unfeeling, staring up at the dark ceiling, the words I overheard playing on repeat in my mind.

  I close my eyes as I hear him sneak into bed. I’ve decided to act like nothing has happened. Yet. At least until I find out more. I need to know who she is. I need to know why. I know I’m not a perfect wife, but our sex life is certainly not lacking or boring. I’m always adventurous, never turning down his desires. It’s what drew us together in the first place. If it’s not the lack of sex, what could he need another woman for?

  I spend the rest of the night planning out how I’m going to spy on him to find the answers I so desperately need. Then I will make him pay for hurting me and r
uining our lives together. By the time I drift off to sleep, I’m no longer filled with sadness. I’m filled with a need for vengeance.

  Chapter 3

  After a long night with little sleep, I need an IV of coffee. I’ll settle for my fancy coffee maker and a pod of espresso. Or maybe three. If only I knew which box I packed the booze in. I could use some liquid courage to follow through on my plan to pretend everything is fine. I hear Rich upstairs in the shower. I steel my nerves, preparing to act like this is a typical Sunday morning in our first home. I repeat quietly to myself, “I can do this. My mom did not raise a weak girl.”

  A few minutes later, Rich enters the kitchen engrossed in his phone. He comes to kiss me on the cheek, which I accept with a smile as I envision ways to torture him. This is how I will deal, imagining cutting off parts that should be mine and mine alone. I would plot his murder, but the wife is always the first suspect and he is not worth a life in prison.

  “Babe, I hate to do this and leave you here alone to do the unpacking, but there’s an emergency at work. That contract is falling apart, and they need me to sweeten up the clients with a trip to the country club before they head back to Tokyo tomorrow.”

  I look at him with disappointment clear on my face, but not for the reasons he thinks, as he continues his excuse, “I can’t believe that spoiled brat fucked up this deal in the two days I was off.” If he notices my dismay, he doesn’t show it. “If only the boss could fire his incompetent son. But, I’m sure I can get them back with a round of golf and sign the papers by the time lunch is over.”

  Call me paranoid, but I don’t think he’s really going to work. He has never, in all of our years together, had to work on a Sunday. Sure, there’s been plenty of late client meetings and emergencies, but never on a Sunday. I think back to his words I overheard last night and it’s just way too convenient that there is a sudden work emergency. But then again, I know he’s been working hard trying to land a client that could seal his partnership. And his boss’s son is a real wanker so it’s not that unimaginable that he could ruin the deal with his antics. My emotions are all over the place. Honestly, I don’t know if the man standing before me can be trusted.