My Sister's Husband

But finally, that big cock dribbles off. He collapses against me, both of us exhausted. We’ll have to rejoin the repast downstairs eventually, but we stay cuddled against each other’s naked bodies for a while longer.

Because the mourners can wait. Sure, I’m having anal sex with my dead sister’s husband during her wake. But in bed next to Marcus, I feel like this is where I belong right now … and maybe forever.

Chapter Nine

Marcus

It’s my first day back at work since Jane died.

The other partners at the firm said I could take as much time as I needed, so I gave it a week before coming back. I figured that was enough to act the grieving husband everyone expects to see.

Someone knocks on my office door. “Come in,” I say. One of the paralegals, Kylie, sashays into the office and closes the door tightly behind her.

“Hi Marcus,” she says. “I was so sorry to hear about your wife.”

I almost laugh. Kylie is a snake, and always has been. She’s been dropping hints about us hooking up for as long as she’s been working at this company. I’m not her supervisor, though I am above her on the food chain, so it wouldn’t be against any company rules for us to date. Although of course, I would have been breaking my marriage vows.

“I appreciate your condolences,” is my polite reply. “How have you been?”

Kylie steps closer to me, placing her hands on my desk. The stance makes her small breasts look somewhat bigger. “If you need any help grieving, you know where to find me.”

I almost gag. Does Kylie actually think I would go for her? She’s got fake lips, fake tits, fake lashes, and extensions to boot. And they’re not the expensive kind, where you can’t really tell. They’re the plastic kind that look like fake Barbie hair glued to her head. Yeah, Kylie doesn’t stand a chance and I nod dismissively.

“That won’t be necessary. Thanks though.”

I return to the paperwork on my desk. Cases piled up while I was away, and now I have to play catch up.

But Kylie doesn’t take the hint. “Come on, Marcus. You’re a single guy now. You can act on the urges you’ve always had. I see the way you look at me.”

This time I do laugh. “I look at you like you’re a pest, Kylie. Please leave my office before I call security to escort you out.”

She huffs. “Whatever, Marcus. I didn’t want you anyway.”

I roll my eyes when she slams my door. I’ve always had women throwing themselves at me, even when I proudly displayed my wedding ring. I never went for it, although I could have. Probably should have in fact. But I didn’t, because I cared about my wife. I still do. Even if my actions don’t exactly show it.

Jane’s photo still stands on my desk. She doesn’t look like the woman I knew she really was. Instead, in the photo she looks happy and good-natured, laughing as she sniffs a bouquet of flowers.

I dial my assistant’s direct line. “Sir?” she answers.

“Abigail, cancel any meetings I have today and don’t allow anyone to come into my office. I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

“Yes, sir,” she says.

I feel bad deceiving my assistant. However, I need some alone time. I haven’t thought about Jane, really thought about her, since before she died. There’s been too much other stuff going on, and my mind has been otherwise occupied.

But now, the memories come rushing back. Jane’s photo feels heavy in my hands, like it’s weighted down with all the secrets between us.

Because Jane was sick. She had been sick long before I met her, but she continued to spiral even after our marriage. I tried to help her but it never worked. She was never happy with her body and that made her unhappy in her life.

I didn’t know anything about eating disorders before Jane. She was never officially diagnosed even though I begged her to go see a therapist or a doctor about her eating habits. I knew, though, that something was seriously wrong. My wife barely ate anything, ever. And when she did, she would be in the bathroom throwing it up a few minutes later. It kept her so skinny she was almost emaciated. It was disgusting, and yet I loved her still.

My fingers find Jane’s picture-perfect face. Always so photogenic. Beautiful on film although broken in reality.

Despite our troubles, people thought our marriage was perfect. And in some ways, it was. I was the breadwinner with a good job that afforded us all of the comforts I knew Jane desired, and some she didn’t. Jane was a stay at home wife. She was in with the ladies at the country club where we were members, hosted low calorie teas when I was away at work, and stayed close with her parents and sister.