Chapter Fourteen: The Breaking Point
Hela's hips rolled against Jack's, slow and deliberate, grinding down on him with practiced precision.
"You're still hard," she purred, her hands sliding up his chest. "Even now. Even knowing what they're doing to her."
Jack tried to push her off again, but his body betrayed him. The friction, the heat, the way she moved—it was impossible to ignore.
"Get off me," he said through gritted teeth.
"Why?" Hela leaned down, her lips brushing his neck. "You're enjoying this. I can feel it."
She was right. His cock was hard beneath her, responding to every movement, every touch. His body didn't care that his wife was upstairs. Didn't care that his marriage was disintegrating.
It just wanted release.
"They're probably undressing her right now," Hela whispered, her breath hot against his ear. "Rider's hands on her hips. Ronald's mouth on her neck. She's probably already wet for them."
"Stop," Jack gasped.
"Why? It's true." Hela's hand slid down between them, wrapping around his cock. "You know it's true. You saw how she looked at them. How she moved with Ronald downstairs."
Jack's hands gripped her thighs, trying to push her away, but Hela just laughed.
"You can't stop this, Jack. You can't save her. She doesn't want to be saved."
Hela lifted herself slightly, positioning him at her entrance. Then she sank down, taking him inside her in one smooth motion.
Jack groaned despite himself. The sensation was overwhelming—tight, wet, perfect.
"That's it," Hela moaned, her head falling back. "God, you feel good."
She started to move, riding him with slow, deliberate strokes. Her hands braced on his chest, her nails digging into his skin.
"They're probably inside her by now," Hela said, her voice breathy. "Both of them. Taking turns. Or maybe at the same time. Have you ever fucked her ass, Jack? Because I bet Rider is right now."
"Shut up," Jack said, his voice breaking.
"Why? Does it hurt to think about? Does it make you angry?" Hela's pace quickened, her hips slamming down harder. "Or does it turn you on?"
Jack's mind was a war zone. Part of him wanted to throw Hela off, to run upstairs, to stop whatever was happening. But another part—the part that was drowning in sensation, in the heat and friction and pleasure—just wanted to give in.
To stop fighting.
To let it happen.
"She's moaning for them," Hela whispered, leaning down so her lips brushed his. "Loud. Shameless. The way she used to moan for you."
Something inside Jack snapped.
Not the way Hela wanted. Not surrender.
Rage.
He grabbed her hips and shoved her off with all his strength. Hela yelped in surprise, tumbling sideways onto the cushions.
"What the fuck—"
Jack was already on his feet, his legs unsteady, his breath ragged. He didn't look back. Didn't say a word.
He just ran.
Toward the stairs. Toward the closed door. Toward his wife.
"Jack!" Hela's voice was sharp behind him. "Don't—"
But he was already halfway up the staircase, his heart pounding, his mind screaming.
Stop them. You have to stop them.
The hallway at the top was dimly lit, lined with closed doors. Jack didn't hesitate. He went straight for the one at the end—the master suite, the exclusive room Rider had mentioned earlier.
He grabbed the handle and threw the door open.
And froze.
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The room was massive. A king-sized bed dominated the center, draped in dark silk sheets. Candles flickered on the nightstands, casting shadows across the walls.
And on the bed—
Leena.
Completely naked. Her body flushed, her hair tangled and wild, her legs spread wide.
Rider was beneath her, his hands gripping her hips, his cock buried deep inside her. Ronald was behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his cock pushing into her ass.
They were both inside her. At the same time.
And Leena—
Leena was lost.
Her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her eyes squeezed shut. The sounds coming from her throat were primal—raw, desperate moans that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Don't stop. Please don't—ah!"
Jack's legs gave out. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the doorframe.
She didn't notice. Didn't even open her eyes.
Rider thrust up into her, hard and deep, and Leena's whole body convulsed.
"That's it," Rider groaned. "Ride it. Take it."
Ronald's hands slid around to cup her breasts, squeezing roughly, and Leena cried out—a sound of pure, unfiltered pleasure.
"Yes," she moaned. "God, yes, just like that—"
Jack's vision blurred. His chest felt like it was caving in.
"Leena!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
Her eyes flew open. For a split second, she looked confused—like she'd forgotten where she was, who she was with.
Then her gaze found Jack in the doorway.
And instead of stopping, instead of pulling away—
She kept moving.
Her hips rolled against Rider's, her body still chasing the sensation, still riding the wave.
"Jack," she gasped, her voice breathless and strained. "What are you—oh God—"
Ronald thrust deeper, and Leena's words dissolved into a moan.
"Leena, stop!" Jack stumbled forward, reaching for her. "Get off her. Both of you. Get the fuck—"
"No." The word came out sharp, almost angry.
Leena's hand shot out, pushing against Jack's chest—not hard, but firm enough to stop him.
"Don't," she said, her voice ragged. "Don't—I'm not—fuck—"
Rider thrust up again, and Leena's eyes rolled back.
"Leena, please," Jack begged. "We need to go. We need to—"
"I can't." She was panting now, her body trembling. "I can't stop. I'm so close—Jack, I'm so close—"
"Leena—"
"You need to leave." The words came out between gasps, barely coherent. "Just—ah!—just go. I can't—I need to—"
Ronald's hand slid down between her legs, his fingers finding her clit, and Leena's whole body went rigid.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm gonna—"
"That's it," Rider groaned beneath her. "Come for us. Let him watch you come."
"No," Leena gasped, but her body was already betraying her. "Jack, you need to—please—just leave—"
It wasn't calculated. It wasn't cold.
It was desperate. Frantic. Like she was drowning and couldn't stop herself from going under.
Jack stood frozen, watching his wife's face contort with pleasure, watching her body move against theirs, watching her try to speak but lose the words to sensation.
"Leena," he whispered one last time.
But she wasn't listening anymore.
Her eyes squeezed shut again. Her mouth fell open. Her nails dug into Rider's chest as her body began to shake.
"Oh God, oh God, I'm—fuck—I'm coming—"
The sound she made was raw and broken, a cry that seemed to tear out of her throat. Her whole body convulsed, trembling violently as the orgasm ripped through her.
And Jack—
Jack just stood there.
Watching.
Unable to move. Unable to look away.
Ronald kept thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it, and Leena sobbed—actually sobbed—from the intensity.
"Too much," she gasped. "It's too—oh fuck—"
But she didn't pull away. Didn't stop them.
She just kept taking it.
Jack's hands clenched into fists. His throat was tight. His eyes burned.
And then, slowly, he turned.
And walked out.
Down the hallway. Down the stairs. Past Hela, who was sitting on the couch with a knowing smile.
Past the other couples, still tangled together, still lost in their own pleasure.
Out the front door.
Into the cold night air.
Jack didn't stop walking until he reached his car. He climbed inside, slammed the door, and sat there in the darkness.
His hands were shaking. His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps.
He kept seeing her face. The way she'd looked at him—not with defiance, not with cruelty.
With confusion. With need. With something that looked almost like apology.
But not enough to stop.
Not enough to choose him.
Jack leaned forward, his forehead resting against the steering wheel.
A fatal crack just formed in his marriage, a deep, jagged crack that he didn't know how to fix.
And the worst part—the part that made his stomach twist—was that she hadn't chosen them over him.
She'd just forgotten he was there.