OBSESSED

50

LEAH

The thought of eating greasy, cheesy Dominoes pizza had me running to the bedroom to find my wallet. I waddled into the bedroom and looked around.

My thick's stuck together as I moved, Jarrod's cum mixing with mine as it slid down my thighs. I grimaced, knowing I needed to clean up but also in deep need of delicious meat pizza.

After checking by my side of the bed and Jarrod's as well as under the bed, the dresser, and the bathroom, I took one glance at the little bookshelf in the corner of the room. There was my purse, tucked neatly onto one of the shelves.

How the hell had I not noticed it? Also, why did Jarrod move it in the first place?

He must have been as OCD as me.

I snatched my purse off the shelf. While I dug my wallet out of the bottom, dodging wrappers and random receipts, I looked mindlessly at the shelf.

A thick, denim spine that looked like a photo album caught my eye. Now was not exactly the time to be nosing around in Jarrod's baby photos but, for some reason, I dropped my purse to the ground and pulled the album from the shelf.

The cover was soft and well-worn, clearly old. I opened the cover and flipped through the first few photo pages.

A collage of tans filled my eyes as picture after picture of bare skin lay before me.

My hands trembled. Oh my God.

Every photo was of a naked woman—the same woman. She had short brown hair and a thin, long figure. She looked very different than Tiffany so this was someone else.

How many ex-wives did Jarrod fucking have?

I flipped through the pages with sickening curiosity, unable to stop myself. Some of the photos were candids—her strolling down a boardwalk, sipping from a coffee mug, smiling at the sunset.

Those were really good quality. Like, by a professional.

Maybe she was model?

Then, towards the back of the album, were photos that made my mouth dry and not in a good way. These were clearly not professional and were more unfocused.

She was tied down to a bed in a few, strung from a ceiling with rope in another. In some pictures she was bruised, skin littered with hickies, or bleeding.

She smiled in some of them despite her injuries. In others, she looked like she was crying.

What. The. Fuck.

I slid down to sit on the floor. Touching my lips in mute horror, I ran my fingers over the photos.

How could someone do this to someone else?

I understood BDSM was a real thing and I didn't judge the people who got off that way. But she looked seriously hurt in some of these.

How could Jarrod do this?

I couldn't imagine him ever hurting me or tying me up.

Did he just hide it really well? Did he want to do this to me?

"What are you doing, babe?"

Screeching, I dropped the album in a fit of panic and twisted around to look at him. My pulse pummeled my temples like punching bags.

"What the actual fuck is this?" I demanded. My voice sounded watery even to my ears.

I didn't want to believe it was his, that Jarrod had yet another secret from me. And this was so much worse than Tiffany.