onto the couch beside him. I can feel him looking at me, but I pretend I’m watching whatever is on the television.
“I didn’t expect this,” he says.
I immediately turn to him. “Didn’t expect what?”
“You aren’t happy we’re here.”
“What? Of course I am.”
He smiles knowingly. “You were in the groove. I can tell. It’s like we sucked you out of a dream.”
“Or a nightmare,” I mutter.
He laughs. “You’ve always been way too hard on yourself, but it works out. Every time you come here, you leave with the bones of a brand new book.”
He’s right. But I also feel like he thinks this is a vacation for me. He doesn’t truly realize the blood, sweat, and tears that go into every book I write. I don’t fault him for that. No one can really understand how emotionally draining it is unless they’ve written a book themselves.
I’m seated on the couch with my legs tucked beneath me. Michael grabs one of my ankles and pulls my leg until I’m lying down. He crawls on top of me, and I feel an insatiable amount of guilt knowing I had sex with another man on this very couch last night.
Michael kisses me, but I know the kiss won’t last long. He’ll take it to the bedroom before things get too heated. He’s a bedroom kind of lover. I don’t know that we’ve ever had spontaneous sex on a couch before.
“Let’s go to bed,” he says, predictably.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be right there. I have some emails I need to send first.”
“Take your time. I need a shower, anyway.” He pulls away from me and helps me up. I walk over to retrieve my laptop while he heads for the shower. I wait until I hear the water running, then I step outside and immediately dial Saint’s number.
He answers on the third ring. “I figured I’d hear from you before you went to bed.” There’s a playfulness in his voice, and it pisses me off.
“What the fuck was that?” I snap.
“You’re married,” he snaps back, his voice devoid of humor now.
“So are you.”
“I never lied about it,” he says.
I glance in the window to make sure Michael is still in the bathroom. “I technically didn’t lie about it either. You never asked.”
There’s a long pause. His voice is lower when he says, “Are you going to fuck him tonight?”
“He’s my goddamn husband. What do you think?”
“So that’s a no?” The playfulness is back in his voice, and I realize what he’s doing. He’s being exactly what I asked him to be. Controlling. Possessive. Jealous.
But I can also tell by his voice that he’s smiling right now.
He isn’t mad at all. This is part of the game to him.
Showing up at my house today was just him pushing the limits of my experience. He wanted me to know what it felt like to be scared my affair was about to be found out, but he had no desire for Michael to actually find out.
“You’re making me insane,” I whisper. “I didn’t expect you to take things this far.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
I think about that for a minute. I think about Michael. I think about what it would do to him if he found out what I’ve done. What I’m doing.
“Just say the word, Megan. You’ll never see me again if that’s what you need.”
A knot forms in my throat. “No,” I whisper. “I don’t want you to stop.”
“Good,” Saint says. “But if we’re going to continue this, then I need a favor from you.”
I close my eyes and whisper, “What do you need?”
“When your husband fucks you tonight, get on top and pretend you’re fucking me.”
The call ends after he says that.
I pull my phone from my ear and stare at it.
I can’t ignore the heat pooling in my stomach. Hearing him talk like that—just like Cam would talk to Reya—makes me want to go straight to my laptop and write another scene.
But it also makes me want to crawl in bed with Michael and do exactly what Saint said.
When I go back inside, I lock the doors and turn out the lights.
I’m crawling into bed at the same time Michael walks out of the bathroom. He tosses his phone on the nightstand and pulls back the covers. We don’t speak. Sex is something that’s quietly assumed between us. We always know when both of us are on the same page somehow.
Michael starts out kissing me. Touching me. Then he moves on top of