Jacob Landry’s harmless, but he’s just…there. All the time.
“I’ll send him my latest portfolio.”
She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it as she takes me in. Her eyes narrow. “You got laid this morning.”
The accusation—and it is an accusation—has my cheeks burning. “I did not.”
How can she even tell that by looking at me?Do I have a sign on my head saying that my husband tied me down and bent me over our breakfast stools while telling me he was going to fill my womb with his?—
“Liar!” She smirks, hugging her knee closer to her chest. “You totally have post-sex face.”
I blink. “You can’t know that just by looking at me.”
“Then deny it.”
I don’t. I grab the delivery book from under the desk and flip to today’s date. I know what’s coming in, but if I look at Juno, I’ll confess everything. And some things are better kept private.
“You’re unhinged.”
She slips off the stool, grabbing the takeout coffee on the desk and taking a sip. “I’m not the one standing here like butter wouldn’t melt after being defiled by her sex god billionaire husband. And do you know what? Good for you, girl. At least one of us is getting a happy ending.”
I place my palms on the book and steady my breath before I turn to her. “First, I wasn’t defiled. I was very much on board with what happened.”
Juno grins. “I knew it. At least tell me he rearranged your insides so good that you’ll never need to think about another man again.”
I roll my eyes, even as my lips twitch. He had done more than rearrange my insides. “And second,” I ignore her question, mostly because I know it’ll annoy her, “are we ready for the shipment coming in this afternoon?”
I flick the page over, just to give my hands something to do. My body aches for Jensen.
It always does.
“Fine, keep your secrets,” she grumbles, “but just so you know you’re stopping me from living vicariously through you. My love life is DOA.”
The rest of the week drags like I’m wading through molasses. Things at the gallery are steady. No surprise appointments, nothing that keeps my mind busy from the only thought consuming me.
My period.
I’m almost at the end of my cycle, and I’m desperate to know whether Jensen’s attempts to get me pregnant have worked. I’m hyperaware of every twinge in my belly, every ache of my hips.
Anything that could be a sign.
I feel… off. But my periods make me feel like crap.
I’m tired. Crampy. Grumpy.
And fucking hungry.
I could murder a bagel or one of those cream-filled pastries from the bakery down the block. I focus on the sketchpad resting on my knee instead of thinking obsessively about eating.
Charcoal stains my fingers, but the drawing is taking shape—the shape of Jensen’s hands. Hands that touch me with softness and heat. It’s the third time one I’ve done this week. Like I can’t stop tracing him onto the paper.
I sigh.
My hips ache and I blink the exhaustion back. Between the gallery and my husband’s insatiable hunger, it feels like I’m dragging my body through wet cement. If I’m not at work, I’m under him. Jensen’s still fucked me this week like he’s trying to mold conception to his will, despite the fact I’m not in my fertile window right now.
Not that mind. I like our sex life.
But he’s going to break my insides if he doesn’t calm down. Every time I limp around the gallery, Juno wiggles her eyebrows at me.
