Prologue
Landon
I glance down at the beautiful woman sleeping in my arms. Her soft cheek rests against my chest, her legs tangled with mine, and her arm draped across my stomach. Her warm breath brushes against my bare skin, and I push a dark lock of hair from her face. In the early morning light, her flawless skin seems to glow. Everything about her screams perfection. She’s too damn perfect. The kind of woman men would go to war for. And somehow, I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call her mine. My wife. Anna.
And yet, there’s no joyful grin on my face. Instead, that familiar tightness claws at my chest. It’s the same edgy feeling I haven’t been able to shake in these past few months of our marriage.
I blow out a breath.What the hell is wrong with me?I’ve got a gorgeous wife who loves me, and I love her just as hard. I’ve also got a solid job as a senior manager in a five-star hotel and a three-bedroom penthouse in Manhattan, something most people only dream of. On paper, my life is perfect. Love. Stability. What more could a man want?
Yet with all of it in my hands, it still feels like something’s missing.
God, we men are such complicated, fucking bastards… always chasing what sets our blood on fire. And the second we get it, we start questioning whether it’s enough. Maybe the real problem is that we’re just not built for the fucking happily-ever-after we fool ourselves into believing in.
Slowly, without waking Anna, I lift her arm and untangle her legs from mine. She stirs but doesn’t wake up, just rolls to her side. I lie there for a beat, my eyes locked on her bare back. If only I could fucking explain to her, or even to myself, how hollow I feel, even with her lying right here beside me.
Minutes drag by before I finally swing my legs off the bed, my bare feet hitting the wooden floor. I grab my track pants and T-shirt from the ground, pull them on, and head straight to the kitchen.
I need caffeine to clear my goddamn head. Almost a year into our marriage, and I can’t keep digging for problems that probably aren’t even there, or at least not ones big enough to make me spend every damn day feeling sorry for myself.
Stepping into the kitchen, I start the coffee machine and plant my hands on the black marble counter. Dropping my head, I drag in a deep breath and try to shake off whatever’s messing with my head. Just then, my mind, stubborn bastard that it is, drifts back to the past.
“Yes, harder, Landon,” she moaned, her back arching, her nails scraping down my shoulders.
I grabbed her ass and slammed into the girl whose name I didn’t know and sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. I wasn’t here to make love. I was here to fuck her and then get the hell out.
Drowning in liquor and meaningless sex… that’s what gave me the adrenaline rush and kept me going. I wasn’tsearching for romance; not even close. Hell, I could barely stay loyal to a brand of beer, let alone a woman.
People around me called my life a mess. And they weren’t wrong. But I didn’t give a damn. At twenty, instead of wasting time and trying to focus on my education, I was thriving in the chaos. I was living on my own damn terms and was loving every second of it. Affection was just another transaction in my dictionary, and I learned early on how to detach before it ever got dangerous.
And the credit for that reckless version of me goes to my rich-as-hell parents, who were always too busy perfecting their curated lives to ever notice their only son. They played their part, though. Hired nannies to raise me, and accountants to wire the cash. Even now, money landed into my account like clockwork, which was more than enough to cover my college and daily expenses without me having to lift a damn finger.
“God, Landon… don’t stop,” she gasped, clutching onto me as her back hit the wall with a loud thud. Her legs locked tighter around my waist, her nails digging into my back.
We didn’t even make it to the bed. I just kept thrusting into her and felt her pussy begin to spasm around me. Beads of sweat collected on my face as I drove into her harder, her moans growing louder with every stroke. It was a good thing she lived alone.
Her inner walls clenched tightly around my cock, and a second later, I followed, groaning as a powerful release tore through me.
Thirty minutes later, after round two, I zipped up my jeans and grabbed my shirt off the floor. I took a deep breath and raked a hand through my messy hair.
“Call me,” she purred lazily, still leaning against the wall.
“Sure,” I lied without missing a beat. This was a one-time thing, and she damn well knew it. She didn’t have a magicalpussy that was gonna make me change my mind. I’m not that guy, and I never pretended to be.
I closed the door behind me and stepped into the hallway. Glancing at my watch, I hoped I’d still make it in time for the football game with the boys, when I slammed straight into someone.
“Hey… can’t you see?”
At the voice, my gaze snapped up. And fuck, the woman standing in front of me was drop-dead gorgeous. Tall, slender, effortlessly stunning. Those tight shorts she was wearing… hell, they showed off toned legs that belonged in a goddamn fantasy. Long, dark waves spilled down her back, framing a face so perfect that it was unreal—soft brown eyes that could gut a man, and flawless, fair skin that practically begged to be touched.
My tongue darted out, and I licked my lips before I could stop it. Sinful thoughts fired through my mind—her bent over, moaning my name, my hands tracing her curves over her bare skin.
And those brown eyes… As if they hadn’t already done enough damage, they were now glaring at me like she could see every filthy thought running wildly in my head. She raised a brow, and there wasn’t even the tiniest hint of a blush on her gorgeous face.
“I think you owe me an apology, mister,” she said coolly.
But instead of replying, I did what any overconfident jackass would do. I stepped in closer, a teasing smirk ghosting over my lips.
“How about we take this to my car, so I can apologize to you properly?”
