He reaches for my hip, pulling me closer. His hand slides over my hardness as his gaze flashes up at me, asking the wordless question.
I kiss him once more, sliding my tongue into his mouth as I settle one hand over his heart. Like mine, it beats fast.
I use my other hand to adjust my cock and push him off, instead letting my fingers slide between his. His gaze is full of unspoken words as he glances down at my twitchy cock, then to where our hands connect.
“Don’t worry, you can make it up to me later,” I say with a smirk. My stomach growls, and I have to stifle a laugh.
“Is that a promise or a threat?” he taunts, squeezing my hand.
“Call in the pizza,” I say, squeezing back before I let go. I slide both my hands back in my pockets. “And get extra pineapple.”
I watch his smirk as he pulls out his phone and I can’t stop grinning.
It’s nearing one a.m. by the time we get home.
Home.The word rings in my ear, shattering my reality.
Home is in Ashbourne.
Home is with Savannah.
I stop as Cam sets down the pizza box on the island, feeling frozen.
She hasn’t texted or called me once. But did I expect her to?
No. But still, it hurts knowing I don’t matter to her.
“Hey,” Cam calls, and I look up, coming out of my momentary lapse.
He hands me a plate with two slices of pizza, sans pineapple.
“Thanks,” I say as I settle on the couch while he goes to change. I grab the remote, flipping through the movie choices, but nothing stands out. My anxiety starts festering again, and I can’t stop thinking about Savannah.
Or more accurately, her words.
Maybe it’s not about the properties.
I glance at Cam, who comes out, dressed in nothing but his underwear. I’m acutely aware of how many people have seen him just like this. Tan toned arms and chest, the curve of his ass, the messy hair.
But it also feels different. Intimate in a way I can’t explain.
The gold from my wedding band glints in the low light. I twist it, watching as he pads his way over to the fridge.
The first time I cheated on Savannah, I was drunk. I told myself I didn’t know what I was doing. That it was a mistake. But it wasn’t a mistake.
I knew what I was doing, drunk or not, and I chose to kiss him that night. I chose to follow him back to our hotel room. I chose him that night and it destroyed us, but we found our way back to one another and now…
I look at Cam as the truth settles.
What I’m doing with Cam… it’s so much more than cheating. It’s not about the sex. It never was.
I should feel bad about it. I know that. I should feel guilty about what we’re doing.
But I don’t.
Does that make me a bad person? It certainly makes me a shitty husband.
Absentmindedly, I turn my ring, the metal cold against my skin as the thought lands.
