Somehow I managed to get wet enough from the half-hearted touch between my legs, and he pushed inside me with a groan. He fucked me but my mind wandered instead of focusing on the motions of his hips against me. I moaned softly. He still felt good, filling me just right, and he wasn’t bad at sex. I was just bored. I couldn’t blame him for that, and I wasn’t exactly helping in the arousal department. I had stopped trying to look good for him, and I hated myself for it. Even though I disliked myself for doing that, I still didn’t have the motivation to change it.
When had this become such a job for me? Something that felt like it had to be done to truly be husband and wife? When had I become such an old lady in a twenty-five-year-old body? I used to be wild and insatiable. I still was, but now those traits inhabited my brain, lurking through the shadowy places in my mind.
My thoughts wandered again, revisiting every book boyfriend I’d ever had. I closed my eyes and imagined their strong, fiery hands racing over me—a touch overflowing with desire as harsh words left their lips. Every thrust made me feel like I didn’t matter while also making me feel as if I was theonlyone who mattered.
Guilt filled my chest.This is wrong. Fictional or not, it’s wrong.
I opened my eyes as Michael leaned down to bury his face in my neck. His thrusts slowed and pushed deeper inside me. He groaned and sent a warm breath rollingover my skin, leaving a longing inside me as he pulled away.
I cleaned myself off with a towel I kept by the bed and thought about the lack of clean-up in the books I read. No running to the bathroom. No tightening of muscles to keep come from dripping down their thighs. Just lying in the embrace of their lover, filled and happy.
I got up to pee. As my footfalls landed on the soft carpet on my way to the bathroom, my eyes roved over all the things that made this house ahome.Our home. I worked, but he worked harder and for longer hours. He was the reason we had what we had, and I was being an ungrateful shit. But I couldn’t stop myself from wanting more.
I firmly remind myself that my books weren’t reality. My reality was boring, but that was what I needed. That was normal.
But sometimes I wanted more than normalcy, and that's where my books came into play. There was nothing average about any of these stories or the people within them. Their lives were full of angst and fast-paced drama. As hot as it was, that would be equally exhausting after a while. The men in the books weren’t good for anyone. They were morally gray in all the sexy ways that made me melt, but they would have made my real life hell.
I washed my hands, returned to our room, and crawled into bed beside him. He’d already turned over and fallen asleep. I wished I could fall asleep like that.
I forgot to take care of that thing at work.
The meat in the fridge has a best-by date of . . . tomorrow.
Remember when my boss saw one of my books on my desk three years ago?
Oh, remember that kid in high school who tried to stealth me while we were having sex? Dude wasn’t very fucking stealthy.
My thoughts drifted from the boy in high school to my first boyfriend, the boy who took my virginity. I became stuck in a haze of memories, recalling the excited hands of teenagers getting to do something they shouldn’t do. The risk. It was all so electrifying.
My thoughts wandered even further down a rabbit hole of darkness. After replaying all the embarrassing moments from my past, I finally drifted into a well-earned sleep.
Chapter Two
The sun shined its bright light through the curtains in my bedroom, reviving me from my restless sleep. Kinda. I opened my eyes with a groan. No matter how early I lay down, I tossed and turned for ages before I could finally fall asleep. I was always exhausted. Would I ever wake up feeling refreshed, or was this a permanent state of being for me at this point?
With another groan, I climbed out of bed. Michael had already left the bedroom, and his side of the bed was cool to the touch. He always got up before me. Early to bed and early to rise.
I sauntered into the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot Michael had brewed. I sniffed, inhaling the pleasant aroma. He always made everything perfect, yet I found myself feeling bitter instead of grateful. I sighed.
Still feeling exhausted, I headed into the living room and curled up on the couch with my favorite weighted blanket. Yes, I went straight from my bed to lying on thecouch. I preferred the sedentary lifestyle, especially since I never had a moment to just exist on weekdays. Weekends were all for me.
Cuddled in the warmth of my own body heat, I looked at the tempting stack of books on the table. I wiggled my arm from under the blanket and grabbed the top book. The matte finish felt like velvet beneath my fingers. I touched the shadowy image of the shirtless, gray-haired man dominating the cover. He was the embodiment of a silver fox, and I was here for it. He was also the married, overbearing boss of the female main character, and who didn’t love a forbidden man?
I sat up, rolled my sleeves up my arms, and wrapped the blanket around my lower body. I listened for Michael meandering about, but silence was the only reply. I opened the book, rested it on my lap, and let my eyes dance along the page as I absorbed every word. My mind was a blank canvas, ready for the art within each word.
The fictional world erupted from the floor and surrounded me. I lost touch with my reality and embraced the place where I could hide from my responsibilities. I had no accountability in that place, and I spent my time with people who made my heart race with anticipation and exhilaration.
My hand slipped into my sweatpants and found my growing excitement, making my fingers slick. I throbbed with expectation before the spine even made that satisfying crack when I first opened the book.
“Zoey?” The booming voice came from an office down the hall. I looked around at the empty cubicles. Everyone had already gone home, and the clock on my computer ticked past 7:30. I’d stayed too late—yet again—but I had nothing to go home to. Just a lonely apartment with a cat who hated me. I tapped a pencil on the desk as I tried to finish the last few minutes of the presentation I was listening to.
“Zoey!” The voice grew louder, and I pulled my earbud out of my ear with a sigh.
After locking my computer, I stood and smoothed my black skirt over my hips. The dingy blue carpet muffled the tap of my heels as I walked down the hall and stopped at the only other office still illuminated that late in the evening. I tucked my hair behind my ear, took a deep breath, and stepped into the doorway.
“Yes?” I asked.
The chair spun around to face me, and Mr. Lawrence’s blue eyes looked me over. “I’m glad you’re still here,” he said in an even tone. He knew I stayed late almost every night. “Is there a reason the reports for the client haven’t been submitted to me? I asked for them”—he moved his keyboard to look at the calendar on his desk—“last week.”
