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“Sadist,” she said, face back in my chest.

“Baby,” I taunted, stroking her hair tenderly.

In the room that night, I managed to finally get out a word when my dick was busy inside of her.

“Mine,” I grunted out as I came.

When she caught her breath, she said, “Hey! You got a word out during intercourse. Way to go, Thorn!”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m your bro about a subject like that.”

In her phone sex voice she said, “Roger that, tall boy.”

I was on her back and just for that I pulled back, bent down, grabbed a handful of luscious ass cheek, and bit it hard enough her make her yelp.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

IT ALL WENT to hell in a few short minutes. I only pieced together how it had happened later and so reacted poorly.

I came to regret that in a way that I couldn’t remember feeling regret ever before.

I reconstructed it after as though I could have somehow changed the outcome of it if I had handled it better. It was the sort thing I’d go over in my head again and again, finding better things I could have said.

We were in my office. I was at my desk looking at my computer, and she was on my phone posting something on social media for me. She used my phone all the time. She was my assistant, so that was unavoidable. She was fastidious usually about using it only for the professional things she needed and never snooping. But sometimes timing just sucked.

I was receiving considerably less filth from women by that point. Ignoring them fixed that almost across the board. A few persistent ones however, just kept going. Those I had taken to treating with a few acerbic comments that were meant to discourage them, which apparently I wasn’t that good at.

She was looking at my phone, me at my laptop screen when I received a picture that shocked even me a bit. I was very, very regretful that Ro had to see it.

And I was even more regretful about what happened after she did.

We looked at each other. “I’m deeply sorry you had to see that,” I told her instantly and solemnly.

She just blinked, her gaze sort of blank and distant. She didn’t say a word, just went back to work.

At first I thought that was a good sign, that she wasn’t upset.

It was not a good sign.

Turns out a deeply upset Ro was too much for me just like every iteration of Ro had ever been.

It was maybe a full hour later that I started to see the damage that had been done.

We were working in her office now, me lounging on the couch. She was at her desk and didn’t even look at me as she said quietly, “I think this has run its course.”

I had no notion what she could mean at first. Denial and all that.

“Those media posts?” I asked, trying to remember what she was working on, exactly.

“Us,” she said blandly, still not looking up, her hands not so much as slowing on her keyboard.

I took it as a joke.

Joking was what we did. “Oh yes, we’re totally finished with each other, obviously.” I said it like it was the most ridiculous notion in the world. To me, it was. “I get Machiavelli in the divorce. And exclusive rights to eating your pussy.”

“I’m not quitting, Turner, but the… sex, all of that, whatever it was, I think it’s for the best if we call it quits now.”

My heart felt like it did a full, excruciating turn in my chest. It fucking hurt. “I don’t understand,” I said slowly. What was even happening? And why did it feel like a slow motion nightmare? “You’re joking.” My voice was so weak, I wanted to snatch the words back and say it with new purpose, as though that would make the statement more real, but it wasn’t like that.