Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
That thought of her in the arms of another drives me out of my fucking mind. Not enough to lose control, though. The only time she actually manages to get under my skin so effectively is when she’s in the room with me. So I don’t dump the entire dinner that I ordered catered—her favorite—in the trash. I meticulously pack it away and store it in the fridge. Even as I go through the motions, I can hear my father’s mocking laughter in the back of my mind. Telling me I’m a fool, a cuckold, a little bitch. Why bother with this small act of kindness when she’s in someone else’s bed?
I don’t have an answer now. I don’t think I ever will. This marriage is nothing more than a sham, no matter what high hopes I harbored in my deepest, darkest heart. Shattered now. And I have no one to blame but myself.
I’m so focused on my mental spiraling that I almost miss the sound of the door opening. My body acts before my brain has a chance to decide what avenue of approach I should take. There’s no space for strategy with my emotions riding me so hard.
The sensation only gets worse when I stride through the doorway and find my wife shrugging out of her coat, looking deliciously rumpled. Even as I tell myself not to, I search for signs of someone else’s touch. I am not sure if I don’t find any because there’s none to find, or because there’s still evidence of my hands on her, my mouth against her skin.
She doesn’t jump when she sees me, but there’s resignation in the slump of her shoulders that hits me right in my fucking heart. “Oh. You’re home.”
“I told you to be here for dinner. That was hours ago.”
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Why am I accusing her when I should be asking her how she’s doing? My mouth opens, and more poison spills out despite how tumultuous I feel. “Or did you really go to your lover?”
Her brows slam down and there she is, my vicious, furious wife. I shouldn’t crave this side of her the way I do, but it’s familiar territory. If I’m shit at comfort, at least I know how to draw her into a fight.
“You are unbelievable.” She stalks toward me, tossing her coat to the side. “Here’s a hint, Husband. If you actually want information, maybe start with questions instead of accusations.”
“Fine.” Gods, I can’t stop myself even as a small part of me is yelling to slam on the brakes. It’s too late. It was too late from the moment she accepted my proposal. “Did you go straight from coming all over my cock to fucking Ixion?”
Hera is magnificent in her fury. She glares up at me, her hazel eyes sparking the way I’m addicted to. Even her sneer is perfection. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. After that little show we put on, all of Olympus knows I’m not satisfied.”
She’s so close that one harsh breath could bring us chest to chest. I grab her hips and eliminate the distance between us, wishing I could eliminate the emotional distance as well. It will never happen, but at least I have the physical. “Lie to yourself if you must, but don’t fucking lie to me. I know what you look like when you come.”
“Do you?” She tilts her head and slides her hands up my chest, leaning close enough to speak directly into my ear. “Or am I just very, very good at faking it?”
One moment I’m standing here, trying to process the audacity of her lie, and the next I have her pressed against the wall. Damn it, no. It’s not supposed to be like this. I start to pull away, but she hooks the back of my neck, holding me close.
I shake my head, hard. “Hera—Callisto—hold on. Wait. This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”
Her sad smile strikes right to the very heart of me. “We don’t know how to be anything else but this.” Her nails prick my skin. “Take it out on me—and I’ll do the same to you.”
I dig my fingers into her hips, as if that contact would be enough to ground me instead of tossing me right off the edge of reason. “The video. I had no idea—”
“I know.” That simple statement goes so far and yet nowhere near far enough.
I drop my head to press my forehead to hers. “Are you okay?”
“No. Not by a long shot.” She slides her free hand back down my chest to hook in the band of my pants. “But having an uncomfortable, awkward conversation isn’t going to make me feel better. I can’t bear to think anymore. I might lose what’s left of my mind.”