My eyes shift up to the ring on my left finger, on the hand that is gripping Angelina’s waist.

I made a vow seven years ago to remain loyal to my wife till death do us part, and I should feel terrible about this act of sin I am committing behind her back, but I don’t.

I feel a splash of guilt circulating through my blood stream, but that is it. It isn’t potent, nor is it dominating my emotions. It’s minimal and it’s sad to say that I will probably get over it very soon.

How?

Because this angel with my face between her thighs is probably the greatest thing I have ever had the pleasure of tasting in a very long time. Her pussy is delectable, so juicy and sweet.

Christ, I could eat her all fucking night long—forever if I wanted.

Yes, I have Colette back at home, but let’s face it. She isn’t up waiting for me. She isn’t expecting me to call or tell her about my day. She probably isn’t even thinking about me, dying for me to fuck her.

But Angelina, I know she’s thought about it. I know because I’ve thought about her one too many times.

I jacked my fucking meat off to the mere thought of her—before all of this. I’ve just busted my load deep inside her cunt.

I can’t take that shit back. I can’t fight this. I want to… but I just can’t.

This girl is officially mine now. There is no turning away.

There is no fighting what we all knew was bound to happen.

Shit. There is only so much rejection a man can take before he finally just… gives into temptation.

NINE

Colette

I am livid.

Normally, Griffin responds to my text messages, no matter how harsh they are. He’ll either text back or he’ll call to try and settle disputes.

Of course I won’t respond because I like to see him pleading, but tonight is different.

He has been very distant the past few days… more distant than usual actually. The night we argued about me being the “good wife”, I realized one small thing. He was becoming truly fed up.

He was finally losing patience with me. Sick of my complaining, my bitching. Never has Griffin stormed away from me like that. I’m not sure if I should take that as a good sign or a bad one.

When I sent that text, I can’t lie and say I wasn’t expecting an argument because I was. I wanted him to argue because arguing means you care… but he didn’t.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m doing this for his attention or because I’m really upset that he isn’t home… or because I really can’t stand him right now and if I’m in misery he should be too.

I did some investigating, looking into San Diego’s weather. He is right. There is a storm, but so what? It doesn’t seem too bad.

Maybe he didn’t respond because he’s searching for an airline that isn’t afraid of a little rain. Good. Let’s hope that’s the case.

Sighing, I walk into the bathroom, clutching the edge of the porcelain sink. I study my tired green eyes, my damp, golden hair. I am exhausted. I worked late last night in my study, continuing a masterpiece that is nowhere near done. The gallery will love it when it’s complete, though.

I’m too tired to start again tonight. I’ve worked on it all day. I’m not too tired to have a little fun though.

I stand up straight, tilting my head as admire my reflection. I trace my fingers down the bend of my neck, running them across my bare shoulder.

I need touch… some attention.

Hmm… it’s been a while since I last saw him.

Maybe tonight will work out since Griffin will be staying the night… not that he’ll actually care to find me not home if he just so happens to arrive.

With a light smile on my lips, I walk to my closet, humming a tune by Lenny Kravitz as I take down one of my favorite black dresses.

It’s slimming, and reveals a decent amount of cleavage. Not too much to make me seem like a slut, but not too little to make me seem modest.

I walk back to the sink, open the cabinet below, and take out my blow dryer. I give my hair a quick dry, still humming, and when I’m done, I style it, half-up, half-down.

I put on my dress next, slipping my feet into red pumps. I give my teeth a brush, my face a simple application of makeup, and then add a spritz of perfume to my wrists and around my neck.

Walking back to the bedroom, I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, admiring my rapid concoction.

Beautiful.

Simple.

Good.

Shutting the lights off, I leave the bedroom and head downstairs towards the kitchen.

Arianna is reading a book by Jasinda Wilder at the table, and when she hears me coming in, she looks up, lowering her novel. Her eyes immediately dart to my dress and curiosity fills her irises.

“Mrs. Boyd? It ten o’ clock at night. You have plans this late?”

“I do, Arianna. I will be back soon, but don’t wait up.” I walk towards the door, grabbing my keys off the key hook. “Oh, and can you make sure my bathroom is clean when I get back?”

She nods. “Sure, Mrs. Boyd.” Her lips press.

She knows I’m up to no good, but I ignore her motherly stares and make my exit, slamming the door behind me and heading for my car.

I jump in, starting it immediately and leaving my house.

It takes ten minutes to get there.

When I arrive, I pull into the parking deck and shut my car off, applying a careful line of gloss to my lips. I pucker and pop them, then tuck the lip-gloss container back into the purse in my passenger seat.

I grab hold of my cellphone, my clutch, and push out of the car, adjusting my breasts through my reflection on the tinted window when the door is shut behind me. Once I’m satisfied with my look, I go for the entrance.

These condos are extravagant. Elegant. The chandeliers are a dead giveaway of how much money people put into paying their mortgage here… not that money really matters to them. It’s all about good living.

I ride up the elevator, up to floor six. When I’m out, I can’t help the smile that comes to my lips as I walk towards room 612. I knock and pull away, planting a hand on my waist.

I hear footsteps on the opposite side. They stop and I know he’s peeking out of the peephole.

I smile at it, and in an instant the door swings open. His eyes are wide as he meets mine, and a grin sweeps across his sculpted mouth as he sighs.

“Damn,” he murmurs, folding his arms and leaning against the door. “It’s been, what, two weeks since the last time I saw you? I was wondering when you’d show again.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well, I just need an escape right now. Who better to come to than the master of escapes himself?” I grin and he smiles smugly.

“You know that’s what I’m good for.” He drops his arms and stands up straight, taking a step back. “Come in.”

I walk through his door, drifting down the foyer and making my way to the familiar living room.

I love this place. His white leather couches, the glass coffee table, and the white-tiger fur rug. It’s appealing to the eye… to a woman like myself.

Griffin doesn’t like animal fur or white leather. He hates white furniture period, the reason why our home is disgustingly bombarded with black or brown leather or suede couches.

The designer was so hung up on him, taking his side. Stupid bitch.

Footsteps sound behind me and I glance over my shoulder as he walks into the living room with a thick, rectangular silver case in hand.

That silver case contains all the magic. He walks around me, winking before sitting down on the couch. I peer towards his open laptop and the collection of papers on his dinner table.

“Did I interrupt you?” I ask.