Page 1 of Shame

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Grace

I never thoughtmy husband would cheat on me.

I was sure of it.

I was wrong.

* * *

Luke: Are you going to be home for dinner?

Grace: Should be.

Luke: I’ll pick something up.

Grace: No red meat!

Luke: I know. Love you!

Grace: Love you, too.

* * *

“I’m hoppingin the shower. I gotta head out for a bit.”

“Where are you going?”

“I told you, I have a thing.”

I frown. I don’t remember him mentioning an event. “Is it something you need me for?”

“Nope. Just a meeting. I won’t be long, but don’t wait up.”

I never do. As I’ve moved into my thirties, I’ve decided I like going to sleep early and waking up early to get a workout in before I start my day.

Luke, on the other hand, is a confirmed night owl.

When we were first married, we’d stay up late together, until I got sleepy, and then he’d tuck me into bed and read beside me while I fell asleep. I don’t remember the last time he did that, but really, if he did, I’d just get annoyed, because then I wouldn’t be able to read something dirty and get myself off.

A quick, efficient orgasm is better than any sleeping pill ever invented. And while I love sex with Luke, there is no such thing as a quick orgasm with him. And lately, sometimes there’s no orgasm at all.

When the stars align, though, sex is fantastic. It still takes a while, though. Luke has a rule—I always come first, and preferably twice. You’d think this would be a great rule. It’s the stuff of internet memes. But it’s actually more pressure than I want, and he won’t be dissuaded of it.Just fucking use my body as a receptacle for your comeis not something my husband will ever understand.

Nor is it something I could ever say with a straight face. Not without bursting into flames. This is on my mind as he moves towards the en suite bathroom adjacent to our bedroom. I catch his hand and tug him close, wanting his bulk against me. He kisses me softly and brushes past instead. No bulk. No hot kiss.

I sigh at his retreating back, but he doesn’t notice.

He disappears into the bathroom, and I turn around again, catching sight of his phone on the bed. “Hey, baby, you forgot your—”

But the shower’s already on.

The screen lights up. There’s a text message notification on the screen.

Spitfire

Text Message

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