Page 60 of The Rebound Plan

“It’s fine.” He cups his hands possessively over her arse, keeping her straddled over his lap as he smirks at me. “You want to join us?”

CHAPTER 23

SHANNON

“What are you doing?” I whisper furiously.

But Max doesn’t even hear me. He’s still talking to Russ, his voice sharp and pointed. “I know you like looking at my wife.”

“He doesn’t,” I protest, more out of self-preservation than an earnest defence of the truth. Because I think he does like looking at me, in the same way I like looking at him, but that’s wrong. And my guilt for those exchanges is the only reason I’m sitting naked on my husband’s lap right now, trying one last time to reconnect with him—he cannot invite Russ into this moment.

But I can’t tell him that, so I have to lie.

And also remember that I’m topless and my bikini top is…somewhere. It’s pretty dark on this terrace but there is some moonlight. I can’t just stand up and go inside without flashing our host. And if anyone else is back from the party, them too.

Oh my God, this is a disaster. My heart is pounding.

“He does,” Max insists.

I cup my husband’s face in my hands, making him focus on me. His expression is wild, still adrenaline laced from our fights. His rejection of my podcast idea. His stupid, arrogant demand that I try to get a favour out of an ex. And me foolishly admitting I want a divorce.Fuck.“He has Emery.”

“He doesn’t look at Emery the way he looks at you.” Max’s words slice like a scalpel.

Russ doesn’t deny them, either. From behind me, he grunts. “You offering to share your wife?”

His words aren’t precise like my husband’s. He’s all brawn, all heavy fists. Bruising.

Once upon a time, I liked bruises a lot.

“He’s not.” Desperate now, twisting on Max’s lap, hating the way I’m getting turned on. “Please, Max, stop this.”

“Shhh. It’s okay if Russ sees how much I like your body. You’re my wife.”

It’s a possessive claim that rings so, so hollow.

“Is that how it is now? You want to prove that she’s yours?” Russ laughs, low and dangerous. “Go on then. Show me how you please your woman.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Again, that scalpel precision, revealing something previously unseen. “You want to watch her get off?” Max pushes his hand between us, tugging my bikini bottoms aside to touch me—and he tenses when he finds me wet.

Fuck.

My husband is stupid in many ways—like how to influence a billionaire, for example, or how to keep a wife happy—but he’s not stupid about this.

In the same way his sharp words have revealed something just under the surface between him and Russ and me, his rough touch finds evidence of something I’d rather keep hidden, too.

He shoves two fingers into me, making me gasp, then just as quickly he deprives me of more. His breath is ragged in my ear as he turns me around fully so my breasts are on display and my legs are spread, those bikini bottoms the only thing covering any part of my body now, and just barely. Then he lowers his voice, speaking to me now. “He didn’t fuck anyone all last season, you know that. He’s a monk.”

“Not anymore,” I breathe. And I mean Emery—Russ has a girlfriend, I keep reminding myself—but as his gaze finds and holds mine, I’m reminded of the other moments that didn’t feel monklike this weekend.

The kitchen.

The lake.

The couch.

“I’m as hot blooded as anyone else, given the right conditions,” Russ says. Slowly, he steps onto the terrace and comes closer.

Max cups my breasts, his thumbs rolling over my nipples in a way that makes me squirm despite myself. And he keeps talking to Russ like they’re having a regular conversation, just about…sex. Me. “You ever had a threesome?”

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