I wouldn’t have minded if he’d just pinned my shoulders and kissed me hard.

This was the ninth time.

I’d been excited, ready to go further, and he pushed me away.

I shot to my feet and slammed the door.

---

At my best friend’s place, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

“Not answering?” Wendy Jackson tilted her head, studying me.

I tipped my head back and downed a big gulp of tequila. The burn left my throat raw and bitter.

I shut my phone off and grumbled, “That cigarette hit hard. One drag and my voice is wrecked.”

Wendy toyed with the pack in her hand. “But the packaging is cool, right?”

I wasn’t trying to hide anything. I genuinely couldn’t understand it.

“Why won’t Travis actually touch me? Does he like men?” I shook my head. “Back in high school, he even dated the cheer captain. After that, girls threw themselves at him and he turned them all down.”

A thought flashed through my mind.

I narrowed my eyes. “He’s probably thinking about my sister. The one who ran off to Paris.”

My sister was supposed to marry Travis, but she chased some so-called true love and ran overseas with a broke painter.

Travis acted like the perfect gentleman. In the six months since we married, he’d given me everything I asked for, in every way except in bed.

And every time he used his hand on me, even when I was falling apart, he stayed calm and controlled.

He couldn’t possibly find my body disgusting… could he?

The thought snapped something in me. Humiliation surged hot in my chest.

I slammed my glass down on the table. “I’ve decided.”

Wendy jumped.

“Divorce.”

A useless man, handsome or not, wasn’t worth keeping. I didn’t need him.

“Okay, okay. Stop drinking.” Wendy must’ve thought I was wasted. She dragged me into the shower.

She’d just gotten these over-the-top rhinestone nails, and she kept pawing at me in her sleep. The next morning, I woke up with several dark red scratches on my neck where she’d clawed me.

When I turned my phone back on, it was packed with emails and texts from Travis.

I went back to the villa and was surprised to find him home.

The living room reeked of nicotine, and the ashtrays were overflowing.

He looked up. His chiseled face seemed almost sharp with anger. “You’re back?” His voice was rough.

Then he saw the marks on my neck. His pupils tightened, and his expression turned dark in a way that made my stomach drop.

I’d slept like crap, and my throat was raw from smoking and drinking, so I wasn’t in the mood to fight.

He was about to speak when I croaked, waving him off, “I’m a mess today. I’m going upstairs.”

I wasn’t bluffing. I meant it. I wanted a divorce.

I didn’t want a sexless marriage.

—

That night, I ran a high fever. My head felt thick and foggy.

The bedroom door opened.

The scent of his body wash hit me and made me dizzy. I frowned. “Don’t touch me.”

His body went still. “Then who do you want touching you?” His voice was low, like he was forcing himself to hold something back. Then he softened it, coaxing. “Listen, take your medicine.”

A cool fingertip brushed my lips, and his other hand tightened at my waist. His gaze locked on my fever-flushed mouth. His breathing turned heavy, fast.

I hated being held by him. Uncomfortable, I turned away and burrowed under the covers. “Once I take it, get out.”

In my haze, I thought I heard the bathroom water running again.

Who’s showering?

—

I woke up again to find myself completely wrapped in Travis’s arms.

Something hard and unmistakable pressed against the top of my thigh. His breath was hot.

Travis seemed to be waking up too. He ran a hand over my forehead, slow and careful. “You’re still a little warm. How do you feel?”

I snapped fully awake. Yeah, because you’re the one burning up.

I tried to shove him off with my elbow, but he caught my waist. His rough fingertips brushed my skin, sending a jolt through me. I couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped out.

“Anna.” Travis’s lips hovered near my ear, his voice low and dangerously tempting. “Wanna do it?”

If this had been before, I would’ve melted right into him. But after last night, there was distance between us. To me, his offer felt like charity.

My body was still weak from the fever. I pushed him away, my expression cold.

“Not in the mood.”

Travis went pale instantly. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face as he backed off. When I turned, I ran straight into those deep, unreadable eyes.

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have asked right now.”

I snorted. At least he had some self-awareness.

“But don’t do something like that again, okay?” His lashes lowered. “I’ll worry if your fever comes back.”

Before I could respond, he went to the wardrobe and pulled out clothes for me. He usually wore a robe, but now he only had a towel tied around his waist. The hard lines of his muscles were, annoyingly, pretty sexy.

My gaze slid over his narrow hips and the curve of his ass, and my heart skipped.

Whatever. Put any top male model in front of me and I’d look too.

He handed me the clothes. I changed right in front of him without thinking twice. As expected, he politely turned his head away.

I didn’t know then that the moment I walked out, Travis slipped into my private bathroom and turned the water on again.

A few days later, I noticed things missing from my dressing room. At first I didn’t care. I had plenty of cheap fast-fashion stuff, so whatever. But the Victoria’s Secret lace set Wendy gave me last week was gone, and that made no sense.

At dinner, I told Travis, “Someone’s been stealing from the house.”

He was spreading butter on toast with a knife. The moment he heard that, his hand froze. He didn’t look up, but his lips pressed into a thin line. “What’s missing?”

“My lingerie.”

I said it casually, but he completely lost his composure. The knife slipped, smearing a greasy streak of butter across his fingers.

I watched him, suspicious. “Why are you so nervous? Did you steal it?”

Travis stayed quiet for a few seconds. Then he let out a low chuckle and finally looked at me. “What do you think?”

I gave him a flippant smile. What did I think? A man like Travis, so rigid and serious, borderline obsessive about cleanliness… what would he want with my underwear?

I dropped the subject. “What time will you be back tonight? I have a ‘gift’ for you.” The divorce papers were already in my bag.

He pushed a piece of toast toward me. His voice came out fast, almost too fast. “Whenever you need me, I’ll come back.”

I barely had time to process the strange edge in his tone before his phone rang. His assistant walked in with a briefcase to remind him about a meeting.

Travis got up and left.

I touched the spot where my heart had skipped a beat, then rubbed my suddenly warm ear. I was embarrassed and angry at the same time. Couldn’t he just talk like a normal person? Did he have to radiate that sexy vibe right then?

That afternoon, I swung by a private clinic on my way out. The doctor said stress was throwing my hormones out of whack and suggested I find a way to release it, preferably in bed. Wendy jumped at the idea, practically vibrating with excitement, offering to “lend” me a few eight-pack pretty boys from her modeling agency.

I was eating watermelon and mindlessly scrolling on my iPad. I shut her down immediately.

“Have you been breaking out lately?” she asked.

My chest tightened.

There really were two pimples, right on my chin.

“Come on, babe. A little taste of something new beats reheated leftovers.” Wendy leaned in, coaxing. “And you two are basically signing divorce papers. Why not?”

I put my phone down and thought it over. I had nothing else going on, so maybe I could at least go look. Isn’t it just hormones? Once I was free, I could have a hundred models if I wanted.

But not now.

That wasn’t cowardice. It was my line. My moral line, as a socialite.

Wendy laughed a couple times, clearly not buying my self-control.

I felt confident at first, but then reality hit.

That night, I had a ridiculously hot dream. In it, I was kissing a man and couldn’t pull away. Our breathing tangled together, his heat and those wet, suggestive sounds dragging me deeper. I gave in completely, reckless under his teasing, drowning in the pleasure we shared.

Right at the peak, I saw Travis’s face up close.

I jolted awake, heart hammering, drenched in cold sweat. My legs felt weak. I wanted to go downstairs and pour a drink just to steady myself.

Then I heard a few careless jeers from the living room.

“Some men want it so bad they’re going crazy, but because they’re afraid of scaring the woman they love, they play the saint.” One of Travis’s friends lounged on the sofa with a whiskey glass in hand, his voice lazy and dripping with mockery. “Not naming names.”

“Women can’t stand being ignored, man,” another added. “Keep bottling it up and your wife’s gonna be partying in Vegas with somebody else. Then you’ll be the one crying with nowhere to go.”

They were all close with Travis and never watched their mouths. Travis just sat there, sipping his drink in silence. His handsome face gave nothing away.

Then he said something that made them burst out laughing.

But I caught it. A sharp sense that something was off.

They mentioned Travis had a secret Reddit account.

Hoping to catch him, I dredged up the username I vaguely remembered and searched it. An account popped up with the same profile picture. The pinned post stopped me cold.

It read:

“I finally married the girl I’ve secretly loved for years, but my sex drive is extremely high. How can I make her enjoy it without leaving emotional scars?”

The next post:

“There’s too much temptation out there. If she thinks I’m boring, that’s on me. If I try pleasing her this way, will she kick me out?”

And beneath it was a photo.

Revealing clothes. Metal chains.

My blood went hot in an instant…