“She tastes like me, you know.” Lottie’s breath ghosted my lips.
That’s the dark, twisted irony. Lottie could never taste like Snitch.
It would kill her.
“Our lip gloss is the same,” she continued, trailing a hand down my chest.
“She doesn’t wear lip gloss,” I gritted.
“I made her wear it today.”
My eyes slashed to hers just as she pressed her lips to mine.
Barely a kiss.
Just enough to taste the light, glossy flavor. Some expensive flowery shit—not Snitch, but if Lottie was telling the truth, it was her today.
“Don’t tell me you don’t want this. Don’t tell me no.”
Maybe I didn’t give a shit if it was the truth.
I groaned, pressing my lips harder against hers.
“You can call me by her name,” Lottie breathed.
The spell snapped, and I broke away.
“You want it,” she said. “I can see you want it. Why did you stop?”
“Because it’s fucking torture!” It was too late to take it back. The damage was done, written on my wife’s face. “Shit. Lottie. Wait.” I gripped her chin between my fingers. “That’s not what I meant. Lottie, you deserve more.”
She let out a bitter laugh and yanked her chin away, grabbing her discarded robe from the floor. She tied the robe around her waist and stared at me.
“I’m going to be like them, won’t I? The women in my family. The ones who only had sex to procreate or because their husbands got drunk one night and couldn’t find a maid.”
“I need time. It hasn’t even been a month.”
I could see the words in her eyes, all the shit she wanted to say to me.
Fucking say it.
But when she finally spoke, her words were lifeless.
“Do you think if I dressed up like a maid and we filmed it, people would stop talking about you and her? Probably not, right? They’d just think you had a thing for maids.”
“Don’t ever say her name again. Don’t bring her into this again. Fucking ever. I’m gonna go for a walk.”
“Why bother pretending?” I was at the door when her soft voice drifted over my shoulder. “Every kiss you give me, every touch, every look…I know it isn’t for me. It’s for her.”
I stopped short, then kept going.
STORY
* * *
It only took until night before I was all over the news. Just an unconfirmed tabloid story, but the story had leaked all the same. The knowledge was like a fault line in my gut as I carried Lottie’s nighttime tea up to her.
The door to her—their—bedroom was already partially open.