He sat up, pushed off the bed, and said two words that I never thought I’d hear him say.
“Fuck Melanie.”
Then he hurried to the toilet to vomit.
* * *
Roland had fallen asleep shortly after his vulgar words and heavy vomiting. I made sure he was okay before going back to the relaxation room and shutting the door behind me quietly.
But as I turned around, I noticed one of the back cushions of the sofa was tilted. My heart dropped and my mind screamed three little words: Someone was here.
I rushed toward the sofa, picking up the bottom cushion. The journal was still in the same spot and I drew in a relieved sigh. I took a thorough look around the room to see if anything else was out of place, but all seemed fine.
Nothing else had been moved. My phone was still on the table next to the sofa.
Even so, I wasn’t mistaken. Someone else had been in this room.
I stood back up and locked the door. I retrieved the journal, sat down and, despite my pulse pounding in my ears, picked back up where I’d left off.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I liked the kiss, and maybe that made me a terrible, disgusting human being, but I liked it. I liked it so much that I ended up making out with Dylan on his bed, all while my husband was just a short walk away, practicing on his private course.
I hated myself in that moment, and I’m ashamed to admit that I also felt victorious. And with that victory, there was power in it, so I used that power to get more of what I wanted.
“Promise me you won’t go to her apartment again,” I breathed as Dylan kissed my throat.
“I promise.”
“No. Really promise it this time.”
He paused and looked at me. “What do I get out of it?”
I clasped his face in my hands. “Me.”
“But you’re not mine. You’re Roland’s.”
“Don’t worry about Roland.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“So why are you kissing me?”
His throat bobbed as he looked down at me, then he brought his head down again and kissed me, rocking his erection between my legs, groaning as I sucked on his plump bottom lip.
“Promise me,” I breathed again.
“I promise. I mean it.”
And Dylan did mean it.
I had to stop the kiss—I couldn’t do this while Roland was so close to home. Guilt swallowed me whole as I left the room and bustled down the stairs. I went into my bedroom and took a shower, feeling dirtier than ever before, and when I got out, Roland was in the bedroom, taking off his practice attire.
“Mel,” he said, side-eyeing me as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Come here.”
Still wrapped in only a towel, I walked to my husband, my heart beating a mile a minute. I worried instantly if Dylan had played me—if he’d told Roland that I kissed him back just so he wouldn’t be kicked out because of Miley.
Roland looked at me in the towel, then he grabbed the front of it and undid it. I stood naked before him and he smiled, holding me by the waist and bringing me closer.
“Lift your leg,” he commanded. And I brought my foot up to the bed. He kissed the inside of my thigh and I shuddered. “When’s the last time I did this to you?”
“I don’t know,” I breathed as he moved higher and higher, closer to an area that he hadn’t touched in days. Roland was weird about sex now. Most nights, I wanted it. I wanted to please him and do things for him, but he would have rather read a book or read an article than fuck me. We had sex less often since getting married and I worried for us.
“Be still,” he ordered. And my husband pleasured me with his tongue, and I hadn’t expected it at all, but I was still turned on from kissing Dylan in the attic, so I accepted it, reveled in it.
I felt victorious, and maybe a little guilty too.
But I should have known that all of my selfish victory wouldn’t last for much longer.
* * *
Roland had a trip to Washington two weeks after Dylan and I first kissed. In between that time, Miley was texting me again, asking to visit me. I always made an excuse so she couldn’t. Dylan spent more time around the house, cutting his eyes at me and giving me looks. Whenever Roland wasn’t in plain sight, Dylan would grab my ass or whisper something dirty in my ear.
We were trouble, but I couldn’t help myself and I couldn’t stop. I liked the flirting, the buildup, the risk. And as each night passed and these feelings built up, I’d ride my husband and pretend his body was Dylan’s.
Then the moment arrived when Roland had to go, and it was only going to be the two of us in the mansion. Yadira had left dinner for me, so I set up two plates in the dining room and sent Dylan a text, telling him to join me. He came to the table in a white T-shirt and jeans, sat across from me, but we didn’t eat.