Chapter 1

YVONNE'S P.O.V.

‘How to give myself an orgasm.’

My finger hovered on the search icon, I blinked at my screen, then checked behind me to make sure that my nosy colleagues weren't peeping into my phone.

I bit down on my lip, hesitated, and gave up, tossing my phone back into my purse.

A frustrated sigh heaved out from my lips, I shouldn't be ashamed of trying to figure out how to satisfy my own needs, but when you're a grown woman and you've never experienced an orgasm in your life, you'd feel humiliated about it.

I had tried using my fingers twice, but it didn't feel right; at this point, it's not just the thrill; it's more about experiencing that sensation women are always raving about.

I buried my face into my palm, propping my elbows on my desk.

A loud thud had me raising my head. “Have this sorted out before the end of today.” Regional manager Edgar Baxter requested.

I glanced at my watch and back at him in disbelief. “It’s forty minutes to closing, how am I supposed to get all this done?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes like I was putting on a tantrum. “Are you saying you’re incompetent Mrs Baxter?”

One of my nosy colleagues whistled, I could hear their murmurs and mockery.

“No.” I gritted out, taking the papers he'd given me, and began to work.

Edgar lingered, then added with a smug smile, “I knew you'd be able to handle this; you're the only reliable person here.”

I huffed in exasperation as he left. I still wonder how it is he made it to the Regional Manager position; oh, I don't need to wonder; it was all my effort. I did his job and mine, and when he got the promotion he gloated to the entire company that it was because he was zealous.

Zealous my ass.

Edgar wouldn't be here if it weren't for me, he can't do anything right. Not at work, not in bed, hell not even in a conversation.

And that is the story of my life.

Maybe our five years of marriage would have been tolerable if he could make me cum once, just once. And on top of being such a dead weight in bed, he has me cleaning after his mess all the dammed time.

“Breathe Yvonne”. I murmured to myself.

“I cannot believe her husband would treat her like that,” Lucinda ’whispered’ from her corner, loud enough for the entire SilverThorn group to hear.

I pressed my pen harder into the paper, it punctured a hole.

“I honestly don't know how they survived living together. I would have stabbed him in the chest if I was Yvonne.” another of my nosy coworkers, Daisy, added.

I shook my head with a bitter laugh.

Five years ago, something happened, something that had my father's life hanging on a thread. I was his way out, his offer to Edgar's father. I became Mrs Baxter not out of love, not out of choice, but for sacrifice.

After our marriage, I had hoped that Edgar would give me a little respect and reverence as his wife, till the days turned into months and months into five years. I've realized that he's too much of a narcissist, too full of himself to care about anyone else.

“Bye Yvonne. Don't stay here all night.” Lucinda snarked as she walked out of the office we shared. Daisy followed behind her, giving me a pitying smile.

I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to the piles of paper spread in front of me. I couldn't care less about Lucinda and Daisy. It was nothing compared to putting up with Edgar condescending.

≈

I checked my watch to see that two hours had passed since Edgar gave me his work to handle. Just a little more, I wrote the report he was supposed to present in the next meeting and finished up the logistics.

Done

I pushed back in my chair with a sigh, taking in the Seattle night skyline, then I grabbed my coat, and made my way out; it was time to go back to my pain-in-the-ass husband. Since Edgar had undoubtedly left.

Minutes later, I came home to find Edgar sprawled on the couch, his legs on the coffee table.

“You’re back,” he said without looking at me, grabbing the last slice of pizza. An empty can of soda, a pack of sushi, and a box of pizza littered the living room.

“SCORE! ” he cheered at the TV

I fisted my hands and walked past him into the kitchen, where I was met with a sink full of dirty dishes. A headache began throbbing in my head, how hard would it be to load the dishwasher?

My shoulders slumped with my tired sigh as I washed them but it wasn't just the dishes, the whole house was a mess

Dirty socks on the rug, a hallway lined with his shoes, and his dammed clothes still on the bed. I blinked, Edgar had come back home nearly three hours before me.

My eyes stung; I pressed the heel of my palm into them, keeping the tears away.

I did the laundry, kept his shoes, and took out the trash. Vacuumed the hallway and tidied the bedroom. Fixed the sheets. Folded his damn clothes.

All Again.

Then I entered the bathroom, ready for a long hot shower to wash my sufferings away, when something caught my eye in the bathroom trash can. My chest squeezed so tightly that my heart could have shrunk.

Because right there was a disposed condom—used.

My throat closed and the tears I've been fighting back since the office, heck, since all my life, rushed out like a broken dam. I clenched my jaw in anger.

I suspected Edgar was unfaithful, but that has been an assumption, as horrible as our sex was, we still had it occasionally.

But he was cheating. That's where I drew the line.

I didn't know how long I stood there staring at it, with tears of anger and betrayal streaming down my face, but after a while, something snapped. I did what I should have done years ago, I walked out

“Buy some snacks on your way back” Edgar hollered as I slammed the door, not even bothered where his wife was headed at this late hour.

I didn’t know where I was going, only that I couldn’t stay another second in that house. Tears blurred my vision, the cold air made my fingers numb. I wiped my eyes, my shoulders shook with my sobs.

“Stupid me for staying. Stupid me for not choosing my peace and happiness. Stupid me for believing he could give me the bare minimum of loyalty.”

I kept cursing and crying until I bumped into a solid wall.

Warm hands reached out to steady me before I fell. Not a wall, a body. A strong warm body.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, looked up, and stopped breathing.

“Are you alright?” he asked in a voice that chased the spring cold away.

Words evaded me, his navy eyes bore into mine like they could see my soul. He was handsome in a way that was unfair. Sharp, lethal face, stubble that added to his rugged masculinity, and a scent of spice and something expensive.

I opened my mouth, but only a broken sob came out. My lips quivered. More tears welled in my eyes.

Stupid me to cry in front of him. He didn't let me go, though; he held me tighter, and when he pulled me into a hug, he patted my back like we’d known for years. My heart couldn't resist.

I broke, to a hundred tiny pieces. Everything hurt, my life hurt. He felt warm and big and safe.

The weight of five miserable years crushed me in the chest. I let myself collapse into the arms of the man who felt like the closest thing to home I've had in a long, long time.