MERET "Harder, Meret. Tell me you want it." The voice was low, thick with a gravelly friction that vibrated straight through the crown of my head to the small of my back. "Does your husband have any idea what you dream about while sleeping next to him?" His thumb dragged across my lower lip, slick with my own breath, before his weight pinned me back against the leather. Broad hands. Merciless grip. The sharp tang of expensive sandalwood and dark whiskey filled every corner of my lungs. "He has no clue what I'm about to do to you." I gasped, arching up to meet the punishing rhythm of his hips— My eyes snapped open. A cool breeze cut through the bedroom blinds like a harsh, unwelcome glare. Next to me lay my husband, deeply asleep. There were no heavy hands. No leather desk. Just the lingering ache of an unsatisfied pulse between my thighs. Fuck. Six months. Six whole months of waking up tangled in the same sheets, flushed, breathless, and pathetic. Most mar
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