Page 84 of The Bad Husband

As much as I find it hard to believe that she is playing a game––it crosses my mind, though–-is she?

Is she fucking with me? Does she really know about what happened between Damon and me?

Or is she fucking with him?

Or is she saving the appearances?

Who knows what’s going through this woman’s mind?

I watch her vanish out the door, and I listen to her heels clicking their way up the stairs to the second floor before I shift my focus to him.

His eyes are there, waiting for mine.

He’s gauging my reaction as much as I’m gauging his.

His eyes don’t leave mine as I move closer to him. My back is turned to the door.

If anyone looked from outside––including her––there would be nothing to see. I’m standing next to the kitchen island, drinking my water, when I quietly say to him.

“Don’t be late? What was that all about?”

He searches my eyes, not smiling, not giving much away. And then he listens to her footsteps as they ring upstairs.

“Damon?”

He moves his focus back to me. One hand is wrapped around his drink, while the other slides down.

“What was that all about?” I ask again, not mad, yet not relaxed and casual about it either.

His fingers trail up the front of my skirt, drawing a line to the apex of my thighs.

He stops just as he reaches his destination, presses the soft fabric against my pussy, and swiftly notices I’m not wearing underwear.

“Damon?” I silently call again.

Looking straight at me, he runs his hand up my skirt, riding up my hemline.

I grab his forearm firmly.

“She knows about us,” I say.

He lifts his eyes to mine.

“She’s fucking with you,” he murmurs.

“She left me a note.”

“What note?” he asks, tenderly touching me between my legs.

I open my hand and slide the note across the counter.

“Look for yourself.”

I point to the piece of paper.

It’s unfolded, the written words visible.

He glances at them.