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“Don’t what?”

“Talk.”

He stared at me.

Then nodded once.

Fine.

No talking.

Because hearing Levin’s voice somehow made it worse.

He picked me up off the counter without pulling out and walked me to the kitchen table.

Sat me on it.

Plates from earlier were still stacked at the other end. Napkins. A serving spoon. I shoved them.

They hit the floor.

A plastic container slid and followed.

I almost laughed.

Almost.

Because this shit was so fucking ridiculous.

Hours ago, my entire family had been in this house eating Thanksgiving dinner.

My babies had been running through these rooms.

My husband had been grabbing my ass in this same kitchen.

Now—

I pushed the thought away.

I couldn’t think about Xay.

If I thought about Xay, I had to think about what I was doing to him.

If I thought about what I was doing to him, I had to stop.

And I wasn’t stopping.

That realization scared me more than anything else.

I pulled him back in.

“Fuck me.”

He did.

Harder on the table. My dress bunched at my waist. His pants barely down. Nasty, frantic, no romance in it. Just him turning me out the way I had been begging my husband to for years.

I took control for a minute. Pushed him back, climbed on top right there on the table, rode him. Hands on his chest. Dress hanging off one shoulder.