And one of the benefits of an open marriage is that I can f**k around with Hadrian and can still come home and f**k Elvis without damaging our relationship.
But it’s not me. It’s never been me.
“I can’t.” I speak before he makes the move I know he’s about to make. “Not while this is going on with…” It feels strange to say Hadrian’s name. “I can’t.”
“You can’t? He won’t let you?” It’s not a mean question, but an honest request for clarification. He steps toward me. “You know it’s not an issue for me.” He sweeps my hair off my shoulder, and a shiver runs down my spine.
The kind of shiver that occurs when a situation feels wrong.
“I can’t.” I back away. “I just can’t. It’s confusing.”
Elvis stiffens, and I can tell he’s trying not to be mad. “Confusing.” He repeats the word like it’s foreign. “Having sex with your husband is confusing.”
I get it. I hear what I’m saying, and if he came to me and said no more sex because of some other woman, I’d be mad. I’d be hurt.
Not that he’d ever say that.
And if I’m honest, I’ve always been mad and hurt that I’m not enough for him, even though it was the arrangement I agreed to from the beginning.
I belong with Elvis.
We’re finally getting everything we wanted. This was why we partnered up in the first place—for our careers. For my heart. So that I could have him in whatever form I could get.
Why am I trying to f**k it up?
“I’m sorry,” I say because I don’t have any better words to give. “I’m just…I’m sorry.”
Without waiting for his response, I escape to my bedroom. Then, after having my dream handed to me with a bow, I bury myself under my covers and cry myself to sleep.
I do my best to contain myself when I give my name to the security guard at the Seymour Center. I’ve never been so eager to sign paperwork in my life. While he checks for my clearance, I pull out my phone to text Hadrian that I’m here.
Of course I blush as soon as I open our message thread because I’m immediately greeted by the image I sent him last night—me making good use of my pink vibrator—and the response that makes my blood hot, even now.
That’s my good girl.
How his praise can get me so worked up is beyond me. More mystifying is how excited I am to see him today. It’s been exactly two weeks since he showed me the studio. Two weeks since we last saw each other in person. Two weeks of my contract being finalized with my lawyer and two weeks filled with dirty, filthy sexting with Hadrian.
My body is aching for skin-to-skin contact with the man. I swear I’m already w*t as I send him my message.
I’m here!
His response comes immediately.
wr*pping up a meeting. I’ll stop by when I’m done. We can celebrate.
Hopefully “celebrate” is code for “take our clothes off and do naughty things.”
I’m so carried away with fantasizing about Hadrian bending me over the conference table and giving me his big dick energy that it takes a second to recognize my name is being called.
When I look up, Elvis’s on the other side of the clearance desk, his hand on the guard’s shoulder like they know each other. “She’s with me.”
After today, I’ll likely have my own clearance card. Elvis’s contract was signed two days ago, so he already has his. Mine took longer since I added terms regarding Shiloh. And since Elvis had put in his month notice to New Jersey Now the day after we got back from Adeline (unbeknownst to me), he’s been spending his nights at his apartment and putting in full days at the center so our show will be ready to go live in another couple of weeks.
In the past, the separation would have sent me into the doldrums, but with the tension bet**en us after my no sex declaration, the time away has been good. I haven’t felt like I’ve been missing him at all, but seeing him right now, I have a sudden rush of fondness.
At the security guard’s okay, I circle around the clearance desk to greet Elvis. “Are you here for me or is this a coincidence?”
“Here for you, sweet girl.” He gives that smile that has a tendency to make me weak in the knees.
I’m not sure I believe him since I’m half an hour early. “How did you know I’d be here already?”
He looks at me like I’m ridiculous. “Come on. I know you.” He gestures toward the elevators with his head. “Since we have a little time, let me show you my office, then I’ll walk you to the conference room.”
Something funny happens in my ch*st, and it takes me a second to fall in step behind him. The arrangement with Hadrian has made it easy for me to forget the history I have with my husband. He really does know me. Really does care. I’ve often felt it was a one-sided relationship, but when I look at it without so much emotion attached, I remember that I actually am a significant figure in his life. He’s made his profession and success his priority, but of the few people that matter to him, I’m pretty high up on the list.
And this whole next phase of our career has been orch*strated together. We’re here because we both put in the work. Together.
In the elevator, when the doors are closed, I take his hand in mine and lean my head on his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad you’re here too.”
We get off on the floor above the studio. Elvis quickly ushers me past glass-walled conference rooms and open office space until we’re in a hallway with a bunch of closed doors with gold-plated names. I recognize several names I’ve heard here and there. Producers and assistant producers I’ve looked up to in the past.
Then, finally, Elvis stops in front of an open door. “Ta da.”
I peer in at the space. It’s not huge, but it’s larger than the cramped closet he had in New Jersey. There are bookshelves along one wall, unpacked boxes along the floor and on the couch, and a window overlooking…
I run over to open the blinds and check out the view and laugh when I realize that it faces an inner courtyard housing several dumpsters. “It’s a window, at least.”
“Definitely an upgrade.” Elvis beams from the doorframe.
My heart thuds in my ch*st, as though this honor is also mine. Considering how much time I spent in his tiny office in New Jersey, the office might as well be ours.
“Don’t do it,” he says.
“Don’t do what?”
“You’re mentally sketching out where you’re putting your things, and I’m telling you right now not to do it.”
“Ah, but this spot looks made for my cute ass.” I sink into the sofa to show him how well I fit in only to discover it’s not as comfy as it looks. “Are we allowed to request a change of furniture?”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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