31

My husband has never done something that erotic or dirty with me. He’s never devoured me with a single stare or wanted to capture the moment on film. But he’s buried so deep inside Tilly; it doesn’t look like he ever wants to come out.

I don’t know who the man in that picture is. My husband has never fucked me like that. He’s never even tried.

“Cannon,” I whisper. “Wake up.”

He stirs, licking his lips. They’re dry, and I think about all the places they could have been.

On her.

In her.

All over Tilly.

I have no right to be jealous. West did the same to me, but I still feel a twinge of resentment and a little pang of regret that I wasn’t able to give my husband what he needed in bed.

“Mornin’, Pipes,” Cannon says with one eye barely open. He’s hungover. “I never made it to bed, did I?”

“No, you didn’t.” I can’t remember the last time we didn’t sleep in the same bed. Even when we argue, we always climb in beside the other. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I drank too much,” he mumbles as he look