My husband was sleeping with my best friend behind my back for six months.
Six months of roses. Six months of 'you are my everything' while he was making her moan his name.
I trusted him with my whole heart.
He handed it to her like a cheap gift.
So when Roman Pierce showed up with rage in his eyes and proof in his hands, something in me snapped.
And in that broken, dangerous place, a sinful idea was born.
"An affair," I told him, meeting his gaze. "Real. Raw. Dirty. No strings. No limits. We give them exactly what they deserve."
He studied me for a long, slow moment.
Then he pulled me close as he whispered.
"When do we start?"
Roman Pierce touched me like he was trying to ruin me for every other man.
He succeeded.
He took me apart, piece by piece, night after night, until I was shaking and screaming and begging for more... and when morning came I was crawling back for everything he gave me the night before.
This was supposed to hurt them.
It was never supposed to feel this good.
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