Chapter Sixteen

JETT

“Are you mad at me about last night?” Rachel sets her coffee cup down, looking every bit her age this morning.

“No, why?”

I’m gonna burn in hell.

“I feel like you’re… avoiding me.” She sighs, then looks up. At least she’s taken a shower, her face washed clean of that Joker look.

“You were tired. I tucked you in and went to sleep myself.”

Yep, definitely burning in hell.

I stand, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, which feels coarse from too much dyeing, and move to the refrigerator for some orange juice.

“So what dress should I wear tonight?” Rachel tries to break the uncomfortable silence, and the fact that I’m completely distracted.

She’s right. I am avoiding her, like pretending to sleep when her hands went roaming this morning and my dick stayed soft.

I’m trying to console myself that my cock is just worn out from last night. Because, fuck, that was hot, and wrong, and completely depraved. And I loved every second of it.

The fuck was I thinking?

“Jett?” Rachel’s voice brings me back to her, and the acknowledgment that she’s not Raven. What am I doing? I’m pushing forty. This has to stop.

“You look lovely in anything you wear,” I say automatically. Spewing compliments is my forte. They easily spill from my lips: you look gorgeous, you’re stunning. Yet there’s only one woman who takes my breath away.

I need to get my head examined and think about staying away.

Her wet cunt squeezing my cock as she came, over and over, both of us wrapped up in our own world, heightened by the allure of being caught.

Not that it was unfeasible—once Rachel passes out, she’s out. But Raven didn’t know that, and fuck, it was good.

It’s a new day, though, and this obsession has run its course. I need to focus on my fiancée.

“I’m gonna go for a quick run, and then you want to go to the farmers’ market? Or do you want to nap? I can always work.” Sitting back down, I give her my full attention, forcing myself not to compare her tanned, lasered skin to Raven’s fresh, natural glow.

“How about we take a nap together?” Rachel glides the tips of her pointy, clawed nails up and down my forearm, her red silk bathrobe hanging open on purpose, so my eyes can feast on her large, fake breasts. And I do. I stare, waiting, no, praying for an erection.

Nothing.

“Sure.” I move my arm away and kiss her nose because she’s frowning. “Let me go run, and I’ll meet you upstairs.” Maybe exercise will help. That, or I can use the excuse I wore myself out with my run.

Jesus, pathetic.