“Stop squirming.” He was trying to rinse my hair, but because I was sitting next to him, the water kept splashing back in his face. “Fuck it.” He lifted me onto his lap, pulled my arms away from my breasts, and we sat chest to chest. “Bend your head down. Hold still.”

Water rained down on my scalp. He was massively aroused. Even if I hadn’t felt him underneath, which was impossible, I could have sensed it by the change in his breathing alone. I had been there a thousand times before. He wasn’t even trying to ignore it, to pretend it wasn’t happening. I tried to avoid his eyes, but he pulled my chin upward and gave me that look.

Oh God! I should have expected it, but it still came as a shock. You’d think that surrounded by bevies of beauties, he’d find something other than a forty-two-year-old woman with a purple face from black eyes, a wired jaw, a broken arm, and bruises to stir him up.

I thought, Nothing I haven’t done before.

I gave him the nod.

It took all of thirty seconds.

Immediately, he shut off the water and lifted me up as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He brought me to the bed. “Turn around.”

“Chris—”

“Turn around.”

“Chris, please—”

“Turn the fuck around!”

He flipped me over and entered me from the back, pushing in as roughly as he could. “Stop, you’re hurting me!” Deaf ears. “You’re hurting me!” Instead he jammed my head against the pillow and kept at it, harder and harder until I began to cramp. Tears formed in my eyes. “Please, stop it … stop.” A pause. “Please.”

Eventually, I grew quiet. I don’t know how long it took, but it seemed like forever until finally he gave a massive shove. When he pulled out, I curled up in a ball, trying to stem the horrible spasms from my insides. He wouldn’t even let me do that in peace. He rolled me on my back, his knees on either side of my hips. He pinned my arms down. Staring at me, his face was a mask of fury. He was still naked, dripping with water and probably sweat.

“How long?” he whispered.

I was completely confused. “Wha …”

“How! Long!” A pause. “Six months? A year?”

Ah. The affair. My head was reeling. I felt sick to my stomach. “Two—”

“Two years?”

“Two months.”

“Two months?”

I was struggling futilely in his grip. When he finally let go of my hands, I pushed him away, curling back into the fetal position, trying to pull the bedcovers over my body. But they wouldn’t budge because he was on top of them. I started shivering like a wet newborn pup.

“He knocked you up after two months?” He rolled me on my back again, staring at me. “How many times did you fuck him?”