But I grip his shoulders, looking for support as he swipes again.

And again.

And again.

“You love this,” he says, leaning forward, his lips right next to mine. “I’m the only man who will make you feel this good. Who will make you come the way I can. I’m the only one who will ever understand your body the way you need.” His thumb presses against my clit, and I moan loud enough for Nichole to probably hear me.

I’m surprised she hasn’t come knocking on the door yet, looking for me.

“Tell me we can work on this, Myla.”

My eyes fall to his as he pulls away, so our gazes lock. “Don’t do that,” I say to him, my throat tight as my body pulses with need. “Don’t use sex to change my mind. That’s not fair.”

“None of this is fair.” His thumb rubs my clit softer now, so soft that I almost don’t feel him. “If this was fair, you would tell me how I could fix this.”

“There’s no fixing it.” I tilt my pelvis, searching out his touch. “It’s . . . it’s over, Ryot.”

He pauses, his hand stilling between my legs as the anger he exhibited only moments ago reappears. “Your drenched pussy tells me different.”

“I might want your body, but that doesn’t mean I want to be married to you anymore.” Because I think we’re irrevocably broken. And that is the most devastating thing in the world to me.

And that must be the proverbial cold bucket of water to him because he shoots away from me, his chest puffing with irritation.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my need to orgasm clouding my mind.

“Do you really think I’m going to finish you off after a comment like that?” he asks. “Fuck, Myla, you’re killing me here.”

“So what was that?” I ask. “You using my body to get what you want?”

“No.” He looks away, and I know that’s exactly what he was trying to do.

“That’s messed up, Ryot. That’s manipulative. That’s you trying to get your way without putting in the actual work. And I’m done. I’m sick of it. You are no longer going to sit back and get your way, not anymore. I found my voice, and I’ll be damned if you’ll silence it.” I bend down, pick up my thong, and reach for the door’s handle just before he slaps his hand on the wood, keeping it shut.

“I have always lifted you up, Myla. With all of your endeavors. Always. Don’t make me out to be a monster.”

“Step away from the door,” I say through clenched teeth. He’s not a monster, but trying to manipulate me just then was not fucking okay.

To my surprise, he listens and moves away, but as I reach for the handle, he places his hand on it and says, “Do not fuck around on me. Understood? If you want to go out and meet men, fine, but at least give me the respect of waiting until after the papers are signed.” He flings the door open and charges up the stairs without another word.