I stare at the three photos on my phone like they’re loaded guns.
Shirtless. Kneeling on my bed. One hand around my c**k, the other spreading myself open just enough that the light catches the slick sheen of lube. Face tilted up, mouth parted, eyes half-lidded the way Marcus used to like when he was about to push in and ruin me for anyone else.
I typed the caption an hour ago and haven’t sent it.
Miss this? Dump the fiancée. One night. I’ll be good this time.
My thumb hovers. Marcus has been radio-silent for six weeks—ever since the engagement announcement went up on every platform like a personal f**k-you. Straight girl. Perfect family. Perfect life. I’m the dirty secret he buried under a mountain of white linen and diamond rings.
I hit send.
The little “delivered” check appears. My
