Once, I mentioned it to him, and he laughed it off. After that, I became the picture of faking an orgasm—head thrown back, mouth open, loud moans, dramatic and over the top. It got so bad that became a joke to me, trying to outdo myself every time.
The only thing it did was make Sean come faster than ever, leaving me with little opportunity to even attempt to come. He became a two-pump chump, and he seemed strangely proud of that.
But all of that makes sense now, after getting to witness him pounding into that blonde. His needs were being met by a different vagina and getting off on the idea of getting caught.
My porn star act was just not enough.
“I don’t want to be a conquest, Kai,” I tell him, taking a page out of his book and being brutally honest.
“Trust me,” he starts, stopping to let out a knowing chuckle. “Scratch that. I know you don’t really trust anyone right now, but give me time. You’ll never be a conquest.”
I don’t say anything, not really convinced by his comment, and as if he can sense my unease, he runs the pad of his thumb over my cheek. I lean into it, loving the feel of his rough, calloused skin against mine. I hate the way my body, my mind and my heart all war against each other, but more than that, I hate that Sean ruined something exciting and new and exhilarating for me.
But I wouldn’t be here now if that hadn’t happened.
“Since we’re going the whole honesty route,” I start, smiling as I say, “I really want to fuck you too because something tells me you’ll be amazing.”
“Anytime you want, Quinn, anytime,” he murmurs. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Surfing tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sounds great. Good night, Kai.”
“Night, Quinn.”
I wake the next morning to my phone ringing, and it’s early. Smiling, thinking it’s Kai reminding me to wake up and meet him, I pluck it off my nightstand.
The number glowing on the screen is my lawyer’s, and the last thing I want to do is start my day talking about that whole fucked up mess. I’m guessing Sean’s lawyer called her to complain when I didn’t respond to his shitty text.
Against my better judgment, I answer it. Sounding groggy and still half asleep, I mutter, “Hey.”
“Hi Quinn, Nancy Melton. How are you doing?” she asks—formal, but trying to make it friendly. We aren’t friends. She’s doing a job, a job I hope she does well because I want this over with quickly.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. I would be better if she hadn’t called, letting me enjoy the morning surfing with Kai.
“So, I’ve got some great news,” she says, and I roll my eyes. Great news? Please, nothing she can tell me would ever constitute as “great news” unless she has a time machine, and I can go back and never marry Sean.
When I don’t say anything, she continues, “He’s agreed to everything, but he would like you to sign an NDA in exchange for two million, and he’ll have your car shipped to you and the title transferred to your name.” She pauses, waiting for me to say something, and when I don’t, she clears her throat, almost as if she’s trying to encourage me to just agree to it.
“Quinn, you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“This is a great offer. As your lawyer, I’m going to advise you to take it,” she adds, sounding firmer this time. “We can have everything signed and done by the end of the month.”
“I’m not going to do that,” I respond, and she lets out a hard sigh of annoyance.
“He’s given you everything you asked for,” she asserts, and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve hired the wrong person.
I literally asked for nothing. No money, no cut of our condo, not my car, nothing. And if she were a good lawyer, she’d know that despite signing a prenup, there’s a cheating clause in there, allowing me to fight for something more.
But this offer isn’t nothing. It’s not what I asked for. It allows him to win, which is exactly what he wants.
“I won’t sign that NDA,” I tell her, and this time it’s me sounding harsh and demanding.
My heart begins to race, hammering hard, and the threat of tears stings my nose. That isn’t an offer, and maybe I’m the only one who can see that.
“What would you like me to tell them?” she presses, again with the annoyed sigh, a bite to her words. I don’t want to argue with her. That isn’t who I am, but I’ve also made a promise to myself to no longer be a doormat.
“Tell them just what I said. I’m not signing that NDA and present my initial offer for the divorce.”
