Page 6 of The Temptation of Truth

Yes. This definitely feels good.

My pulse quickens as I run my hand back down my torso, stopping at my pelvis and teasing the band of my panties beneath the fabric of the lingerie. In my mind, the fingers that slowly inch lower belong to someone else, and my inhale is shaky as I press on my clit. The touch is delicate and soft, so very gentle, but it’s not my touch.

It’s not Brady’s either.

That realization has my eyes flying open just as the bedroom doorknob twists, and my hands jerk to my sides. I whip around and face him as he steps into the bathroom.

His eyes heat as he drags them over me. It’s been a while since I’ve seen that look on his face.

“You look hot.”

My cheeks warm with a mixture of shame and arousal.

“Thought I’d try something new for you.”

“I’m not complaining.” He shrugs out of his shirt and pants, his penis already hard as he bares himself to me. “You can leave it on if you want.”

I take a few calming breaths before following him to the bed. I lie down, and he crawls on top of me. His kiss is rough, the stubble on his chin and upper lip scratching my skin as he drags his mouth to my shoulder. I’ll have a rash again.

“Try to come this time. It’s supposed to help.”

“It’s not like I can just make myself come.”

My husband pushes up onto his arms and looks down at me. “I read that it’s mostly mental for women. Can’t you just, like,thinkabout coming?”

“Brady,” I say on an awkward laugh. “You want me to manifest an orgasm?”

He grins. “Sure.”

My brow furrows.

“Maybe you could...um...” I wiggle beneath him, heat rushing to my cheeks once more. “Maybe you could touch me? It might help.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He takes off my panties and settles between my legs. “Damn, Auri, you’re already wet.”

He sounds so pleased with himself as he presses more scratchy kisses to my inner thigh. I close my eyes and push down the guilt. He’s right. I am already wet, but no matter how badly I wish it were, it’s not because of him.

I try to stay present, try not to admit it to myself, but when Brady licks up my labia, swirling his tongue around my sensitive spot, it’s not his mouth I’m picturing. Not his tongue or lips.

I try, I swear I do, but it’s not him I see at all.

A voice inside me scolds that this is wrong—I shouldn’t be picturing someone else when I’m with my husband—but I already welcomed the fantasy into my marital bed. I’ve opened Pandora’s box, and I can’t figure out how to close it again.

I grip my breasts and picture a different pair of hands.

I move my hips and picture rubbing myself on a different mouth.

And when I come, it’s not my husband’s head I imagine clamped between my thighs.

“Hell yeah, Auri.”

Brady’s deep, rumbling voice has my breath catching in my chest, shame washing over me, tensing my muscles. He lets out a celebratory whoop as my chest heaves, whispers of panic causing my stomach to flip.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” He notches himself at my entrance and pushes in swiftly. He drops onto his forearms and moves to take my lips, but I turn my head, so he buries his face into my shoulder instead. “God, yes, you’re so wet for me.”

He pumps as I attempt to breathe through my anxiety. I dig my fingers into his back, keep my mouth locked shut, and focus my stare at the ceiling. I don’t trust myself to close my eyes again. I don’t trust myself to do anything other than lie here until he’s finished.

When Brady groans his release, I let loose a slow, shaky exhale and plaster on a smile.