Page 9 of Prince Cheating Charming

“I love you,” he said sleepily.

“I love you too,” I whispered back.

As he tucked his dick back in his pants, the heat was still pounding between my thighs, and I pressed my legs together, willing it to stop.

If only I wasn’t so shy about telling my husband what I liked!

But he never asked and I didn’t know how to bring it up.

He carried me to the bed and pulled off his clothes, and I watched the lean feline beauty of his strong arms and flat, athletic stomach.

It used to give me a giddy feeling to watch him undress.

It’s all for me! I can’t believe it’s all for me!

But that wasn’t true anymore, was it?

Alexander pulled me back against him, and within a few minutes, he was sound asleep, snoring gently, his breath rustling the curls at my neck.

But I couldn’t fall asleep. The sight of his phone on the bedside table consumed me.

Was it a crime in Norjava to break into the King’s phone?

I reached out my hand and picked it up.

His password was our wedding anniversary. Was that a good sign? Or just a sign I was gullible and easily manipulated? I twisted my wedding rings nervously around my finger.

But I had to know.

Almost immediately I saw a message from Jewel.

Ur so naughty

Can’t wait to do it again soon

He hadn’t answered. He hadn’t said yes.

But he hadn’t said no, either.

There were other messages, too, including one from Julia. She had sent him a picture of herself lying in bed, topless, with her arm strategically placed over her nipples, her long red nails spread wide like claws.

I’m ready anytime you can get away from your wife

I felt like throwing up.

Is that what Alexander thought of me? Someone to get away from? The sweet little wife that he married out of obligation and duty.

The anger began to flicker in my belly, cutting through my pain and embarrassment.

Maybe I did need St. Constance after all. Because now I was starting to feel angry and confused. Maybe I needed the moral guidance of the patron saint of vengeance.

CHAPTER 3

Delilah

At first I thought I was insane for going to a St. Constance service. I was not a religious person, and what did I care about the Norjavan patron saint?

But I had an urgent need to get out of the palace. Even though Alexander acted no different, I felt constant eyes on me, saw the little smirks, the hushed whispers that meant people were discussing the King’s scandalous behavior with the gleeful relish only saved for other people’s pain.

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