Page 22 of Dirty Rotten Cheating Husband

Fucking bingo.

This asshole wanted to fuck me.

For a moment, there was silence in the kitchen as I glared at Grayson where he stood with a cup in his hand at the sink.

Then the tea cup in his hand shattered, porcelain fragments exploding like shrapnel all into the kitchen sink, down his pants, and on the floor.

“Oh fuck, Clementine, I’m so sorry,” he said immediately.

“Clean it up then,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, my breasts pressed higher, their heavy soft weight resting on my forearms.

He hesitated for a moment, then turned around, his bulk big and imposing in the kitchen.

There’s one problem with those departmental khaki pants they all wear.

It’s very hard to hide a big-ass boner in them.

He held my eyes, but I could tell from the faint flush in his cheeks that he knew I had seen it.

“What do you think you’re doing with that?” I snapped, pointing down at his penis.

“I—Clementine, I’m sorry.”

He bent down to carefully pick up the dozens of shards of the shattered tea cup.

“I’ll replace this, I swear.”

Rolling my eyes, I huffed and marched to the door.

“Boy, if you think I’m going to give you easy pussy just because you come back here and do the dishes once, you’re fucking delusional. Give it up and leave. I don’t want you here. I’m not going to make this easy on you.”

CHAPTER 10

Grayson

At first, I was seething with embarrassment and fury.

Clementine had pointed at the couch, then gone into her bedroom and hadn’t come back out.

I had been counting on her coming out so I could explain things better. It was hard to explain things with a boner.

It wasn’t about easy pussy. If I wanted easy pussy I could get it with one fucking text.

It was about doing the right thing.

I shifted uncomfortably on the narrow couch. It was so small that my legs and feet were hanging off the end.

She’d like me to give up and go, wouldn’t she? I thought grimly to myself.

So why wouldn’t I accept it? Leave and go back to my own comfortable condo downtown, where I could sleep in a huge king-sized bed and text any random woman in my phone and most likely have her there within ten minutes.

And she’d be a lot less work than Clementine, who looked at me like I was nothing better than a piece of gum on the bottom of her shoe.

So why didn’t I leave?

Clementine’s words had penetrated the protective bubble of my self-importance. My ironclad belief in my honor and duty.

If there was one thing I thought I lived my life by, it was that I did what was right, pursued justice fairly and honorably, no matter who or what I was pursuing.

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