Page 26 of They All Own Me

But a small voice in my head whispers that maybe if I were prettier, thinner, better somehow, he wouldn't need other women. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. This isn't about me - it's about getting evidence. About freedom.

Still, as I change into my silk pajamas, I can't help but wonder what those three men thought if they saw me on camera. Did they think I looked desperate? Pathetic? Wide-assed?

I drag myself off the bed and grab my phone from the nightstand. The screen remains dark - no messages. Thomas hasn't even noticed I left his office.

"Of course not." I toss it back onto the nightstand. I could have sworn I heard it vibrate earlier during my pity party.

A thought crosses my mind. Wait. The burner phone.

My designer purse sits on the vanity chair, pristine and proper like everything else in this house. I dig through its contents until my fingers brush against the cheap flip phone hidden in the inner pocket.

One new message blinks on the tiny screen. Unknown number.

'Nice work with the tech.'

I curl up against my padded headboard, the burner phone's dim screen illuminating my face in the darkened bedroom. My fingers hover over the keypad before typing out a simple "Thanks."

The response comes almost immediately, making the cheap phone vibrate in my palm. An address downtown, followed by "Tomorrow. 2PM."

Before I can respond, another message pings through. "BTW, your husband's a fucking idiot. That body deserves worship, not criticism."

Heat spreads across my skin, and I bite my lower lip to suppress a smile. My fingers trace the edge of the phone as I debate how to respond. The lingerie suddenly doesn't feel quite so ridiculous anymore.

I type out "Careful, that almost sounds like flirting," then delete it. Instead, I send back a noncommittal "I appreciate that."

The silence stretches for a moment before one final message comes through: "Sweet dreams, Tatum. Your fan club really enjoyed the show earlier."

My breath catches. I stuff the phone back into my purse, but the words echo in my mind. Someone was definitely watching that pathetic attempt at seduction. Someone who apparently appreciated the view more than my husband did.

The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me. I slide down under the covers, my skin still tingling where the lace is. Sleep might not come easy tonight.

I lie back against the headboard, the darkness of the room enveloping me like a cocoon. My hand drifts to the nightstand drawer, and I pull it open with a soft creak. The familiar weight of my vibrator sits inside, nestled between an array of perfectly organized lotions and perfumes. My fingers brush over it, and a shiver runs down my spine.

"Fuck him," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. "He doesn't get to make me feel this way."

I slide the vibrator out of its place and hold it in my hand, feeling its smooth surface against my palm. It's cold at first, but it warms quickly to my touch. I turn it on, and the gentle hum fills the room. The vibration is soothing, almost like a purr.

Leaning back against the headboard, I let my knees fall apart, giving myself space. My other hand trails down my stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of my silk pajamas. The cool fabric brushes against my skin as I push it aside.

The first touch is electric, sending a jolt through me that makes me gasp. I press the vibrator against myself, letting it glide over sensitive skin. My hips arch involuntarily, seeking more contact.

"You're such an idiot, Thomas," I whisper into the darkness. "You have no idea what you're missing."

I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the sensation. The vibrator moves in slow circles, teasing and exploring. My breath quickens as I find a rhythm that feels right.

Images flash through my mind – not of Thomas but of something far more exciting. The way Dominic looked at me when we met, his eyes dark and intense. How his voice rumbled when he spoke to me over the phone earlier today.

"Oh god," I breathe out, pressing harder.

The vibrator's hum grows louder as I increase its intensity. My body responds instantly, muscles tensing with each passing second. It's like every nerve ending is alive, begging for more.

"Yes... just like that," I moan softly, rolling my hips in time with the vibrations.

I think about how Dominic would react if he saw me now – not just watching through a camera but really seeing me. Imagining his hands instead of this plastic device sends another wave of heat through me.

"Dominic," I whisper his name without thinking.

My climax builds quickly, faster than usual. It's as if all the frustration and anger I've been bottling up are finally finding an outlet. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I teeter on the edge.

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