Free Twisted Affair Vol. 2 by M. S. Parker

Chapter 1
    Blayne
    I was confused.
    Okay, that wasn't entirely accurate. The word wasn't quite strong enough to convey how fucked up I felt.
    I was head-spinning, ass-backwards completely baffled. Perplexed. A plethora of synonyms. Each one ending in a giant question mark.
    The last three weeks had been insanely weird. First, I drank so much that I passed out, stole a horse and was tossed in jail. That led to my father, the esteemed Benjamin Franklin Westmore Sr., deciding that if I didn't fix my mess of a life – live the way he wanted me to live – I would be heading toward my thirties with no money, no place to live, no car and no inheritance. Part of “straightening up” involved getting married.
    And that’s how I – Blayne Westmore, committed lifetime bachelor and man whore – found myself standing in my penthouse kitchen with my wife .
    Livie Dusek was a breathtakingly beautiful twenty-three year-old Czech immigrant who I'd met after leaving my parents' disastrous attempt at an arranged marriage. Through an odd set of circumstances, Livie and I had become engaged and then married within a week of her hauling my drunken ass home.
    It had been set up as a business arrangement, of course. I would pay her to stay married for the three years my father insisted on and she'd added her own condition: no sex. No physical intimacy at all, actually. I hadn't minded, though she was hot enough to make me think twice. But then good ole daddy had added a little addendum to our agreement. Monogamy. Sleeping with anyone other than Livie violated my father's sense of propriety. In his mind, arranged marriages were okay, but fucking outside that arranged marriage was not. Stupid, I know.
    Monogamy presented a whole new set of problems since Livie had been adamant about no touching outside of what was required for keeping up the ruse. No way in hell could I endure three days let alone three years of forced celibacy.
    None of this was the reason for my current state, however. My latest dilemma was due to the gorgeous former model I was married to standing at the stove, looking at me as if I’d grown two heads. I'd met her last night at a club so we could talk about how we were going to deal with three years of sneaking around to have sex with other people. After we'd set up the guidelines, however, things had turned into something other than business.
    To my surprise, she’d been all over me and we ended up having sex.
    Here’s the thing. It wasn’t just 'not bad but I've had better' or 'this is going to be awkward because it wasn't that good' sex. No, we'd had 'come hard enough that I'd seen stars' sex. I supposed it was possible she'd faked her orgasms, but I doubted it. I'd slept with a lot of women and it wasn't just about the sounds. I'd felt her pussy contracting around my fingers and my cock. Possible to fake, but not something I thought she'd done. Maybe it was just the ego talking, but I was pretty sure she'd enjoyed herself as much as I had.
    Again, not the confusing part. No… that had come not more than a minute ago when I'd tried to kiss her, hoping for a little early-morning action. She'd pushed me away and acted like I was infringing on her personal space. She even looked appalled. When I asked her what had changed since last night, she'd looked at me like I was crazy. I'd had to spell it out for her, and then she'd dropped the bombshell…
    “...we did not have sex last night or ever.”
    I stared at her. I wasn't one for sentimentality or dwelling on the past, but the sex last night was pretty unforgettable in my opinion. So much so that I wanted more and that wasn't normal for me. Usually, I was a one and done kind of guy; more than that made girls clingy. With Livie though, I could still see those caramel-colored curls spread out on my bedspread, her dark green eyes full of desire. I could feel her soft skin, the weight of her breasts. I could still taste her for shit’s sake.
    And now she was saying we