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

hadn't had sex? I mean, I understood having second thoughts, morning-after regrets. That was when people had awkward conversations or snuck out for a walk of shame. Since we were married and living together, the second option wasn't a possibility. I'd anticipated some weirdness. Maybe a conversation about how last night had been a huge mistake. How we shouldn't do it again. That would've made sense and I could've argued against it.
    I just couldn't wrap my head around complete and total denial.
    It wasn't even like she'd said it in a tone that implied she accepted what had happened, but didn't want to think about it or discuss it. No, this was the rebuff of the century. So much so, even my cock was embarrassed.
    Maybe it was just a language barrier. That had to be it, right? Maybe she'd phrased things wrong, chosen a wrong word.
    “There is extra bacon in the pan.” It took a full two minutes for the words to register. Livie had turned her attention back to the stove as if our ‘I did not have sex with that man’ conversation hadn’t happened. “You are welcome to it.”
    “Liv, we need to talk about what happened last night.”
    She gave me a scathing look. “It is Livie, please.”
    My eyebrows shot up. “Sorry. Livie.”
    She sighed and turned around to face me, the expression on her face one of patient tolerance. “I apologize. I do not usually shorten my name.”
    I nodded. “I'll try to remember that.”
    I wasn't sure why it was a big deal. People had pet names for their significant others. It was probably something we should consider since it wasn't only my father watching to see if our marriage was a scam. The INS would be involved at some point, I was sure. Trying to get one over on them had some serious consequences, but this wasn't the time or the place to worry about nicknames giving things away. I had something more important in mind.
    “Livie, we need to talk.”
    “Blayne, I do not know why you are insisting on having a discussion about a night that didn’t happen.” She put some bacon on a plate with toast. “Are you sick?” She looked at me and I shook my head. “Do you wish to know where I was and what I was doing? I do not mind sharing with you if you are concerned about appearances, though it is not terribly exciting. I was working in my room.”
    She turned toward me, holding up the spatula in a way that reminded me of the cook at Dad's house when she'd smack my knuckles for trying to steal cookie dough.
    “Perhaps we should discuss boundaries regarding what we are required to share with each other. If you feel you need to know where I was, then I shall need to know where you were and who you were with.”
    She walked past me without a second look. I, however, could only stare. I knew what that firm, tight ass felt like and it made me hard just looking at it. I didn't understand why she was trying to pretend that nothing happened. Did she get a concussion from where I rammed her into the headboard a little too hard?
    Still stunned, a million questions went through my head.
    Had it not been good for her? Was my radar that off? I supposed it was possible. Or was it worse? Did she feel that I'd taken advantage of her? I didn't think she'd been that drunk, but I supposed anything was possible.
    Wouldn't she have been angry at me if that had been the case? I couldn't see Livie being the type of person to take something like that lightly. She was more of a punch-a-guy-in-the face kind of gal.
    Had she been drunk? No. I was usually really good at knowing if someone was too drunk to consent. I'd had a couple clingy girls complain after a night together, but it had been obvious they'd just been after money. I'd never taken advantage of a woman, and I was certain I hadn't done so last night.
    I walked over to the stove and took her up on her offer of bacon she'd made. I hadn't even been aware that we'd had anything here to make breakfast. My idea of home cooking consisted of reheating take-out or