The Reckoning - David Williams - 5

Claire sat curled up in her favorite chair, her hands wrapped around a glass of wine she hadn't taken a sip from. The words from the gym still rattled around in her head, refusing to settle.

"Emily and Jonathan were an item."

The very idea of it made her stomach churn. It wasn't possible. Was it?

Across from her, lounging on the couch like she owned the place, was her best friend, Vivian DeLuca. Vivian had been her rock for years, her sounding board for everything from career moves to questionable fashion choices to the absolute farce that was her marriage. She was blunt, wickedly sharp, and had an almost psychic ability to cut through Claire's bullshit.

"Alright, babe. What exactly has you looking like you just found out Santa Claus isn't real?"

Claire let out a breath. "I heard something at the gym today. About Jonathan."

Vivian arched a perfectly shaped brow. "Do tell."

Claire hesitated before forcing the words out. "That he and Emily were having an affair when the accident occurred."

Vivian didn't react at first. She simply took another sip of wine before exhaling through her nose. "Huh."

"Huh?" Claire blinked. "That's all you have to say?"

Vivian shrugged. "I mean, people love to talk. But you--" She pointed a manicured finger at Claire. "You tell me. Did you ever see anything?"

Claire shook her head immediately. "No. Never."

Vivian nodded, as if expecting that answer. "Okay. Weird texts? Late-night phone calls?"

"I don't know." Claire frowned. "Jonathan's a doctor. An oncologist. He's always getting calls."

Vivian tilted her head. "Alright. What about Emily? Did she ever say anything? Drop any hints?"

"No," Claire admitted. "She and I weren't exactly close, but we chatted at hospital events and socially. I would've noticed something... wouldn't I?"

Vivian gave her a long look. "Maybe. Maybe not. People see what they expect to see."

Claire exhaled. "It just doesn't make sense."

"Doesn't it?" Vivian mused. "Jonathan went to a lot of conferences, not surprised another doctor went along - so maybe..." She shrugged. "Two attractive people, both married, both with plenty of opportunity..."

Claire's stomach twisted. "I never saw it."

Vivian gave her a pointed look. "Did you ever look?"

That question made her pause. Had she? She had trusted Jonathan without question. Had never thought to check his phone, never suspected he'd do something so... reckless.

Vivian watched the realization dawn on her and sighed. "Look, babe. Maybe it's true. Maybe it's not. But let's get real for a second--if it is true, what changes for you?"

Claire hesitated. "Everything."

Vivian snorted. "Does it, though? You weren't exactly happy in the marriage before today."

Claire winced, but couldn't argue.

Vivian continued, ticking off her points. "You and Jonathan barely speak unless it's about work or social obligations. The sex--"

Claire groaned. "Please don't."

Vivian smirked. "I rest my case." Then she sobered. "The bigger problem here is Emily's husband."

Claire swallowed hard. "David, Yeah, I know."

"He loved her, Claire," Vivian said softly. "And if she was fucking your husband..." She trailed off, letting the weight of it settle. "Does he even know?"

Claire pressed a hand to her forehead. "I don't even know how he'd handle it."

Vivian exhaled. "Badly. Obviously." Then, after a beat, her lips curled into a smirk. "But let's be real--Emily wouldn't have chosen Jonathan over David. No sane woman would."

Claire opened her mouth to argue but... couldn't.

Vivian arched her brow. "Even you can see that."

Claire shifted uncomfortably, and Vivian's smirk widened.

"Oh-ho," she teased. "Don't tell me you've been thinking about him."

Claire scoffed. "That's ridiculous."

Vivian grinned. "Is it?"

Claire exhaled slowly, rolling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. "Jonathan and I had David over for dinner two weeks ago."

Vivian's eyes sharpened with intrigue as she swirled her own wine. "And?"

Claire hesitated, but Vivian's knowing smirk made her sigh. "And... he's impossible to ignore."

Vivian chuckled. "I could've told you that."

Claire shot her a look. "It's more than just his size. He takes up space--real space--but not in a way that's obnoxious. It's like he knows he's the biggest presence in the room, and he doesn't even have to try." She took a sip of wine. "I like being in control, Viv. You know that. But David..." She shook her head. "He makes me feel like I don't have control, and I hate it."

Vivian grinned. "You hate it?"

Claire's silence stretched a little too long.

Vivian laughed. "Oh, this is delicious. So, what did Jonathan think?"

Claire scoffed. "He pouted, but didn't say anything. You know how he is."

Vivian nodded. "And you? You saw him."

Claire shifted in her seat. "I joined his gym."

Vivian choked on her wine. "Wait. You?" She set down her glass, eyes wide. "Claire Hart willingly stepping into a gym? Hell must've frozen over."

Claire huffed. "I do yoga."

Vivian waved a dismissive hand. "That's just breathing with extra steps. A gym, though? Weights? Machines? Sweat?"

Claire pursed her lips. "It's a nice gym."

Vivian smirked. "Uh-huh. And I'm sure that's why you're there. Not because you're fascinated by a certain primal force of nature."

Claire scowled. "David is everything I hate in a man."

Vivian arched a brow. "Do tell."

Claire exhaled sharply. "He's cocky, muscular, completely overwhelming, and that damned smirk of his."

Vivian nodded along, her expression utterly unconvinced. "Mmhmm."

Claire pressed on. "He doesn't defer. He doesn't try to impress. He just... is." She let out a frustrated noise. "And I hate that it gets under my skin."

Vivian grinned. "I think what you hate is that for the first time, you're not the one making someone flustered. You're not the one holding all the power."

Claire's jaw clenched.

Vivian's smile grew. "Maybe it's the natural order of things."

Claire narrowed her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Vivian leaned in, voice teasing but laced with truth. "That you, Miss 'I Control Every Room I Walk Into,' would be drawn to someone like David Williams? It's perfect sense. You don't respect men who fall at your feet. But a man who stands firm?" She shrugged. "That's a whole different story."

Claire's stomach twisted. She hated how well Vivian could see through her. But... was she wrong?

Claire forced herself to keep a neutral expression, but her pulse quickened as Mia's words settled in. David finishes his workouts in the sauna. The coed sauna. The traditional sauna.

She folded her arms and gave the trainer a measured look. "And how exactly do you know that?"

Mia smirked. "Because once you see someone like Davey in there, you never forget."

Claire exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the flicker of heat curling low in her stomach. "I'm sure."

Mia's grin turned wicked. "Oh, honey, you have no idea."

Claire turned away, more to compose herself than anything else. "Thank you for the information."

Mia laughed softly. "Anytime." Then, as she walked off, she added over her shoulder, "Let me know if you need any more insight into Davey's habits."

Claire rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the curiosity buzzing through her veins.

When she stepped back into the gym, she spotted David immediately. He was at one of the squat racks, resetting weights, a sheen of sweat glistening on his arms. But it wasn't just his size that held her attention--it was the way people moved around him.

Not toward him, necessarily. They didn't interrupt. They didn't push.

They just... wanted to be seen by him.

A subtle nod. A glance of acknowledgment.

She watched a younger guy at the bench press finish a set and discreetly look toward David, as if waiting for approval. A woman stretching nearby caught his eye and smiled, and when he gave her a brief nod, she practically beamed. Even one of the older men, someone clearly seasoned and experienced, stood a little taller when David passed and muttered a casual Mornin', to which David gave a simple, firm nod in return.

It was fascinating.

No conversation. No grand gestures. Just recognition. And it meant everything to them.

And for the first time, Claire wondered if David even noticed the effect he had on people.

Her gaze trailed over him, taking in the way the gray tank top clung to his broad frame, how his traps and shoulders looked even more powerful without the usual t-shirt. He was built for this--strength, command, presence.

Then, for the first time, she noticed the tattoo.

It was on his left shoulder blade, partially obscured as he moved. She couldn't quite make out what it was, but it was there--a dark mark against his tanned skin.

Claire frowned slightly. A detail she'd missed before.

A moment later, David rolled his shoulders, grabbed his towel, and made his way toward the back. Toward the locker rooms. Toward the sauna. Claire exhaled slowly, her mind replaying Mia's words.

Traditional sauna. No clothes. Only towels. Her stomach tightened. for the first time since she'd walked into this gym, she wondered what it would take to push David Williams out of his controlled presence.

Claire's heart pounded against her ribs as she stepped into the sauna, the rush of damp heat immediately wrapping around her like a second skin. The scent of cedar and steam filled the air, heavy and intoxicating.

She hesitated just inside the doorway, her pulse hammering, taking in the space through the thick haze of mist. There were two other women inside, casually sitting on the lower benches, wrapped in their towels, their quiet conversation barely audible over the gentle hiss of water meeting hot stones.

And then there was him. He sat on the top bench, towel slung low around his hips, his powerful frame relaxed against the wooden wall. His head tilted back, eyes closed, broad chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. Completely at ease. Completely unaware of her presence.

That alone made Claire's jaw tighten. She wasn't used to being ignored. She carefully crossed the room, keeping her movements deliberate, controlled, and took a seat on the lower bench opposite him. The heat seeped into her skin, the weight of the steam pressing against her, but she barely noticed. She was too busy noticing him.

Up close, without the distraction of movement or clothing, David Williams was something else entirely.

Thick, powerful legs, dusted with dark hair. A stomach that wasn't ripped, but was defined. Broad shoulders, gleaming with sweat. Thick arms and huge hands. And then--

He moved. Not much, just a simple stretch, shifting his leg to relieve the tension from his squats. But in that moment, the towel shifted just enough. Claire sucked in a sharp breath, her stomach clenching. It was the most terrifying and beautiful thing she had ever seen. Heat coiled deep inside her, and for once, she wasn't sure if it was from the sauna.

Claire swallowed hard, pressing her thighs together as her mind spun in a direction she definitely hadn't planned for when she stepped into the sauna. It wasn't just his size--it was everything. The sheer presence of him, the raw masculinity that he carried so effortlessly.

But his size...

Her brain latched onto it, unbidden, unwanted, yet completely unstoppable. Jesus.

It wasn't just that he was big. She'd known that already--his shoulders, his arms, his chest. She'd seen him in the gym, watched the way his body moved with precision and power. But this? This was something else entirely. His dick was beautiful, yet terrifying. It was alluring.

It was the kind of thing that sent a visceral pulse of fear laced with something darker, something more dangerous, something she wasn't ready to name, racing through her veins. And it wasn't just his body--it was him.

David Williams wasn't some muscle-bound idiot. He wasn't a clueless brute. He was calm, confident, self-assured in a way most men only pretended to be. He didn't ask for attention. He didn't need validation. And yet-- Everyone gave it to him.

Even me, Claire thought bitterly.

She hated that she was like all the rest, sitting there, sweating in her towel, completely unable to stop staring at him, completely unable to stop wondering what it would feel like.

To be with a man like that. To be handled by a man like that. Her stomach tightened, a pulse of heat that had nothing to do with the sauna surging through her.

And then-- David shifted again, rolling his shoulders, the motion fluid, effortless. His eyes opened. And locked onto hers.

Claire's breath hitched.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't possible.

And yet, it happened.

His eyes--those impossibly sharp, piercing eyes--drank her in with the kind of ownership that sent a wildfire through her veins. He wasn't subtle, wasn't sneaking glances like some timid schoolboy. No, David Williams looked at her like he had every damn right to. Like she was something meant to be seen, devoured, claimed.

The heat of the sauna was nothing compared to the heat flooding her body, pooling low, making her skin hypersensitive to even the damp air. She clenched her fingers into her towel, unsure whether she wanted to shield herself from his gaze or sit up straighter and let him look.

Because--God help her--she felt it. Felt something inside her wake up.

For the first time in years, she felt seen. Not as. Real Estate Developer, Claire Hart, not as The Ice Queen. Not as Jonathan's polished, put-together wife. Not as a woman to be tolerated, managed, or accommodated.

But as a woman--one that a man like David Williams clearly wanted. And then-- The bastard winked at her. It was slow, deliberate, dripping with arrogance, and somehow more devastating than if he had reached across the sauna and touched her.

Her stomach dropped, her pulse stuttered, and before she could even process what was happening-- Oh, God. It was small. A fraction of a second. But it was real. A sharp, undeniable jolt of pleasure, rippling from deep inside her, stealing her breath, leaving her stunned, shaken--completely at the mercy of an orgasm she never expected. From a wink.

Claire gripped her towel harder, her nails digging into her own thighs as she forced herself to breathe, forced herself to ignore the molten sensation still humming low in her belly.

David smirked. He knew. Of course, he knew. And that only made it worse.

When Claire stepped through the front door that evening, she knew something was off. The moment she walked into the foyer, her senses were immediately assaulted by the warm, sultry notes of soft jazz floating through the house--the velvety smoothness of a saxophone trailing through the space like a slow caress. The lights were low, dimmed to a romantic amber glow, and flickering candles adorned nearly every flat surface, filling the space with the soft, golden shimmer of flame. The familiar scent of vanilla and sandalwood filled the air--a candle she hadn't burned in months, one she had once loved.

Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she stepped further inside, her eyes narrowing slightly. She was instantly on edge. Jonathan was home. Not just home--already home. And more than that, he was prepared.

Her gaze drifted toward the dining room, where a small table was elegantly set for two. Not their usual grand table with its endless expanse, but the intimate one by the window overlooking the garden--the one they never used. There were crystal wine glasses, gleaming silverware, and her favorite china, pulled out from the cabinet where it had been gathering dust.

And then she smelled it.

Her favorite meal. The rich, heady aroma of truffle risotto, rosemary lamb chops, and the unmistakable scent of freshly baked bread. It was catered--from her favorite restaurant, the one Jonathan never had the patience to sit through, always claiming the portions were too small and the wait too long.

Her eyes narrowed further as she slipped off her coat and walked toward the dining room.

Jonathan appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands with a towel, and for the briefest moment, she almost didn't recognize him.

He was smiling--really smiling. His eyes warm and attentive, rather than distracted and distant. He had changed out of his work clothes and into tailored dark trousers and an elegant navy button-down, open at the collar. The sleeves were rolled back just enough to make him look effortlessly casual, but polished. Like he cared.

Her gaze swept over him, but he beat her to the question.

"Surprise," he said, stepping toward her with a disarming smile. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, then gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Rough day?"

Claire blinked, confused for a moment, not fully trusting the sudden tenderness in his voice. Suspicious of it. She studied his face, her brows knit slightly, the sensation of David's eyes still lingering in the back of her mind, haunting her, taunting her with the memory of her body's humiliating betrayal.

"Rough day," she murmured slowly, letting the words hang as she stared at him, waiting for the façade to crack.

Jonathan's lips curved into a knowing smile, as if he could already sense the wall she was trying to build. Without giving her a chance to question him, he gently took her hand and guided her toward the table.

"Then let me fix it," he said softly, pulling out her chair with the gallant flourish of a man who was suddenly eager to please.

Claire hesitated for the briefest second, her eyes searching his face, waiting for some tell--some clue about what had brought on this sudden display. But there was nothing. Just warmth and attentiveness.

So she sat.

He poured her a glass of deep, velvety red--the bottle was already open and breathing. Her favorite vintage, aged perfectly, the kind she usually reserved for special occasions. She lifted the glass, the rim brushing her lips, but she didn't drink immediately. Instead, she stared at him over the top, her eyes narrowed slightly.

"What's all this?" she finally asked, her voice quiet but probing.

Jonathan smiled again, leaning slightly toward her as he reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing over the back of her hand. "I just wanted to do something nice for you," he said smoothly, almost too casually. "No reason. No agenda. Just us."

Her eyes narrowed further. No reason. Right.

And yet, the table was perfectly set. The wine was perfectly chosen. The candles flickered like they belonged in some romantic getaway. And he had her favorite meal, from her favorite restaurant, prepared with flawless presentation. No reason. But she let it go.

She let him pour her another glass of wine halfway through the meal, despite her protest, and she let him draw her into easy conversation. He asked about her day. He listened. He smiled at her. He even laughed a few times--a warm, genuine sound she hadn't heard in longer than she cared to admit.

It was almost enough to make her forget. Almost enough to make her ignore the subtle tightness in his jaw when he thought she wasn't looking. The tension in his shoulders when she mentioned the gym. Because, of course, he knew.

Jonathan Hart was many things, but he wasn't a fool. He knew David Williams was circling. He could feel it, could see it in the way Claire held herself differently now, in the sudden flush on her cheeks whenever she came home from her workouts, her eyes slightly unfocused as though she was somewhere else entirely.

And Jonathan knew exactly where she was. Or rather--who she saw.

So he smiled. And poured more wine. And talked. And listened. And pretended he was a man who could still make his wife feel desired. And when dinner was over, he didn't stop there.

He slowly rose from his chair and came around the table, offering his hand to her like he had done so many years before, when they were still new. When he still believed that holding her hand could guarantee he wouldn't lose her.

"Come with me," he murmured softly, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice warm and smooth from the wine.

She allowed herself to be led. Upstairs, he drew her into the master bath where candles were already lit, and a steaming bath awaited, faint tendrils of lavender and eucalyptus drifting through the air. Her eyes widened slightly, not from the gesture itself, but from the fact that Jonathan had thought of it. Her favorite bath oils. Her favorite candles.

Jonathan stepped behind her, his hands warm as they smoothed over her arms, easing the tension in her shoulders. His lips grazed the curve of her neck, slow and lingering.

"Let me take care of you tonight," he whispered softly, his breath hot against her skin.

And she wanted to let him. She wanted to let herself sink into the bath, let him pamper her, let him remind her of who they once were.

But she couldn't. Because as she closed her eyes, it wasn't Jonathan's hands she imagined on her body. It wasn't Jonathan's lips she felt at her throat. And when her pulse quickened and her breath hitched ever so slightly--

It wasn't her husband's voice she heard in her mind. It was his. And God help her--she still felt the heat of that damn sauna.

After her bath, Claire sat on the edge of the bed in her robe, still damp from the steam and the warmth of the water. Her skin glowed softly, flushed from the heat, and she absentmindedly ran a hand along her calf, brushing away the lingering droplets. Her hair was still loosely pinned, strands falling around her face. She was warm, relaxed, and perhaps more wine-softened than she intended.

Jonathan emerged from the en suite a moment later, having stripped down to just his black pajama pants. He wasn't a large man, certainly not by David's standards, but he was lean and fit, with a wiry frame that had once seemed enough. For years, it was enough. She let her eyes wander over him, studying the familiar cut of his collarbone, the slender slope of his chest, and the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants.

And still, her mind betrayed her. Because she had just seen more. Much more.

Jonathan crossed the room, his eyes soft with a lingering tenderness, though she saw the faint flicker of vulnerability in them--the uncertainty of a man who suddenly realized he was no longer her center of gravity. But he was trying. She saw the effort in the way he sat beside her, his hands deliberate as they smoothed over her bare knee and traced slowly along the inside of her thigh, parting the hem of her robe ever so slightly. She should have felt something. She wanted to feel something.

And so, she leaned into him, allowing herself to be drawn into his embrace. She let him kiss her softly--his lips gentle against hers. Patient. She let herself melt into the familiarity of it, the safe, practiced rhythm of a man who had spent years learning her body. But that was the problem. It was safe. There was no fire.

And as he kissed her, she felt her body responding, but not to him. It was David she was feeling. David's hands. David's mouth. The heat in her belly stirred at the memory of the sauna--the way his eyes had devoured her, stripping her bare without ever laying a hand on her. She remembered the barely-there brush of his towel against his thighs when he shifted. She saw the dark line of hair trailing beneath the linen, saw the brazen confidence in his eyes that dared her to look.

And she had.

Claire's lips parted softly beneath her husband's, but her eyes closed tighter, trying to block out the intrusive images. She let herself feel Jonathan's hands as they slowly slid the robe from her shoulders, his mouth pressing softly to her collarbone. His touch was reverent, careful.

But her mind kept drifting back to the sauna. To the raw, masculine energy that radiated from David in palpable waves. To the sheer weight of him--the way he filled every inch of the space without even trying.

And when Jonathan gently laid her back against the pillows and moved over her, she bit her lip and clenched her eyes shut even tighter, willing herself to stay in this moment, with this man. The man she had promised herself to. But she couldn't.

Because as Jonathan's hands slid down her body, she was already imagining David's hands there instead. Stronger. Rougher. Hungrier.

Her breath caught slightly as Jonathan's mouth pressed softly to her skin, but the pleasure she felt was stolen--from the memory of another man. She arched beneath her husband's touch, but she was arching for David.

Her nails pressed lightly into Jonathan's back, but in her mind, she was clutching David's shoulders. And when Jonathan groaned softly into her neck, she heard David's voice--the low, raspy drawl that had vibrated through the sauna, dripping with unspoken promises.

She let herself feel the heat build in her belly--the tension, the thrum of desire--but it wasn't for her husband. She was chasing a fantasy. She knew it. And the shame of it should have stilled her hands, should have made her push Jonathan away. But she didn't.

Because she needed this. She needed something to quiet the infernal craving that had been awakened inside her.

As Jonathan pumped in and out of his wife, his own mind wasn't present either. He thought of Emily, the blowjob he had gotten minutes before the accident. All of the times they had snuck away together for a tryst. But then, his traitorous brain brought forth an image as vivid and arousing as it was gut-wrenching.

The image of his wife, his tall, blonde-haired, blue-eyed lean wife, being fucked by another man. Not just any man, but David Williams. He could imagine his huge body pounding into her at a pace Jonathan could never equal drawing forth moans he rarely heard, stabbing deep into her trimmed little pussy with a powerful cock, his hard body rippling with muscle against the peaches and cream complexion of her overwhelming feminine body... and the floodgates opened.

Spluuurt! He had wanted to make the night go on and on, and here he was. Done in less than 3 minutes. He let loose a whimpering cry as that traitor image shattered his already cracking concentration, and the image of his wife with another man dealt the killing blow to his confidence.

"Oh, fuck, Claire" he groaned. His voice cracked as he felt his balls unload inside her, as deep as he could be inside her. He blew his load. He was satiated, but Claire wasn't.

Jonathan kissed her, soft and reverent, whispering her name like a man still in love.

Claire lay still beneath him, her chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. Jonathan's weight pressed lightly against her as he stilled, lingering for a moment before rolling away with a sated sigh. His hand slipped limply from her hip, trailing down her thigh as he exhaled with the contentment of a man who had gotten exactly what he wanted.

But Claire's eyes were wide open, fixed on the ceiling, her body still humming with unspent tension. Her hands gripped the sheets in silent frustration, her nails digging into the fabric as she stared blankly upward, feeling the heat in her core slowly cool into something else entirely.

Rage. Because once again, she was left empty.

Once again, she was left unsatisfied, aching, and painfully aware of the gnawing void in her chest--the one Jonathan never seemed to notice.

Her breathing was shallow, her lips parted slightly, but not from pleasure. From restraint. From the futile effort to keep the words lodged in her throat from slipping out.

But then Jonathan shifted beside her, one arm lazily draping over her stomach, and she felt it. The wetness. His wetness, slipping from her body--a pathetic remnant of yet another one-sided exchange. And something inside her snapped.

With a sharp intake of breath, she shoved his arm away and sat up, wrenching the sheets around her and turning away from him. Her entire body was stiff with irritation, her jaw clenched as she stared at the wall.

Jonathan blinked, startled by the sudden movement, and propped himself on one elbow. His brows knitted in confusion.

"Claire?" he asked softly, his voice still heavy with the lazy satisfaction of release. "Hey... you okay?"

She didn't answer. Her back was rigid, the muscles in her shoulders taut. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and clutched the sheet against her chest, fighting the urge to scream.

"Claire," he repeated, his voice dipping with concern, but she still didn't look at him.

Instead, she stood abruptly, grabbing her robe from the back of the chair and shrugging into it with quick, agitated movements. She tightened the sash at her waist with more force than necessary, her fingers trembling slightly as she secured it. "Seriously, what's wrong?" Jonathan pressed, sitting up now, the confusion in his voice beginning to shift into defensiveness. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice, the tenderness in his tone suddenly grating on her nerves.

And then she turned, slowly, her eyes cold and flat as she met his gaze. "What's wrong?" she repeated softly, her voice deadly calm. She let out a sharp, humorless laugh and shook her head. "You seriously have to ask that?"

Jonathan's brow furrowed, his eyes flickering with uncertainty. "Claire, I--"

"Don't," she cut him off sharply, her eyes flashing with anger. "Just don't."

She folded her arms tightly across her chest, her fingers gripping the robe as if holding herself together. She stared at him for a moment, her lips parting slightly as if she were about to speak--but then she stopped herself, her eyes narrowing.

Jonathan exhaled sharply through his nose and ran a hand through his hair, already irritated. "Jesus, Claire. What the hell is this about? We were just--"

"Just what?" she snapped, her voice rising. "Just making love? Is that what you were going to say?" She let out a bitter laugh, the sound dripping with venom. "That wasn't making love, Jonathan. That was you getting what you wanted and rolling over, while I lay there feeling absolutely nothing."

Jonathan's jaw clenched, and he swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress. His knuckles whitened slightly with the tension in his hands. "That's not fair."

"Fair?" she hissed, stepping closer, the heat rising in her chest. "You want to talk about fair? Let me tell you what's not fair." She jabbed a finger toward the bed. "That--this--happens every goddamn time. You barely even touch me before you're done, and I'm left lying there, pretending I'm satisfied so you can feel like a man."

His eyes narrowed, his back stiffening at the sting of her words. "That's not true," he snapped back, his voice low and defensive. "You're exaggerating."

Claire's eyes widened, her lips parting slightly in disbelief. She let out a short, bitter laugh, the kind that was void of humor. "Exaggerating?" she repeated softly, shaking her head. She took a step closer, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. "Jonathan... when was the last time I actually finished with you?"

He flinched slightly at her words but quickly recovered, his jaw tightening. "That's not fair," he muttered again, his voice harder now.

"No, you're right," she spat. "It's not fair. It's not fair that I have to close my eyes and pretend it's someone else just to feel something. It's not fair that I leave our bed feeling more frustrated than when I got in it." Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she didn't stop. She was too angry now.

"Jesus, Claire," Jonathan snapped, standing now, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "Where the hell is this coming from?"

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide and furious, her chest heaving slightly from the force of her words. And then she shook her head slowly, her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. "Where's it coming from?" she whispered, her voice suddenly quiet and cold. She took a step back, her arms tightening around herself. "It's coming from years of pretending. Of lying to myself. It's coming from this--" she gestured sharply toward the bed "--being enough for you, but never for me."

Jonathan's face flushed with anger, but there was something else behind his eyes--something wounded. And she didn't care. Because her body was still trembling with the memory of David's eyes on her in the sauna, of the briefest glimpse of his long, thick, gorgeous cock. Of the way his gaze stripped her bare with nothing more than a look. Of the power he wielded without ever touching her. And Jonathan, standing before her, suddenly seemed so... small.