Pete was the perfect husband: attentive, loving, and faithful. He might have never admitted to looking at other people once we were together—hell, I looked, so I knew he did; he was only human, and a man, at that. But he didn’t fool around.
A few years after our wedding, we lay together in our bed cuddling and I asked him, “You married a woman—”
“And a sexy one, at that,” he teased, easing a hand down my stomach to cup my crotch. We were nude, and comfortable with each other’s nakedness in a way only seasoned lovers could be. His middle finger parted my p***y lips and rubbed my clit.
A zing of desire raced through me, and I snuggled closer to him. “So do you still think you’re bi?”
The finger between my legs pushed gently, making me gasp. “Of course I am,” he said. “It’s the way I was
