And that was how those two weeks without Jeremy unfolded: Phoebe being fucked by his best friend in every inch of the house.

In their matrimonial bedroom, what did it matter anymore? The room had never been used to its full potential anyway. Now it was being used very well.

Damon would pin her to the mattress she shared with her husband, spread her thighs wide, and drive into her with long, punishing strokes until the headboard rattled against the wall and she came screaming his name.

He’d flip her onto her stomach, yank her hips up, and take her from behind while whispering filthy nothings against her ear, how...