I lay on my back, sheets tangled around my thighs, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning slow lazy circles. Mark pulled out of me with that same half-hearted grunt he always gave, his cock going soft before he even finished the last weak push. I’d been soaked—God, I’m always soaked the second he touches me, that slick heat building fast between my legs like my body can’t help itself—but it never mattered to him. He rolled off, sighed heavy like I’d exhausted him, and reached for his phone on the nightstand without even glancing my way.

“You’re wet,” he said, voice flat, eyes already on the screen. “But Jesus,...