“I was just trying to get my head around it. Every time we would have sex, I couldn’t come. I was too controlled—too in my head. In the end, I didn’t even want to go there. It was too stressful for me. I’d have anxiety for the next two days, worrying that I’d been too rough with her.”

I hold him tightly. “Baby,” I whisper.

He blames himself.

“She started to think I didn’t find her attractive anymore.”

“Did you?’

“Of course, I did. I loved her.”

My heart constricts. Ouch.

“We fought.”

I kiss his temple as I brush the hair back from his forehead.

“I started going away for work. I thought the distance would make us better.”

“Did it?”

“She thought I wanted to get away from her—that I didn’t want sex because I was seeing someone else.”

My heart drops. I already know how this story ends.

He stays silent for a long time, lost in his own thoughts. “In the end it turned out our gardener had the vanilla she needed.”

That bitch.

“This is why you protect her… because you feel responsible?”

“She was hurt.”

“She went to another man, Sebastian.”

“Because I couldn’t—”

“Because she couldn’t,” I cut him off.

He exhales heavily.

“Is that why you like call girls? Because you know they can take it rough? Because you know that there is no chance you can hurt them?”

He stays silent, and I know that it is.

I think for a moment, and then I smile. “Maybe this was God’s way of saving you for me.”

I feel him smile against my chest. “My sweet coffee girl who fucks like the sexiest whore I ever met.”

I giggle. “You know I can’t regret how we met, not even for a moment because I don’t believe if we had stayed together back then, we would have worked out.”

He leans up onto his elbow. “What about now?”

“I’ve been looking for a man to deliver me straight up chocolate fudge for me all my life.”

He chuckles, and then falls serious. “I’m not too much for you?”

“You’re perfect for me,” I whisper as I kiss him. "I always knew something was missing Seb, and it wasn’t until I slept with you that I found out what it was. I need you like this, I need this darker form of love making…. more than anything."

He screws up his face against my lips. “I love you. Promise me you’ll never leave.”

“I promise.” My heart somersaults. His words are so heartfelt. He really does love me. I can feel it pouring out of him.

This poor, beautiful man has been to Hell and back, all because he was too sexual for his prim and proper adulterous wife.

“I do have one bone to pick with you, though,” I say.

“What’s that?”

“That sex doll has got to go.”

His mouth falls open in fake horror. “Belinda? Spence bought me her. She’s a Vero 5000.”

I smirk at her name.

“Her pussy has twenty-four settings.” He raises his brows to accentuate his point.

I laugh out loud, and he does, too. “I’m not sharing you with a twenty-four setting pussy.”

He kisses me softly.

“But the big, blue dildo… he can stay.” I smile against his lips.

“Yeah, no. That fucker’s gone.

Sebastian

“I’ve got to go babe.” I take April in my arms and hold her tightly. God, I love this woman. I hug her harder.

“Good luck, today.”

I exhale heavily. Nerves are coursing through my veins. “Thanks. It’s being announced at 9:00 a.m.”

“You’re going to win the vote.” She smiles as she rearranges my collar. “I can feel it in my waters.”

“If I don’t, it’s a good excuse to quit politics.”

“Then you can be my full-time sex slave.” She smiles up at me.

“I’m already your full-time sex slave.” I pump her with my hips.

“We’ll go out and celebrate when you get home, regardless of the outcome.” She smiles.

“Okay.”

I kiss her and make my way out to my car. It feels so weird. Tonight, I’ll return to the house either as the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom or completely retired from politics. I’ve already made the call. If I’m not voted in then I’m walking away.

We sit in the boardroom as the votes are read out. My mind is heavily on Theodore today.

Where is he now? Did he find the peace he was looking for?

When did I last speak to him? I discreetly take my phone out of my pocket and put it under the table on my lap. I go through my call register and scroll back as I search for his name. I’m scrolling and scrolling when something rolls past. I frown, stop, and scroll back up.

Huh.

Outgoing call: April 4th 8 minutes Helena

When did I call Helena?

What?

I look at the date and frown. When was that? Did I butt dial her by accident or something?

I think back to the date. Why does that sound familiar?

I do the math.

My heart drops.

That’s the night I was drugged.

My heart begins to hammer in my chest and the room spins. I don’t remember anything about this.

Why the hell did I call Helena? And what the fuck did we talk about for eight minutes?

“The next Prime Minister of The United Kingdom is Sebastian Garcia,” the speaker announces.

I glance up to the sound of applause, completely rattled. The room is in a standing ovation. I stand and fake a smile. “Thank you.”

What did I talk to Helena about?

Fuck.

28

April

I sip my coffee as I watch the television on my work computer. The office is abuzz with excitement as everyone waits for the final vote. They’re all doing the same as me, watching the coverage live from their desks.

The footage shows the candidates all sitting in the House of Lords in what looks like a courtroom. The commentators are rattling on about who they think is going to win, and how Garcia is the front runner.