I had just stepped out of the shower when the doorbell rang. My body was still humming from the hot water, skin flushed pink, droplets tracing lazy paths down my thighs. I hadn’t bothered with underwear; the robe was thin, emerald-green silk that barely reached mid-thigh, tied loosely at the waist. It was one of those pieces I wore when I wanted to feel sexy for myself, since Joe certainly never noticed anymore.
Joe. My husband. The man who had promised me passion, adventure, and endless nights of pleasure three years ago, only to deliver the most disappointing, selfish s*x imaginable. He finished in under two minutes every single time—if he even lasted that long. No foreplay. No teasing. No interest in my body beyond a quick f*****g that left me aching and frustrated. And God forbid I as
