SEX Unlimited: Volume 1 (Unlimited #1)
Read SEX Unlimited: Volume 1 (Unlimited #1) Online
Authors: Kathryn Perez
Sex Unlimited
Volume 1
Copyright © 2014 Kathryn Perez
All Rights Reserved.
Cover Artist: Kathryn Vance-Perez
Formatted by Danielle Benson
License Notes:
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This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
Dedication
For “The Minions”
The End
“I
can’t do this anymore, Candace. Things have been bad for a long while between us and I can’
t keep pretending.
I want a divorce.”
I hear the words coming out of his mouth but I can’t comprehend them … can’t absorb their meaning. Pain radiates through my chest and my head begins to throb. My eyes fill with tears and I’m short of breath as I fall back onto the edge of the bed because my legs suddenly feel like rubber.
“Do you hear me, Candace?” I nod as my bottom lip begins to quiver. “Say something. Anything. Please.”
I look up at him and a lone tear spills down my cheek. “What do you want me to say, James?” I murmur, my voice cracking as I shake my head back and forth. “
I don
’t understand. What are you saying? You don’t love me anymore?”
He closes the space between us and places his hand on my shoulder. “I do love you. I’m just not
in love
with you anymore. I’ll always love you, but I’ve met someone else and I can’t lie to you or myself another minute.”
My heart drops and I feel nauseated. I can’t breathe and the room is starting to feel small as the walls close in around me. We’ve been married for fifteen years and dated for several before we finally engaged. I’ve loved him for half my life.
He’s all I know.
Fear invades my thoughts and panic sets in. This can’t be happening to me. Another woman? How did I not see this coming? “Who is it, James? Who is she?”
He drops his head in shame. “
Desiree.
”
Oh my God! His secretary. I’ve invited that woman into my home for holiday parties. I’ve bought her extravagant gifts every year for Christmas. I always thought she worked so hard to help make his job easier. Little did I know that the little whore was doing more of a job on my husband’s dick than anything else.
The pain I’m feeling bleeds into anger and my veins pump a bitter hatred through them. “You fucking bastard!” I bolt up from the bed and slam my hands into his chest, shoving him as hard as I can. “I’ve given you everything. I’ve loved you unconditionally. I don’t deserve this!”
He doesn’t try to defend himself. He just stands there, accepting all of my venom.
“I couldn’t give you a baby. Is that what this is about? My body is broken so you go and find one that isn’t?” My chest is heaving and the tears won’t stop coming. Regret and loss are having a boxing match in my head. I should regret ever loving this man, but the feeling of loss hurts so damn bad. How can I regret something that once made me so happy?
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“
I don
’t want your sorry, James. I want you out of this house. Now. I want you gone and I don’t ever want you to come back.”
He nods, and with a turn on his heel walks out of the bedroom and out of my life. Out of
our
life.
Shattered.
Broken.
Over.
My world has been turned upside down in an instant and I have no idea how I’ll ever get it right side up again. The pain I’m feeling right now is like none I’ve ever experienced before. I wonder if he even realizes the damage he has done. When I married him, I was entrusting my heart and life within his hands. Obviously that was a mistake. A mistake I won’t ever repeat again.
New Beginning
One year later …
T
oday is the day.
It’s been one year since James and I officially divorced, and the weight of failure is pressing down upon me like an anvil. Fifteen years of marriage and nothing to show for it. The day he left I felt as if I would never recover, but time is a funny thing. It’s as if each day is a thin layer of healing salve. Day after day the pain lessens but the scar never disappears completely.
He gave me the house, but I couldn’t stay there. That was where we made our life and where I dreamed dreams for our future. I couldn’t stand being there alone. It felt like a tomb holding the skeletons of our love. So I moved into this quaint little three bedroom Tudor house tucked back onto a small secluded lot and I love the privacy. I still catch myself reminiscing about my life with James, but I quickly push the memories away. I can’t think about the past if I ever want a happy future.
P
ouring my third cup of coffee, I try to forget my failed marriage and focus on work. Work is all I have left these days. Thank goodness there’s more than enough of it to go around. The indie self-publishing market has blown up and editors have wait lists a mile long. My schedule is booked up for the next eight months straight without any breathing room. I like it that way though. It gives me zero time to wallow in self-pity. My phone buzzes to life and I see that it’s Dawn, my most demanding client. She just sent me her manuscript two days ago and she’s already calling. Rolling my eyes, I put some fake pep in my voice as I answer.
“Good morning, Dawn. What can I do for you?”
“Candace dear, I was just calling to see how the edits were going. I emailed you last night and hadn’t heard back from you yet so I thought I would give you a ring,” she says in her most annoying high pitched voice. This woman seriously drives me crazy but I put up with her because she’s one of my longest standing clients and she writes like a freight train. Last year alone she wrote seven full-length novels. Dawn pays the bills, so I put up with her constant badgering.
“Yes, Dawn I have your manuscript. I will start on it tonight. I should have it to you within the next seven to ten days if that works for you.”
“Hmmmmm, over a week. I was hoping for sooner, but it
is
longer than usual so I suppose I can wait it out.”
I grit my teeth incessantly and wish I could ask her if she has any idea how hard it is to edit a one hundred thousand plus words manuscript in under a week. It’s nearly impossible unless she wants a shoddy job done.
“Okay, I’m glad you’re flexible. I should probably get to it though.”
“All right, dear. I’ll give you a ring in a week. Ciao.”
I hang up the phone and open my laptop. Over a hundred new emails pop up and I scan through them, trying to decide what’s priority and what isn’t. Skimming through, I see an email from MatchYouUp.com and I almost want to laugh out loud. Do they know it’s my divorce anniversary or something? The subject line is ‘Are you ready to make that leap of faith again?’. I hover over the email with my cursor, ready to press delete, and then, for some reason, I open it.
What the hell? It’s not like I’m actually going to make a profile or anything. I’m just curious.
I’m instantly taken to the main website and smacked in the face with singles galore. Everyone seems to be looking for love, marriage and babies. Babies … now there is a subject I hate to even think about. The day I told James the doctor said children weren’t possible for me was the day I
witnessed his love for me beginning to drain. Slowly but surely a
wedge was formed between us and
I was never able to fix it. He wanted children so badly and my body had let him down. Shaking the thought away, I bring my attention back to the screen. So many little icons of faces and names.
Meeting Mr. Right on a site like this seems silly and inconceivable to me. Not that I’m looking for that, because I’m not. It’s been a year since I felt the touch of a man or the embrace of strong arms, but a relationship is just not something I want at this juncture in my life. I’m thirty-six years old and I’m set in my ways. I like my life of solitude. Only thing is, I do think about sex. A lot. I’ve always been a very sexual woman, and I’ve always loved sex. James and I had a fantastic love life. Sex between us was never one of our problems. We did it well and we did it often.
I miss the sensation of a physical connection. Being touched, desired and having my body brought to heights of soaking wet lust. Almost instantaneously with my dirty thoughts, a pop-up ad comes across my screen. SexUnlimited.com My brows shoot up and my curiosity peeks. The tag line reads,
Have unlimited sex on your terms, no strings attached
. Now that sounds like a deal I could agree to—no drama, no expectations, just fun.
Or would that make me a slut?
Good grief, what am I thinking? I’m officially losing my mind today. The divorce memories have me really jacked up, that has to be it. The ad continues to flash as if taunting me.
Blink
Blink
Blink
I click it.
Damn, I’m a sucker.
