Bittersweet Surrender Read online

  Copyright © 2018 by Q.B Tyler

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Liz Lyons Lettering & Design

  Editing: Kristen—Your Editing Lounge

  Proofreading: Judy Zweifel at Judy’s Proofreading

  Interior Formatting: Champagne Book Design

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For the women that fell in love with the original expensive charlatan

  * * *

  I WAS A GOOD WIFE.

  I was loyal to a fault, playing the perfect, doting wife to a man I married at the naive age of twenty-one, when I viewed the world through those rose-colored glasses they warn you about. I loved him, supported him, and I was undeniably faithful to him.

  I was a good wife.

  Until one day, temptation presented itself in the form of a broken marriage and the beautiful man whose job it was to fix it. I never imagined myself capable of infidelity until the man I married lost all interest in me, just in time for another to take notice.

  Now, here I am opening my mind, my heart, and now my body to a man who isn’t my husband.

  How did I get here?

  I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience, my soul floating above my physical self as I watch myself in complete fascination. I watch as a man shoves me up against the wall of the large corner office on the fourteenth floor of a building on Clinton Street, in Midtown Atlanta. I watch myself wrap my arms and legs around him as his lips find my neck. I hear the clash of our teeth as our mouths ravage each other, our tongues intertwining furiously. His hands move out of my wavy tresses, down my face to grope my breasts. My hands slide down his torso, my fingertips dancing over every hard ridge hidden beneath his cashmere sweater. I watch as I fumble with his pants, desperate to get them down his legs. My body is on fire for his touch. I’m desperate to feel him inside of me, to feel the connection of our bodies becoming one. The arousal pumping through my veins is something I’ve never experienced. I’ve never had this kind of passion with anyone.

  Not even my husband.

  You may think you know my story, but you have no idea.

  I was a good wife…until I wasn’t.

  * * *

  Four Months Ago

  I’M SITTING IN THE WAITING area, unable to keep still, when a familiar shiver snakes down my spine and I look up just in time to watch him emerge from his office. My eyes find his and the boyish smile that crosses his face causes a spike in my heart rate that I can’t ignore. I’ve had a small crush on our therapist ever since my husband and I started seeing him last month, and my infatuation with him seems to strengthen with every session.

  Somewhere over six feet tall, Dr. William Montgomery is an enigma. His dark brown hair is short, but with a lusciousness that makes me want to run my hands through it. His sharp jawline is always covered with light stubble that I’ve spent more time than I care to admit wondering how it would feel between my thighs. His crystal blue eyes are so piercing that I can’t hold his gaze for too long without my cheeks heating in response. He’s gorgeous, smart, and exudes enough charm to talk a nun out of her panties.

  In short—he’s dangerous.

  How he’s not married himself, I have no idea. I often wonder how it’s possible that he hasn’t swept some woman off of her feet with his relationship expertise and those perfect dimples.

  “Ms. Pierce?” I stand and wonder if I imagine the look in his eyes. I’ve never seen him look at me—with such want. I shake my head, ridding the thought that this man could possibly be interested in me. I’m married for God’s sake. Why is this thought even crossing my mind? “Shall we?”

  I nod and follow him into his office, unaware that my whole life is about to change in this expensive hour of therapy. I sit in my usual place, the right side of his couch, as my husband, Matthew, always sits on the left. Dr. Montgomery takes his seat, a chair across from us, where he sits as he tries to mediate our bickering. I finger my engagement and wedding rings and look down at my lap.

  “You seem nervous,” he says, and I look up to see him in his usual chair, his right leg resting on top of his left, ankle crossed over knee. The tip of his pen is resting against his bottom lip, not quite entering his mouth, just enough to catch my attention. He exudes masculinity, sex, and virility in every line of his body and every gesture.

  “I–I’m sorry.”

  “Charlotte, we talked about that,” he says. I don’t mistake the way my heart skips a beat when my name rolls off his tongue. “Stop apologizing when you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Right.” I look out the window. A part of me wishes that Matthew was here if only to take the spotlight off of me. What are we going to talk about for an hour? “I guess I’m just wondering why I’m here… I mean…why I’m here without Matthew?”

  “Mr. Wells was not invited to this session.” I drag my gaze away from the window to meet his intense blue eyes. The look he’s giving me has so much heat in it, and yet I can’t escape the shiver that resonates through me. I want to look away, but I can’t. So, we sit, for I don’t know how long, staring at each other as I wonder if there is a hidden meaning behind his words.

  “Why?” I ask, finally.

  “I wanted to get to know you a little better. It’s been almost four months since you started coming and I feel that there’s something you’re holding back. Something you’re not sharing. I thought maybe Matthew was the problem. This is a safe space, Charlotte. You can tell me what’s wrong.”

  A safe space? Does he think Matt is abusive? Matt was a lot of things, but he’d never laid a hand on me.

  “What do you mean? I thought that’s what I’ve been doing for four months. Have you not been paying attention? What have you been writing down this whole time?” I cross my hands and lean forward, eyebrows arched.

  I am so not in the mood for this.

  “There’s no room for your attitude in here. You might be able to get away with that with Mr. Wells, but not now. Not today.”

  There’s something about his tone that causes my
heart to beat wildly in my chest. He’s never scolded me before and somewhere deep inside of me comes the feeling that I want him to do it again—and again. “What’s so special about today?” I ask.

  “I want to know why you won’t tell me what the real problems in your marriage are.”

  “I think we’ve been pretty clear about the problems in our marriage. He doesn’t want kids, he doesn’t want me to work, and he keeps me locked up in that house.” I tick off the reasons on my fingers. “I have to play this role of the doting, trophy wife and I’m sick of it. Ultimately, after five years of marriage, I just don’t think he loves me anymore.”

  I’m not sure if I love him anymore.

  The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them aloud.

  “The spark is gone.” I shrug sadly before a dark chuckle leaves my lips. “Makes me sound like an ungrateful bitch, right? He doesn’t hit me, he doesn’t cheat on me—to my knowledge—he takes care of me, and I’m complaining that he doesn’t…what, fuck me? He doesn’t want to go to dinner, or even have dinner with me. He forgot my birthday and bought me a house in the Hamptons because you know,” I raise my hands before letting them fall in defeat, “what better way to say I’m sorry?” I run a hand through my hair in irritation. “Why am I telling you all of this again? You know all of this. We spent an entire week hashing out that goddamn house and how it so wasn’t the fucking point!” My volume has risen steadily as I rant and our eyes meet just as I finish.

  “I wasn’t aware that you and Mr. Wells weren’t intimate,” Dr. Montgomery says, his hands steepled under his chin, and I swear I hear a growl escape his throat.

  “I think we’ve been fairly clear that we aren’t.”

  “No, it’s a topic you both avoid like the plague.”

  “Well okay…no he doesn’t…we don’t…” I shrug.

  “How long?”

  “I don’t know?” I let my mind drift back to the last time we had sex. Whenever it was, it clearly wasn’t all that memorable if I can’t recall. “Sometime a few months ago.”

  “And why is it that you think you don’t engage in intercourse regularly?”

  “He’s busy? He’s not into it anymore? He’s not into me anymore? Maybe I don’t do it for him.” I shrug again, knowing full well that Dr. Montgomery isn’t going to attend my pity party.

  “Charlotte, I find it hard to believe it’s you.” He rubs a hand over his mouth and I almost convulse when I notice his tongue dart out to wet his lips. I have a vision of him running that tongue over my lips, all four of them. It takes everything in me not to moan aloud at the thought. “Have you asked him?”

  “I’ve stopped asking. Whenever I’ve brought it up, he’s brushed me off. He’s given me every excuse in the book for why he won’t touch me. It’s gotten to the point where I think he’s not coming to bed until after I’m asleep on purpose.” I feel my eyes well up with tears. “Why doesn’t he want me?”

  I hear the pull of the tissue from the box before I see the white square in front of me. The couch dips next to me and Dr. Montgomery is at my side.

  That’s new. He never sits with us. But I guess there’s more room without Matthew here.

  “Please don’t cry, Charlotte.”

  “You never call me by my first name,” I whisper, the shock taking all the conviction out of my voice.

  “You have a beautiful name. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He clears his throat and pulls his glasses from his face, tossing them onto the coffee table. “Charlotte, I don’t know why your husband treats you the way he does. I watch you two in therapy and frankly…it astonishes me. Why do you stay with him?”

  “It was supposed to get better when we found you and started our sessions. I thought it would help. I never wanted to give up on my marriage…it was supposed to be forever.”

  “But some aren’t. You remember I do this for a living.”

  “We want to try. We were together for three years before we got married and now we’ve been married for five. That’s eight years. I don’t want to just give up. How do you start over from that?”

  “Staying in a relationship out of some sort of twisted idea of loyalty or co-dependency is not healthy. That’s no way to live, and you’re still young. You can still meet someone. Someone that makes you happy, that loves you, and takes you out to dinner because he wants to, and not out of some social obligation. Someone who wouldn’t dream of forgetting your birthday because he’s been planning a surprise for months; a man that makes you come alive in the bedroom. One that spends his days thinking about what he wants to do to you in bed and can’t wait for the second he can blow off work to do it. We’re all busy, but we have to make time for the things and people that matter. Charlotte, both you and Mr. Wells have forgotten that somewhere along the way.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I say quickly, and it’s true. I am trying my hardest to make this marriage work.

  “There are three sides to every story. His side, her side, and the truth. This job allows me to get close to finding out all truths, and the truth is, Ms. Pierce, you and your husband are beating your heads against the wall of this marriage. You are both stubborn in your own ways and unless you both make the effort to change what brings you into my office screaming every week, you’re only delaying the inevitable.”

  “A…divorce?” The word tastes harsh and bitter on its way out of my mouth.

  “Yes.”

  “Shouldn’t you be diverting us away from that?”

  “You spend ninety percent of your days arguing. You don’t spend any time outside the house together unless it’s for appearances, and you’re not even having sex? You’re in the prime of your sexuality. You need to be exploring that regularly. You are too much of a goddess to not be worshipped the way you deserve.”

  My eyes widen at his choice of words. “Dr. Montgomery…” I shake my head. “I can assure you I’m no goddess. I’m just…Charley. I lost my virginity to Matthew—which you know…” My mind is somewhat scattered over the fact that this beautiful man just called me a goddess. “Maybe he’s just bored with me now.”

  “It’s not you…and, Charley?” he asks in obvious reference to the nickname.

  I nod. “It’s what my family and close friends call me.”

  He seems confused by my explanation. “But your husband always calls you Charlotte.”

  I purse my lips slightly. “I know.”

  He nods as if all of the problems of my marriage can be explained by that simple exchange. “Well,” he starts, “as I said, your intimacy problems do not fall on you.”

  “How do you know?” My eyes find his and search them for any signs of dishonesty in an effort to spare my feelings, but I see nothing.

  “I can tell.”

  “How?”

  “Men know.” He gives me a shrewd look that makes me want to press him further, but I refrain. I’m silent for a second when he asks, “Did you come?”

  My head whips toward his, my cheeks on fire at the three words uttered from that perfect mouth. “What did you say?”

  “The last time you and your husband were intimate, did he make you come? Did he take care of your needs? The few times—what—a year that you make love, does he even care about your pleasure?”

  “I don’t see how that’s relevant or any of your business!” I snap, simultaneously trying to channel the lust coursing through me into anger.

  “Anything between you and Mr. Wells is my business, Charlotte.” It’s not lost on me that he continues to call my husband Mr. Wells but now I’m Charlotte. And Jesus if it doesn’t sound good coming from his lips. I find myself wondering how it would sound while he’s coming before I can stop myself. I clench in response to the pornographic thoughts playing through my mind on a loop. “You’re blushing,” he says, snapping me from my thoughts.

  I put my hands to my cheeks in an effort to soothe the fire. “A man other than my husband just asked me about my orgasms. Excuse me if I’
m all out of sorts.”

  “You’re thinking about coming,” he says and I detect a hint of darkness in his words. “You’re thinking about coming now.”

  “You don’t know what I’m thinking.” I look straight ahead not daring to look at the man next to me who’s dangerously close to invading my personal space.

  “That is incorrect. I know exactly what you’re thinking. Your body betrays you, Charlotte.”

  My mind does too. I need to calm down. Deep breaths. “How…?” Really, Charley? Don’t entertain this erotic type of therapy.

  “Well, for starters, your breathing has changed. Your eyes, which are usually a light brown, are darker, almost mahogany as your pupils have dilated and your thighs are pressed tightly together. Now, tell me, Charlotte, did you come?”

  My heart is racing and although I’m a bundle of nerves I try to convince myself that this invasive line of questioning is for professional reasons only. Nothing more. Dr. Montgomery is always professional. But I think I would feel more comfortable discussing my sex life if he wasn’t close enough to smell the goddamn arousal that is no doubt soaking the satin fabric between my legs.

  “No,” I say, the air leaving my lungs at the word.

  “Does he ever make you come?”

  Not since our second or third year of marriage. “Sh-shouldn’t you be writing this down?”

  “I’ll remember,” he says with such affirmation I feel goose bumps break out all over my skin instantly, my body betraying me further.

  “Not…often. It’s not exactly his goal when we have sex.”

  “What is his goal?”

  I shoot him a look that says, “What do you think?”

  “Don’t be daft, Doctor.”

  He looks at me for a beat before leaning against the back of the couch, still eyeing me closely. “When is the last time you had an orgasm?”

  I shake my head. “Definitely not your business. That has nothing to do with my marriage.”

  “And therein lies the problem. Your pleasure, your orgasms, your need for sexual contact, that has everything to do with your marriage. One of the things I’ve learned from this line of work is when couples stop having sex, problems follow. They try to deny it and say it’s not about sex or that there are other underlying issues and while there usually are, lack of sex is a fundamental part to the demise of a lot of marriages. As humans we crave intimacy, we crave human contact, and we crave it from the person we signed up with for the ‘till death do us part’ pact. So, you sitting here telling me that you coming has nothing to do with your marriage is a problem.”

 
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