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I answered my own question. “She’s a piece of art that my father bought for me to fuck on the regular. An expensive blow up doll. A gorgeous fucking cum dumpster. She’s my own private whore.”

“Banks, stop,” my best friend said in a very careful voice.

I turned. She was standing right there. I wondered exactly what she’d heard. I felt color climb up my cheeks in a guilty flush, but I told myself that I didn’t care. She deserved everything I’d said. It was nothing but the brutal truth.

“May I go?” she asked with quiet composure. It made me want to shake her.

“No,” I said, feeling cruel. “Go earn your keep and mingle with my friends.”

Without a word, she turned away.

“And Noura,” I called out, voice hard, dick harder.

She turned to look at me. Her eyes were insolent.

It made me wild.

“Yes, husband?” There was a bite to her words.

She had some spirit. I found that almost unbearably provocative.

It made me lash out all the harder. “I know this is asking a lot, but try your best not to embarrass me.”

Something fascinating happened to her face. It barely moved, but her eyes snapped at me, and her lips trembled.

I couldn’t tell if I’d broken her spirit or lit a fire in her. Why did I perversely want to do both?

“Is that all?” she shot back.

I raked my eyes over her, top to bottom. Her nipples were erect, and it was visible through her top.

Well, hadn’t that backfired in a hurry?

“No,” I drawled. “You may be a whore, but you’re my whore. Stop flirting with Bradley.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away.

“Jesus, Banks,” Preston sounded shocked. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Her. She’s what’s wrong.

“You’re going to have to get over this.”

“You’re not the one who had to marry some dumb model.”

“Do you even know that she’s dumb? One thing I know for a fact about your father, he would not allow you to breed with someone with a low IQ.”

I knew he was right about that one small point. I even knew that I had access to all of her information, from her shoe size to her SAT scores, but stubbornly I refused to look at it.

“Did you see that picture she posted a few weeks ago?” I changed the subject.

Preston nearly choked on his drink. I glared at him. That was answer enough. “Stop following her on social media, you fucking pervert,” I ground out.

His eyes tried to bug out of his head. “I only follow her because I thought it was the polite thing to do. I was the best man at your wedding!”

“How sweet. Well, stop. And you better not have that fucking picture saved on your phone.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”