They were on the bed. Her clothes came off fast. Too fast. Dex couldn't track the sequence of events, couldn't remember how they got from point A to point B.
She put her hands down his pants and started stroking him.
He groaned. It felt good. It should feel good.
So why did something in his chest feel hollow?
A knock on the door startled him. He pushed Agnes off for a second, still dazed.
"Come in."
Hale entered the room, and all color drained from his face.
Then came the disgust. Pure, undiluted disgust. The kind reserved for traitors and cowards.
"What the hell, Dex?"
"What?" Dex asked. He wasn't fully aware that Agnes was stroking his chest, tracing patterns into his skin like she was claiming territory.
"She tried to kill your mate. Twice. And was an absolute bitch to her in front of everyone," Hale snarled, not softening a single syllable. "If you weren't going to be faithful, you shouldn't have marked her."
