Anton loathed Sundays almost as much as he loathed Greg Garrett. Sundays meant church, followed by the suffocating ritual of pretending he still wanted his wife. No stolen hours with Natasha. No fierce, gasping heat. Just Valerie and the performance he was forced to give to keep Binky from cutting him from the syndicate. They barely spoke on the drive home. Once inside, Valerie tugged at his sleeve with that hopeful little smile she always wore after the sermon. With the help of her plastic surgeons, Valerie was able to maintain her youthful appearance, but Anton knew he'd never want her no matter how many times she changed her face.

“Come to bed, Anton,” she said softly. “Please. It’s been a whole week.”

He followed without answering, already calculating how quickly he could finish and escape. In the bedroom she undressed with the same shy eagerness she’d had on their wedding night, as though their years together hadn’t dulled anything for her. She'd been a virgin when they got married and still sometimes blushed at Anton’s naked body. Anton stripped mechanically, eyes on the ceiling rather than her body. When she laid back and opened her thighs, he settled between them without preamble. Valerie sighed as he pushed inside her. “Ohhh…yes, there you are,” she breathed. “You always feel so good.”

Anton said nothing. He moved in the same measured rhythm he’d used for years: efficient, detached, and sufficient to get her there without prolonging his own sentence.

She arched under him, voice rising. “Faster, please…just a little faster, Anton.”

He obliged, mostly because arguing would take longer than complying. The headboard tapped the wall in dull, predictable beats.

“Does it feel good?” she asked, eyes shining up at him. “Tell me you like it.” “I’m doing it, aren’t I?” he muttered.

Her laugh was soft, almost fond. “You’re so gruff sometimes. I love it.”

He didn’t answer. He hardly ever did. Valerie’s hands slid down to grip his hips, urging him deeper. “Right there! Oh God, right there! Don’t stop, don’t stop…”

Her breathing turned ragged. She started to babble in the way she always did when she was close. “Anton…Anton, I-I’m so close…kiss me, please kiss me while I cum -” Anton closed his eyes, tuned out her voice, and envisioned Natasha underneath him. He kissed Valerie deeply while imagining soft, red lips. “Yes…,” Valerie panted against his lips. “Yes…oh, Anton, I love you. I love you so much!”

Her thighs clamped around him as the orgasm hit. She cried out sharply, hands clutching at him as if she might fall away without an anchor. Anton, still thinking of Natasha, came shortly after.

The second Valerie's body stopped shuddering and the image of his fantasy shattered, he pulled out and rolled off her, sitting on the edge of the mattress with his back to her. His skin still crawled from her touch despite his orgasm. Valerie reached for him immediately, arms sliding around him from behind. She pressed soft, grateful kisses along his shoulder blade.

“You’re such a wonderful lover,” she whispered, voice thick with post-climax glow. “I could feel every inch of you. I felt you cum inside me. I always can.”

He stared at the carpet.

She kissed the nape of his neck. “I enjoy our lovemaking so much. I wish we could do it on more than just Sundays. Maybe during the week? Once or twice, maybe?”

“I have a lot to do,” he said flatly.

“I know, I know.” She nuzzled closer, oblivious to the ice in his tone. “You work so hard. That’s one of the things I love most about you; you never stop until you get what you want.”

Anton stood abruptly, breaking her embrace. He reached for his discarded clothes and pulled them on without looking at her.

“You’re leaving already?” Her voice was small.

“I have things to take care of.”

She pouted softly. “Can I at least get one more kiss? A real one?” He paused at the doorway, then came back and gave her the barest brush of lips against her forehead.

“That’s all I get?” she teased gently. “It’s what you get,” he said, starting towards the door.

Instead of being hurt, Valerie giggled as he left the room. “Oh, Anton, you're so bad for leaving me wanting more!” Behind him, he heard the mattress creak as she lay back down alone, probably still smiling, still believing the lie he performed every Sunday.