Page 54 of The Temporary Bride

I groan. “Fuck. That’s a hell of a way to wake a man up.”

Chloe makes a soft sound against my shoulder and shifts toward me, one leg draping over mine. Her hand moves with the shift in position, pressing closer, her fingers curling slightly around my cock through my boxers, and pleasure shoots through me.

She blinks, lifting her head from my shoulder with her face scrunched up in a sleepy way that’s actually pretty fucking adorable. Then her eyes open wider than mine did just moments ago as she realizes where her hand is, and she yanks it back like she’s touched a hot burner.

“Oh my god.” She sits up fast, pressing both hands over her face. “I’m so sorry, I was asleep, I didn’t⁠—”

“Don’t apologize.” I push the covers off, not bothering to hide the effect she’s had on me. “No harm done.”

She makes a sound into her palms that isn’t quite a word. Then she drops her hands and looks at me, the expression on her face trying very hard to be outrage but not quite getting there.

“This is your fault,” she says.

I cock my head at her. “Huh. I’m going to need you to explain that logic to me.”

“If you hadn’t made us share a bed⁠—”

“You’re the one who felt me up in my sleep, dimples.”

She scoffs. “I was asleep.”

“You were very enthusiastic for someone who was asleep.”

She rolls her eyes, and those fucking dimples show up at the corners of her mouth even as she works to hold the outrage in place. She smiles so rarely that I’ve gotten used to it yet, and every time those dimples appear, I have the same problem, which is that I want to put my mouth on them. I want to push her back down onto the sheets and kiss her until she stops trying to hold anything back. I want to feel her come apart the way she did on that conference room table, hear those sounds she makes again and learn what each one of them means. I want to drape her thighs over my shoulders and devour her until she whimpers my name like she means every syllable of it.

Instead, I get out of bed.

“I meant what I said last night,” I say over my shoulder as I head for the bathroom. “I won’t touch you until you want me to—and wanting it won’t be enough. When something happens between us, it’ll be because you’re begging me for it. Not a moment before.”

I hear her intake of breath, but I don’t turn around as I continue.

“I want my wife keyed up and needy for me,” I add in a low voice. “And I won’t fuck her any other way.”

With those words, I step into the bathroom. Leaving her some privacy in the bedroom, I quickly attend to my morning routine, splashing cold water on my face and running a hand through my hair, then brushing my teeth. After a few minutes, I emerge from the en suite, feeling more awake and refreshed.

Chloe avoids my gaze as she slips past me into the empty bathroom, and I head downstairs in only my sweats. The cool air brushes against my bare chest as I make my way down the steps, feet quiet on the polished stone.

I enter the spacious kitchen, one of the many rooms where no costs were cut. The countertops are sleek granite, providing ample space for food preparation and cooking. Stainless steel appliances gleam under the soft overhead lighting, including a large refrigerator, a state-of-the-art oven and stovetop, and a dishwasher discreetly built into the cabinetry.

I lay out two plates and some silverware, then start gathering ingredients and utensils to prepare breakfast. The earthy aroma of coffee fills the kitchen as I set about grinding fresh beans to brew a pot. I retrieve bacon, oat milk, and an avocado from the refrigerator, setting them out near the cutting board.

As I putter around the kitchen, I sense Chloe’s presence before I see her. When she enters the room, I glance up from the cutting board.

She has shed the vulnerable sleepwear and reapplied her makeup. She looks composed and put together, her hair pulled back neatly, framing her face in a practical yet elegant style. Gone are the loose pajamas, replaced by more structured clothing—a cardigan and dark jeans.

I can’t help but notice the subtle transformation, the way she armors herself against the world once again. It’s a clear contrast to my own bare skin and comfort, and it feels intentional, like she’s trying to create distance between us.

“You hungry?” I ask casually, slicing the avocado in half.

“Yeah.” She settles herself at the counter. “I didn’t eat much yesterday, what with everything going on.”

“Same here.” I turn toward the stove, opening the package of bacon.

“You’re making breakfast?” There’s a note of caution in her voice.

“Sure am.”

“And are you… a good cook?”