She opened the door. There he was.Tom.
And the ridiculous fact hit her all over again—she had made an actual plan for her husband to come over tonight and seduce her.
Who even did that? Who planned that? Apparently… she did.
Desire tightened through her like a wire drawn taut.And then there was no more space.
They were kissing before the door even clicked shut, his coat half-slipping from his shoulders. The kind of kiss that erased every plan she’d made for composure.
Her back pressed against the wall, the door thudded closed behind them, and her fingers found the fabric of his shirt almost without thinking. He was warm, solid,real.Weeks of distance and restraint melted intonowandheat.
Each step felt like crossing another threshold. The creak on the third stair. The sound of his breathing, uneven and close. It wasn’t a rush—more a pull. Slow, inevitable. By the time they reached their bedroom, the air between them was thick.
Their bedroom.
The place he’d designed for them, where she’d once known every line of him in the dark.
He brushed his mouth over hers—soft, testing. She leaned in before he could pull away.
The kiss deepened, slow and hungry, all the hours of missing him collapsing into that one small space. Her fingers curled in his shirt; his hand came up to cradle the back of her neck.
The room, the bed, the light—all of it blurred until there was only the press and release of their mouths and the faint sound of her own unsteady breath.
When he finally broke away, he stayed close enough that she could feel his words against her skin.
“Sit,” he whispered.
She sank down onto the edge of the bed, her pulse drumming in her throat. He stayed standing, catching his breath, eyes locked on her like he was memorizing the sight.
Then he stepped back. He pulled off his shirt and Lauren’s gaze followed the lines of him—shoulders, arms, the subtle shift of muscle as he moved. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed.
He reached for the button of his jeans.
Her breath caught.
The light caught onred,a shimmer of lace.
He slid his jeans off completely, stepping out with a low exhale.
He stood there—broad-shouldered, unashamed, eyes steady and vulnerable in the same breath. It was startling. A contradiction that made her chest tighten.
For a moment she could only stare. The fabric was garishly red, tracing the lines of his hips, the hard planes of his thighs.
Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.
It did nothing to hide his arousal, the fabric pulled tight and obvious. It was ridiculous. It was obscene.
He swallowed, voice low. “You were brave enough to show me what you wanted once,” he said. “I wanted to be brave too.”
It was crude, it was pornographic. It was… everything.
Something hot and soft broke open inside her.
She rose slowly, closing the space between them.
Her hand came to rest against his chest, feeling the hammer of his heart beneath her palm.
When she looked up, his gaze met hers—steady, searching, and full of everything she’d been missing.
