He tightens his arms around me and kisses my neck, my jaw, my lips. I open to take more of him, but he pulls away, keeping the kiss chaste.
“Tonight was everything,” he whispers cryptically.
Is this a good time to ask what now? Probably. But I’m not ready for the answer. Instead, I turn away and absentmindedly wash my hands again.
“I should, um, clean up. Gotta pee after sex. That’s, like, a rule. It washes the urethra, or you know, whatever is, er, there to avoid bladder infections.”
I’m rambling about gynecological care? Really?
He chuckles. “Does it now? Take your time. I just wanted to make sure you’re good, Baby Brie.”
His hand moves up and down my back. I can’t help warming to his soothing tone.
Dex is always considerate, caring, and generous. He’s also the most amazing lover I’ll ever have.
It’s awfully inconvenient when a marriage of convenience doesn’t go as planned. I didn’t expect one night with him to be more passionate than all my previous sexual encounters combined.
“Yes, thanks. I’ll be out in a minute,” I state casually, as if I’m not completely freaking out.
Alone again, I make quick work of washing up. All my clothes are in a duffel bag outside the bathroom. I quietly peek out the door.
Dexter’s outline is on the bed, facing the middle, arms outstretched like an invitation. His eyes are closed, his breathing slow and steady.
Seeing him completely knocked out unleashes a flood of affection.
I’m also relieved. Skipping the what now conversation is a Christmas miracle.
After getting into pajamas, I kneel in the middle of the mattress and carefully pull at the bedding from his heels to bring the blanket higher to his thighs and over an impossibly muscular torso. Staring at Dex’s serene beauty, I touch the strand of hair that flops over his smooth forehead.
His granite jaw, scruffy against my fingers as I cradle his cheeks, represents both strength and vulnerability. I’m holding Dex’s face as he sleeps, loose jawed and trusting.
My lips graze where my hands have been. Knowing I can do that—kiss Dex simply because I feel like it—overwhelms me.
One night with my husband has ruined me for anyone else.
Chapter 10
Sabrina
I wake to the smell of waffles. It’s the morning of Christmas Eve and Dexter has explained the family tradition of a massive brunch before the pastry factory begins. Apple pie, walnut rolls, and more cookies are on today’s agenda. The Whitby family is full of foodie people.
The blinds are still drawn but a sliver of light streaks across the floor. What time is it? Should I be downstairs right now? What is the protocol for daughter-in-law hosting duty?
Before I can answer that question, I realize the shower has stopped.
I push off the bed to grab a sweater and pants from my bag. When the bathroom door opens, steam billows around a tall, muscular silhouette. With nothing but a towel and a grin, my husband walks toward me.
“Good morning. You were sleeping so deeply. I didn’t mean for the shower to wake you.”
“It was the waffles,” I say inanely.
He tilts his head and makes an exaggerated sniff. “I’m glad Mom is making herself at home.”
“Shouldn’t I be helping her?” I ask before answering my own question. “I should be helping her.”
Dex hears my panic and steps forward. “Nah, we can tidy up after. Let’s pretend to be asleep for a little longer.”
“Dex, c’mon, I’m sure they’re expecting us downstairs. I’ll try to?—”
