“I said out of the gutter,” he laughs, though his tone softens. “I meant what I said—if you and I are doing this, we’re all in. I’m sorry if I upset or offend you sometimes. I can’t always help it. Believe me, the shit that comes out of my mouth—and the stuff that doesn’t—it’s a lot. It’s loud in here.” He taps the side of his head, offering a crooked smile.
Then, quieter, “Besides…when it’s you? Sin feels like salvation.”
The air between us tightens, heavy and electric. The tension hums, coiling tighter with every breath.
He winces. “Wait—that was corny as hell. Sorry for blaspheming. I can do better, hang on…”
His hand lingers on my thigh, warm and heavy, a contradiction that sends my pulse spiraling. I want to close thedistance—to let the words dissolve into touch. His eyes hold mine, daring me to give in, daring me to lean into the fire he offers.
I fight it—for a heartbeat, maybe two—clinging to what’s left of my composure. But it’s already slipping.
His voice drops, gravel against silk. “If you’re my sin, Dove… then I’ll break every commandment just to taste you again.”
“You’re impossible,” I murmur, breathless.
“Yet you married me,” he says, smile tugging at his lips, eyes glittering.
I can’t look away. I don’t want to.
My fingers tangle in his hair, just grazing the back of his neck, and I catch the heat in his gaze. Every look, every smirk, every subtle movement of him is an invitation.
“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice low, barely more than a growl. “That pull? That tension?” I bite my lip, nodding slightly, heart hammering so fast it feels like it might escape my chest.
“Yes.”
“Good.” His thumb drags just under the edge of my sweater again, slow and teasing. “Because I’ve wanted this since last night. Every second you’ve been gone, I’ve wanted it again.”
I swallow, heat pooling deep in my stomach, every instinct screaming for more—more closeness, more of his attention, more of him. My pulse races with the delicious, maddening tension of it. His chest presses closer to mine, impossible to ignore.
“You’re crazy,” I whisper, voice trembling between awe and frustration.
“You’re irresistible,” he counters, leaning closer so his forehead rests lightly against mine. “Beautiful, brave, delicious…my muse.”
The word muse hits me like fire, and I shiver. I want to lean into him, let him see, let him know, but he keeps me on the knife-edge of anticipation—the thrill ofalmost. My fingers tighten in his hair, nails grazing lightly, and I catch his sharp inhale. Then his phone buzzes against the stool beside him. He glances down, eyes flicking over the screen. A faint smile curves his lips. Without a word, he sets it back down. He stands slowly, stretching just enough to make me catch my breath, and takes my hand. His other hand grabs the guitar, carefully setting it aside. He finishes his cigarette, flicking the ash into the tray with casual precision.
“Come on,” he says, voice low, teasing. He leans down and flicks my nose lightly with a finger. “Chace has a wedding present arriving in a few hours and we need to get breakfast. What do you fancy?” he murmurs, that smirk tugging at his lips. “Or…I could just eat you.”
Heat rushes through me, spine arching slightly at the promise in his words.
Less than ten minutes later, socks and shoes on, my husband is leading me down a narrow flight of concrete stairs that open into an underground parking lot, which he cutely callshis garage.
“Okay, babies…” he says, voice echoing off the walls as motion lights flicker on above us, one by one. “I found you a mommy!”
The lights hum to life, revealing a row of cars that look like they belong in a movie—sleek, shining beasts lined up in polished perfection. There’s a black one that looks like it could outrun the rapture, a silver one that gleams like moonlight when the spotlight hits it, and a motorbike that looks far more dangerous than anything with wheels should. I don’t know what any of them are called, but I know one thing—they’re expensive. Really, really expensive.
“Wow,” I breathe, the word slipping out before I can stop it. “You ownthese?”
He grins, proud and boyish. “They’re the band’s, mostly. Perks of being a bunch of idiots who made too much money too fast.” He starts walking toward the far side, where a matte black monster waits under a low strip of light.
“But this—”
Then he stops. Completely. “This might be a little out of left field, but…you’re not on the pill or anything, right?”
I stop, blinking at him. “The pill?”
“Birth control.”
“Trey…”
