She exhales through her nose. “Didn’t want to sleep inyourstonight.”
“Why is that?”
“What's the point of sleeping in your bed if you never come home?”
Ah. There it is.
I walk to the side of the bed and look down at her. She doesn’t flinch. She just avoids my eyes. Tired. Distant. Still holding her ground.
“You’re upset with me,” I say.
“Obviously.”
“But you’re still in my shirt.”
She rolls her eyes and breathes out a frustrated laugh. "It's just a shirt, Hayden."
The attitude of this woman is such a fucking turn-on.
“I thought you were a good girl, Martine. Good girls don’t lie.”
She glares, but it’s weak. “I didn’t want to be cold.”
I raise a brow. “And none of your own clothes I’ve so graciously provided you would’ve done the job?”
She doesn’t answer; she only raises her chin in that spoiled way that sticks her nose straight up in the air.
I reach out and push the edge of the duvet down just a little further. She doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t shift.
She wants space, but she still wants to be mine. Even now. Especially now. I wouldn’t give her a choice anyway.
“You should be in our bed,” I say.
She gives a small laugh, flat, bitter. “Then maybe try being in it sometime.”
I say nothing. She’s not wrong.
“I had business in the city,” I say finally.
“Of course you did.”
I lean in and rest one hand on the edge of the mattress. “If it makes you feel better, I spent the entire night hearing things I didn’t want to hear, and wanting to be inside you instead.”
She rolls her eyes. “Is that supposed to be sweet?”
“No. It’s supposed to be true.”
She turns her head. Doesn’t say anything.
“You’re to sleep in our bed, and nowhere else.”
“Then come home more often,” She huffs.
I stay there for a second longer, watching my spoiled brat, deciding finally that I’m tired of not feeling her skin on mine.
She’s angry, but she’s still mine to use however I’d like.
I stare at her.
