Why am I downplaying it in front of him? It’s a hobby only, but I don’t need to hide it. When I told him about it the first time, he didn’t mock me.
“Will you ever let me read them?”
I stop on my way to get my coffee. “You want to read a children’s story?”
He shrugs, putting on his shirt. “Or all of them.”
I lean in the doorway and watch him getting dressed. It’s become a little ritual for me every morning.
One would think that undressing him is more interesting, but somehow, seeing his purposeful preparation for a day ahead is inspiring.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he looks like a sex god, dressed or not, but I love his morning energy when he’s getting ready to take on the world.
“Maybe one day.”
He smiles at me. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Xander starts tying his tie, and I can’t help it and step into his space, brushing my hands over his as I take the fabric between my fingers. The corner of his lips quirks up, and he drops his hands.
I realize this is just me helping him with his tie. Buthe doesn’t need my help. My helping him slows down his morning preparation. But somehow, this feels like he’s letting me in, trusting me, surrendering to this thing between us that is blooming beyond our intentions.
I take my time—sliding the fabric through, looping it slow, forming the knot. There’s something sacred about the quiet hush between us, the closeness. The way he lets me do this.
I reach to adjust his collar, my fingers grazing the warm skin just above the fabric. His gaze on me is steady, waiting, a little dark with something unspoken.
“I like our mornings,” I say, pushing to my tiptoes and pressing my lips against his.
Xander wraps his arms around me and takes over the kiss as he usually does. It’s slow and sensual, like he has nowhere else to be but here.
“I like our mornings too. And all other hours of the day.” He keeps his forehead on mine, and we just stand there for a moment.
Time is on our side in instances like this. No long hours at his office. No burden of the bistro. No financial gap. No age gap, ailing father, cheating exes, or estranged families with blackmailing dads.
And most of all, no contracts and arranged marriages.
It’s us. Plain. Simple. Happy.
“You’re going to be late.” I step back reluctantly.
“I can still have coffee with you.” He slaps my ass gently, beckoning me toward the kitchen.
He prepares two coffees for us in a super-complicated, ridiculously expensive coffee machine he had delivered the day after he moved in.
“How is the bistro coming along?” He passes me my cup.
I let out a long breath. “Are you asking as the investor or as my husband?”
“I’m well-informed as an investor. I’m asking my wife.” He takes a sip.
“The transformation is substantial, and I’m not sure…” I trail off, not clear what it is I’m feeling.
“If it’s too much… You’re in charge, Cora.”
I chuckle. “You haven’t met Tessa yet. The changes are the right ones. I’m just… I guess I’m not an easily adaptable person.”
He kisses my hair. “You adapted well enough to my cock.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m grateful he turned this conversation into a jest. It’s like he always senses when I need more time, and just gives it to me.
