Instead, I just lay there with my wife in my arms, feeling like I was cheating the universe somehow. Like if I moved too fast or breathed too loud, someone would come knocking to remind me this wasn’t how our relationship was supposed to work.
We were both still naked under the covers, sharing a bed now more often than not, and I wasstillfucking in awe of the fact that she’d ever stayed over at all. She’d seemed so dead set against anything like this back at the beginning, yet neither of us had fought it very hard.
Inevitably, my gaze skipped down to her, my gorgeous wife sleeping beside me on a Saturday morning. She shifted, murmured something unintelligible, and her fingers flexed against my skin.
In a wicked twist of fate, that was all it took to turn me on these days. These days, I was in a near-constant state of intense desire. Back in my early days as CEO after my father had retired,I’d rarely had time for anything that even vaguely resembled sex, even with myself.
Hell, I’d barely had time to eat, let alone worry about my social life—or lack thereof. But with Jane by my side, I really couldn’t get enough.
It was absolutely ridiculous and utterly awesome.Newly married life, man. Gotta love it.
As she curled further into me, any ideas I’d had about letting her sleep evaporated. Bending my head closer to hers, I kissed her temple, then her cheek, and then, because I had the impulse control of a man who’d very recently discovered happiness, I moved my lips to the corner of her mouth.
She smiled before she even fully woke up, her eyes still closed as she mumbled, “If you’re trying to wake me up…”
“I am, but only a little.”
One of her beautiful eyes cracked open, the gray light and silvery this morning. “You’re terrible.”
“Only for you.” I kissed her again, slow and lazy, nothing urgent about it.
Her hand slid up my arm, her nails dragging lightly over my skin. She rolled toward me with a sigh that felt like a reward. Since it was Saturday, we didn’t rush. There was no clock ticking in my head, no schedule pressing down on either of us, and no disaster waiting to happen on our desks.
She moaned into my mouth when I slid my hand between her legs, holding me tighter and moving with me when I finally sank inside her. Tangled up together and content after, she rested her chin on my chest and traced idle shapes over my skin.
“What do you want to do today?” I asked as words re-entered the equation. “Any plans?”
She groaned softly. “You’re ruining the vibe.”
“I’m planning ahead. It’s a skill.”
“My brothers are flying in,” she reminded me, her eyes half-lidded and sleepy. “We’re having dinner with them tonight.”
Right. Reality. Welcome back.I nodded, even though I’d rather pretend we could stay in bed until the world forgot all about us.
“We have hours, though,” she said like she knew exactly where my head had gone. “That’s plenty of time before we have to start getting ready.”
I dropped a kiss on top of her head. “Good. I might need that long to recover.”
She let out a lazy chuckle and we ended up staying in bed longer than we should have, eventually just talking about random things to avoid having to get up. She told me stories about her brothers and I told her about the first apartment I’d ever lived in after college.
“Let me guess,” she said, smiling up at me. “You had exactly one chair and a mattress on the floor?”
I scoffed. “No. What do you take me for, a heathen? I hired an interior designer a month before I moved in and had him furnish the place for me. It did take me about a week to figure out how to work the coffee machine, though.”
She let out a soft but disbelieving chuckle. “Of course. The mighty Alex Westwood would never live like any other young, single guy who’s just graduated college and only knows how to make ramen.”
“How do you make ramen?” I asked, stone-faced.
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
When I couldn’t keep the straight face anymore, I burst out laughing. “Come on, obviously, I know how to make ramen. Like you said, I was a young, single guy. It’s a rite of passage, learning how to cook that stuff.”
Her nose scrunched up a little. “A rite of passage? I thought it was just kind of common knowledge.”
I shrugged. “Same thing.”
She chuckled, then told me about the first time she’d shown her brothers how to make their own noodles. At some point during the story, however, when she looked at me again, her expression became thoughtful.
