I don’t answer, already stepping onto the path, rolling my shoulders as I slow to a stop. “Stretch first,” I say, glancing back at him.
We move through the motions side by side, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves.
Then I set off at an easy pace, leading him down the familiar route—the one worn into me as much as the ground beneath our feet. Gravel crunches softly as we pass along the edge of theproperty, the trees closing in, filtering the sunlight into shifting patterns that dance across our skin.
We loop beyond the treeline, and the moment the house comes back into view, something inside me lifts.
A smile breaks over my face before I can stop it.
Trey.
He’s there, leaning casually against the patio doors like he’s been waiting all along, a mug of coffee in his hand. Shirtless. Grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. The early light catches on his skin, tracing every line of him.
I slow to a stop in front of him, breath still uneven from the run, shaking my head.
“I seem to recall leaving you asleep in bed.”
His gaze drags over me.
He sets the coffee aside without looking and steps forward.
“It’s cute,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, “that you think I don’t notice the minute you leave, baby.”
His hand finds me with ease, fingers slipping just beneath the waistband of my yoga pants, hooking in and tugging me forward until I collide lightly with his chest and then his mouth is on mine.
When Trey kisses me, the world doesn’t just fade, it ceases to exist.
There is only him.
He kisses the way he lives. Without restraint. Without hesitation. Every part of him is in it. Every emotion. Every unspoken truth.
When he’s carefree, when something in him is unguarded, almost boyish, his mouth is soft against mine. Gentle. Like he’s afraid I might slip through his fingers if he holds me too tightly. Like I’m something precious.
When anger simmers beneath his skin, when the world has wronged him or threatened what’s his, it changes. His griptightens. His kiss turns fierce, unyielding, almost punishing in its intensity. It steals my breath and leaves something behind, something lingering, like the echo of a storm that refuses to pass quietly.
And when desire takes hold of him…it consumes. His mouth moves with a hunger that feels endless, like he’s trying to tear through every barrier between us, like closeness isn’t enough unless there is nothing left at all.
There are so many sides to this man, my husband, and I love them all.
I don’t love him in pieces, or in the parts that are easy to understand. I love him whole.
Because he saw me when I was invisible.
He gave me a voice when I was not allowed to speak.
He loved me when I had been taught I was unlovable.
So when he kisses me, I don’t lose the world—I choose him. And my faith does not doubt the righteousness of his heart.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Trey
Best Day Of My Life – American Authors
My phone chimes in my pocket, stealing my attention from my wife.
I glance down, swiping the screen open, and a smile pulls at my mouth.
