I pull off my tie and unbutton my dress shirt. It’s the only one I own, and Charlie’s the only person who could ever get me to wear it.
Charlie swallows, throat bobbing. “The cat didn’t even touch your shirt.”
“Not taking any chances,” I say, shrugging it off and adding it to the washer.
When I glance back, I catch Charlie staring at the hard outline of my cock straining against my boxers.
I fold my arms, puffing out my chest. “See something you like?”
A blush rises to her cheeks. “Of course not. You’re practically naked, so it’s hard not to notice.”
I close the distance between us. “Hedoesn’t have much control over being hard when you were just scaling me like your personal jungle gym.”
She puts a hand on my chest but doesn’t push me away. “Well, you’d better gethimunder control if you plan on sharing a bed. Unless you’ve decided to be a gentleman and sleep on the floor.”
“I don’t think so,” I reply, resting my hand over hers. “I’d rather be the man warming your bed.”
Charlie lifts her chin defiantly, even as her hand lingers on my chest. “Suit yourself, but fair warning—I’m getting a pregnancy pillow soon, so your side of the bed is about to get a lot smaller.”
I dip my head until our faces are inches apart. “No need. I’ll be your pillow. After all, you didn’t seem to mind being wrapped around me a few minutes ago.”
Her lips part, her breathing quick and shallow. “Unfortunately, chiseled abs don’t qualify as orthopedic support.”
“That’s a shame,” I say, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Hopefully, your subconscious gets the memo that I’m off-limits. You were awfully cuddly the night we spent together.”
She subtly arches into my touch. “That was a lapse in judgment, remember? It won’t happen again.”
I graze my knuckles along her cheek, my eyes locked on hers. “If you say so, sweetheart.”
I can only hope that one day Charlie realizes this is far more than just an arrangement for me. I want to be the man warming her bed each night, the one she turns to when she’s turned on and needs to take the edge off.
Husband Mode Activated
Iwake to sunlight filtering through the curtains and an insistent pressure in my bladder. At least I managed to sleep through the night. Lately, I’ve been getting up multiple times to use the bathroom. It’s one of the first pregnancy symptoms to show up, and according to Wren, it’ll only get worse the farther along I get.
On the bright side, morning sickness hasn’t hit me yet. According to pregnancy TikTok and the subreddits I’ve been obsessively reading, it usually starts between five and eight weeks, so I’m secretly hoping I’m one of the lucky ones who skips it entirely since I’m past that window.
I shift to get out of bed and freeze when I realize I’m tucked against a warm, shirtless Heath. His dark hair is mussed fromsleep, curls brushing his forehead. My leg is hooked over his hip, his arm wrapped securely around my waist.
His abs shift with every breath causing heat to ripple through me. I bite my lower lip and instinctively rock my core against the hard plane of his stomach. He stirs with a low groan but thankfully doesn’t wake up.
“Bad, Charlie,” I whisper to myself.
Sharing a bed with Heath last night without being affected was difficult after our wedding ceremony yesterday. It was mostly a blur, but one thing remains vividly clear in my memory: His mouth on mine as he claimed me as his bride.
“By the authority vested in me by the state of Montana, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Judge Clark says, his voice monotone.
I glance down at the ring Heath slipped on my finger moments before. The marquise-cut diamond sparkles with the aged beauty of an heirloom. Too bad it’s not actually vintage. Heath would never give me something with real sentimental value.
Judge Clark turns to him. “You may kiss the bride.”
I barely register Walker and Jensen whistling or Julie shushing them.
My focus is on Heath as he steps forward and tugs me closer. He wraps a strong arm around me, pulling me flush against his body. My hand darts to his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. His breath comes out in short, shallow bursts as his gaze drops to my mouth.
I expect a quick, polite kiss—the kind that belongs to a marriage built on convenience and obligation. Instead, he takes my hand in his and presses a soft kiss to my mouth, coaxing me to open. I hesitate for half a second before parting my lips for him. His tongue meets mine in slow, sinful strokes that leave my knees weak.
For a moment, the rest of the room fades away. It’s just him and me—two people who can barely tolerate each other most days, yet share a powerful, simmering attraction that sparked the night we spent together.
