Page 23 of Bound Hearts

His fingers brush my arm, his mouth dipping to place a gentle kiss on my shoulder. “It’s easier if I send my driver home and stay here.”

Relief fills me. I’d hoped he’d say that.

Alarm bells should be ringing, but they’re not.

“Completely.” My tone is neutral, with no ounce of joy coming through.

The corner of his mouth pulls knowingly, both of us aware we had only one outcome in mind from the start. Our routine is familiar, almost like clockwork. He quickly unclasps the watch he just put on and sets it on the table. I sink deeper into the mattress, rolling onto my back while he shoots off a text.

The bed's warmth is a mix of him beside me and anticipation for what we'll do together. He switches off the light. As I settle on my side, he rolls to face my back, his hand tracing the curve of my body.

“You won’t be making that Pilates class in the morning,” he whispers gruffly into my ear, every word dripping with a heated promise.

I smile in the dark, pressing my body against his.

“Night, Foster.” I pretend to sleep, purely theater, as my fingers lace with his.

“Don’t you dare.” He scoots down the mattress, and under the duvet, his hands run along the length of my legs. I’m helpless to resist, my body always responds to his touch. He lies on his stomach and parts my legs, planting a kiss and another up my thigh. My breath gets caught with every touch he gives as he moves up.

“We should sleep. We have a busy day at the office tomorrow.” My tone is playful, but thick with pleasure because his tongue swipes above my pubic bone, taunting my clit purely by not being close enough.

His chuckle is devilish, short, and deep in his throat. “Exactly why I need to destress… again. Now, be a good girl, or I will have to stuff your mouth so you stop talking.”

That’s it.

My breath hisses the moment his tongue lands on my clit. I’m completely at his mercy, and I already know it will be that way all night until we fall blissfully asleep.

And that’s a problem.

I don’t want any space between us. On New Year’s Eve, I realized something: falling asleep in his arms is heavenly. I sleep better; it feels safe.

We probably need to redraw our boundaries before things spiral, but for now, I’m letting that thought drift away.

With coffee in hand, I sit behind my desk, ready to start the day but taking a moment to unwind and mentally prep myself for a new week in the office. My mom is on the other end of the video call, smiling brightly.

“So yeah, I bought your dad an electric guitar for his birthday.”

I nearly spit out my coffee and laugh. “You what?”

“We’re not getting younger, and he’s always wanted to try. I remember when I met him and he wanted to buy one, but then, well… we got sidetracked.” She tips her head to the side with a wry smile.

My mouth stretches at her subtle reminder. "Sorry, I ruined his rockstar dreams." I was an accident, an unexpected pregnancy, and they married before I was born.

“Doesn’t matter. Look at us now.” She splays her hands out. “Retiring early and relaxed. I’m still folding his socks, too.”

It doesn’t faze me that they are a minority according to statistics of those who marry due to a baby and are still happily married decades later. But gosh, when I look at them together, I never remember seeing any moments of regret. They are love, funny, and quirky. An inspiration to many.

“Well, I’ll be sure to put in earplugs next time I visit,” I tease, setting my coffee down on my desk and opening my laptop.

“I’m holding you to that visit.”

“When I’m more settled in my job,” I remind her.

She nods, and our conversation quickly shifts from birthday gifts to the logistics of their house sale. She asks if I need to contact their agent in case I need to head to Everhope. We trade quick updates on friends before I say goodbye and start my workday.

My workday runs smoothly. I can’t say the same for Foster. I lean against Foster’s office door, hand on hip, waiting for him to finish his call.

“Easton, I don’t give a damn. Figure it out with Olivia. Marketing and HR will be sharing the budget on recruitment this year.” Foster sounds aggravated and impatient as he stands behind his desk, his eyes meeting mine as he continues to rant. He shakes his head while he listens to Easton on the other end. I only hear mumbles, but he isn’t pleased either. “Don’t let me hear about this topic again. And for the billionth time, stop calling her Olive. She hates it, and we don’t need HR pissed off,” Foster bites out as he swipes his thumb across the screen to end the call, and he sets his phone down on his desk.