Page 22 of His Infatuated Wife

Oops.

My husband catches me in time, naturally.

But I feel terribly empty as this forces our kiss to an end.

"To be continued," Jacques says wickedly.

Aaargh.

I pout at him, but he only laughs.

"Patience, my love."

He holds my hand as we walk, his grip possessive and almost punishingly tight.

But I don't mind at all, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

His touch means I'm his, and that's all I've ever wanted.

We're finally inside the elevator, but my torment is only prolonged when other passengers step in to join us.

Every second of not being able to kiss him again is torture, and when we finally reach the hotel's topmost floor, I feel like I'm about to cry and cry out.

Why is it taking so, so long to get to our room?

I just can't bear this.

I want him so much.

Oh, please, please, please hurry, and get moving, Mr. Time!

Jacques unlocks the door to our suite, but before I can take a step inside, he sweeps me into his arms, and all I can do is gasp as he carries me over the threshold.

Who would have thought my husband could be this romantic?

Jacques kicks the door shut and lights automatically switch on as we make our way straight to the master's.

The bedroom is huge, and the bed at the center of it is just as huge.

And that's a good thing.

Right?

I consider making a joke of it, but when my husband lays me down on the bed, I immediately forget what I'm thinking.

Oh my.

Because my husband is already stripping himself out of his clothes, and he's doing it so swiftly that in the blink of an eye, he's already naked, and I have my first glimpse of what a real man looks like.

Oh my, indeed.

I can feel my cheeks catching fire as I stare at him helplessly.

I've always thought he'd be the type to be hard and beautiful all over.

But I realize now that to imagine such things is so, so different from seeing it.

And when he moves back, and I feel the bid dip under his weight---

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