Page 117 of A Temporary Forever

Chapter 31

Celeste

Igroan and drop my phone.

“Something wrong?” Caleb saunters into the kitchen, showered and bare-chested.

I woke up with a massive hangover. A glass of water and painkillers were waiting on my nightstand, courtesy of the man who took care of me last night. Who stirred feelings inside me, and left me void at the same time.

“Cora just texted me that the building where I used to have my dance school is available for lease again.”

I’m conflicted about what happened yesterday, and my feelings jumble even more as my half-naked husband ambles over to me and kisses my temple.

“You look a bit green.” He smirks.

“Va te faire foutre.” I swat at him, but he catchesmy wrist and pulls me to him, my body molding into his.

“I’m turned on even by your swearing.” He captures my mouth, his hand fisting my hair.

All my conflicting feelings collide and explode again. I need to get off this roller coaster. We need to name this new thing between us.

His kiss is bruising and worshipping at the same time. The man is driving me crazy. He walked away from me last night, and he walked back toward me this morning, so naturally I don’t know where I stand.

Or maybe it’s just me who needs to discuss, label, name this. Me who can’t simply enjoy things the way they are.

But that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Because as much as I tried to shield myself, feelings have snuck in, and he should know.

Because feelings definitely weren’t included in our arrangement.

“Did you eat something?” He pulls away and tucks a tress behind my ear.

It’s such a simple gesture, but fuck if it doesn’t give me hope.

“I don’t think I can eat.”

“Well, as someone who has more experience with drinking, let me make you eggs and bacon.”

My stomach lurches. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Believe me.” He chuckles and slaps my ass. “Sit and be pretty.”

“Bâtard.”

“If you want me to fix your hangover, don’t speak French.” He points to his underwear, grinning. And sure enough, I guess I do affect him.

With his impressive morning wood, he proceeds to make me breakfast, whistling.

“So do you miss it?” He moves around the kitchen with ease.

It’s like watching porn and eating popcorn while doing it. Arousing and comforting.

“Miss what?”

“Your dance school. Why did Cora text you about it?” The muscles on his back contract with every move, and I would film this if I could do it in a non-creepy way.

“I do. I miss teaching. A lot.”

“Why did you stop then?”

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