Page 53 of A Temporary Forever

Naked in his shower.

Okay, that one’s only in my imagination when I hear the water running.

Caleb’s ocean breeze aftershave assaults my senses, mingling with the freshly ground coffee. I’m almost afraid to turn, because my vibrator is currently charging, and I can’t alleviate my lust once I get an eyeful of the sex personified who is my husband.

Especially since our last bonding encounter on the sofa. To my dismay, Caleb somehow became more sexy, more delicious, more seductive after I suggested we take care of our needs in his other apartment. Separately.

Not that I have anyone to take there. Or that I want him to take someone else there. The idea spreads through my stomach like acid. But what did I expect, that my sexier-than-God husband would simply quit sex for the duration of our marriage?

“Good morning.” I can hear the smirk in his voice.

He’s enjoying this taunting. But I’m not getting on my knees for him. He had his chance. Oh, who am I kidding, I would get on my knees and beg at this point.

If only I could return to my apartment and never see him again after.

No awkward moments, no disappointment.

I spin around. “Good morning.”

I swallow. Jesus. Holy. Christ.

There he stands.

In his underwear.

Damn, the man is built like a Greek god, a physical perfection. His broad shoulders and sculpted chest lead to a taut stomach. His abs are so well-defined, my hand almost shoots out on its own to trace the delicious ridges and panes.

The ripple of his muscles with his every breath is mesmerizing. With his shoulder propped against the fridge, he watches me with a smirk.

“Like what you see, black swan?” He winks and saunters to the coffee machine.

Too close to where I stand. As he leans forward—or I imagine he does—I barely stop myself from gasping.

His freshly showered skin is still a bit wet, and he smells like… well, like a wet dream. And I know because I’ve been having them on repeat since we’ve been living together.

I brace myself for what’s coming. Why is he crowding me?

“What are you—” I start.

He hits the button to stop the filtration and steps back. Sure enough, my mini cup is overflowing.

“Could you”—I flail my hands in the air like that will give me a better command of the English language—“could you just… merde… cover up.”

He pours the coffee into the sink and starts preparing a fresh cup. It’s coffee-making porn. I should sell the idea.

“Why would I cover up in my own house?” He looks at me with fake innocence.

“It’s just… it’s—”

The words die on my lips. Or they were never born, because my brain clearly stayed in my room today.

But even if I could still speak, my voice disappears as Caleb steps closer again. Even closer than before, I think. His scent envelops me, his breath fanning my face.

I step back, hitting the counter, and he follows, dropping both his hands on the surface behind me.

I’m caged, suffering from the lack of oxygen, language, or common sense. While drowning in an abundance of desire.

I meet his eyes. They’re darker than usual. Helowers his face closer to mine, a mere inch away, and drags his nose across my cheek, inhaling indulgently.

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