Page 37 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband
"Watch terrible reality TV shows and argue about whether pineapple belongs on pizza?"
"Perfect. Though for the record, pineapple absolutely belongs on pizza."
"And that's our first fight as a couple," I grin, as I stand and start making my way to the kitchen. "What's your stance on show choices? I should warn you, Jamie's Netflix account is... eclectic."
She follows me to the kitchen, hip-checking me playfully as I load the dishwasher. "Surprise me. But nothing too scary—I'm a terrible screamer."
The innocent comment sends heat straight through me, but I keep my expression neutral. "Noted. No horror."
We settle onto the couch, and I flip through the options while she curls up beside me, close enough that I can smell her perfume.
"Okay, let's see..." I scroll through the recommendations. "We've got Friends—the entire series, apparently Jamie's been binge-watching. Some action movies that look terrible. Oh, here's something... Fifty Shades of Grey?"
I glance at her.
"Have you seen it?"
"No. You?"
"No." She takes a sip of wine. "Might be interesting."
"We could always switch to Friends if it gets too... analytical."
"Right. Too analytical."
I hit play before I can overthink it, and we settle back to watch. For the first twenty minutes, it's easy to pretend this is just a normal movie night. Tessa makes occasional comments about the character development, I point out plot inconsistencies, and we share the rest of the wine.
But then Anastasia enters Christian's apartment for the first time, and everything changes.
The tension in the room shifts immediately as we watch Christian lead Anastasia through his penthouse, his hand possessively on her lower back. I become hyperaware of every point where Tessa's body touches mine—her thigh pressed against my leg, her shoulder brushing my arm when she reaches for her wine glass, the way her breathing has changed.
On screen, Christian backs Anastasia against the elevator wall, his mouth claiming hers in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. His hands tangle in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat, and I can feel the heat radiating from Tessa beside me. When she shifts slightly, crossing her legs, I catch a glimpse of the skin above her knee where her skirt has ridden up.
I'm watching the way her lips part slightly when she's concentrating, the way her fingers twist around the stem of her wine glass.
The scene cuts to Christian's bedroom, all dark wood and expensive sheets. He's undressing Anastasia slowly, reverently, his mouth following the path of each piece of clothing as it falls away. The camera lingers on the arch of her back, the way she gasps when his teeth graze her collarbone, and I feel Tessa tense beside me. When I glance at her, her cheeks are flushed, and she's biting her lower lip in a way that makes me want to do things.
"This is..." she starts, then trails off as Christian's hands roam over Anastasia's bare skin on screen.
"What?"
She turns to look at me, and the heat in her eyes nearly undoes me. "This is not helping with the being normal thing."
"No," I agree, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's really not."
On screen, Christian is whispering something that makes Anastasia's breath hitch, and I can't help myself.
"You know what I'm thinking about right now?" I say quietly, my eyes never leaving her face.
"What?" she breathes.
"How much I want to find out if you make those same sounds when I kiss your neck."
Her cheeks flush pink immediately. "Dax..."
"Or if your pulse races like hers does when someone tells you exactly what they want to do to you."
"You can't just say things like that," she whispers, but she's leaning closer instead of pulling away.
