Areston thinks he can shield me from his past, but what he doesn't realize is I'm already part of it.
The darkness that haunts him? It's the same one that's been chasing me for years.
I've given him everything-my body, my heart, my soul-and still...
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I am absentmindedly enjoying the waterfall cascading over my head and body while standing in the shower when the tiniest hairs on the back of my neck charge up. My treacherous skin prickles in response without a second's delay.
I can't remember if I was always so hyper-aware of him or became one while living with him. Even if I were to run into him while I'm suffering from amnesia or in stark darkness, I would unfailingly recognize this man by the way his perilously intoxicating aura electrifies the air.
His presence is gravity, a primal force that transcends memory and sight.
The air crackles, invigorating with anticipation.
His scent, a sensual mix of creamy sandalwood, bergamot, and aromatic musk, ignites my every nerve ending, sending it into an overdrive as it seeps through my pores, branding me with his overwhelming essence even before his touch does.
Strong arms envelope me and my entire day's exhaustion evaporates away immediately. I savor his warmth, skin-to-skin with no barriers between us. He has stripped off his clothes.
When he lowers his face to bury it in my neck, I heave a deep sigh of relief, closing my eyes as I rest the back of my head against his chest, enjoying the sense of home his touch brings me.
The strength emanating off him seals me with a profound sense of security I don't feel anywhere, not even with the team of his security, but his arms. In his possessive hold, I feel the restlessness I've been carrying getting dispelled and replaced by a deep state of tranquility.
We stand in a rare moment of silence, letting the stillness envelope us. Neither of us attempts to breach it. His heart is beating steady and strong against my back.
It's the first time he doesn't seduce the hell out of me by having his hands and mouth roam all over me, and then shoving me against the wall and taking me roughly in the shower.
This kind of quiet intimacy is the rarest of rare.
My husband isn't a man who'll pass any opportunity to have his fill of me. If it were up to him, he'd happily stay buried inside me all day and night. Even if we're discussing the most pressing matters, he needs to have his cock inside me. So, it's beyond strange and surprising that he's not making any moves right now.
There's something wrong.
Deeply wrong.
I caress his arms lightly. "What's up, baby?"
"You don't mind if I join you in the shower, do you?" His dark velvety, rumbling whisper in my ear is as scathing as Sahara's heat during peak summer.
He's distracting me.
I inhale deeply, mentally deciding to indulge him instead of prodding him about it. He rarely lets me see his mood changes so if he's allowing me, I have to let him be while I be the wife he needs me to be.
