Game Over | 18+ ✓

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I felt the bed dip and the smell that only belonged to Norman wafted to my nose. My eyes fluttered open, but with how dark the room was, all I could make out was the outline of his shadow.

"You're back?" I mumbled drowsily, unsure if this was a dream or reality.

He leaned toward me, tugging the covers down an inch to access the crook of my neck. "Missed you too much to spend another night away." He inhaled deeply against my bare skin, causing goosebumps to rise immediately.

He had been away for two days, the longest yet we'd been apart since the last six weeks we'd spent living together. His travels were now scheduled to once a week, where he'd spend the day in the Manhattan office and always make it back by midnight. 

I'd told him once that he didn't have a curfew and could stay a night if he wanted to, but he was adamant that he had the better mattress here, and I wasn't going to argue with his logic.

This time, it was a business trip to Shanghai scheduled for 3D2N. I was expecting his return tomorrow, for I'd planned to pick him up at the airport, except he somehow managed to catch me off guard and surprise me again.

"You have no idea, baby, it's torture. Going to sleep in a bed that's devoid of you." He muttered in between the trail of kisses he was planting on me. "I had nightmares. It was excruciating. Couldn't wait that long. Had to book the soonest flight to get back to you."

His lips drew a path down my throat to my collarbones and over the curves of my breasts. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he was thinking, and as much as my body wanted to respond, my head knew I only had a couple of hours of sleep left. In addition, it was going to be a long day ahead.

"Norm," I whined softly, "it's late."

"I know." He joined me under the blanket and folded his body against me, his urgency evident when I felt him still fully clothed. "I'm sorry, love. I need you so fucking bad." 

His hand reached between my legs and began to rub over the thin material of my underwear, gearing me to be ready for him. "You go back to sleep," he cooed. "I'll do all the work."

Sleep was clearly out of the question when he freed his erection from his zipper and rested it right on my thigh. I knew he would've stopped had I protested, but when I realized how stiff he was as he carefully slipped himself inside me, I could tell he was trying his best to be gentle.

And Norman was never gentle.

"This"—he let out a satisfied grunt, his controlled thrusts so soothing it was now my favorite lullaby—"is all I've been thinking about while I was on the other side of the planet."

"You could've called," I mumbled under my breath, my hands reaching for his collars to slip underneath his shirt like it was part of my ritual to feel him skin-to-skin.

"Why would I jerk my kids off into a Kleenex when I could have them swim inside you?" He moaned directly into my ear, each heavy breath he exhaled stoking mine.

If anyone met Norman Gage in real life, they likely wouldn't think he had much of a romantic bone in his body, and they'd be partially right. Rose petals, sensual candles, and oil massages in bed? Dream on.

There'd be no grand gestures, no elaborate proposals, no spontaneous trips to Paris for dinner. He rarely said the words "I love you"—and when he did, it was always because I said it first—but he'd look at me in that smoldering way that conveyed emotions beyond what those three words, eight letters could express, then proceed to maul the heck out of me with revitalized energy I couldn't possibly anticipate.

He also sucked at picking gifts, and if I were to be expecting a surprise present on special occasions, I'd be sorely disappointed. However, if I'd told him exactly what it was I wanted—regardless of how casually I brought it up or how briefly I lingered on the page of the catalog—he'd make it happen.