Tristan
As I wake up slowly, the first thing I become aware of is a hand on my dick.
My eyes pop open.
Morning light is coming through the curtains, I can hear the sound of waves hitting the beach in the distance, and my wife has apparently rolled toward me at some point in the night and settled there like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My body has been aware of this for a while now, judging by the hard-on I’m sporting.
I groan. “Fuck. That’s a hell of a way to wake a man up.”
Chloe makes a soft sound against my shoulder and shifts toward me, one leg draping over mine. Her hand moves with the shift in position, pressing closer, her fingers curling slightly around my cock through my boxers, and pleasure shoots through me.
She blinks, lifting her head from my shoulder with her face scrunched up in a sleepy way that’s actually pretty fucking adorable. Then her eyes open wider than mine did just moments ago as she realizes where her hand is, and she yanks it back like she’s touched a hot burner.
“Oh my god.” She sits up fast, pressing both hands over her face. “I’m so sorry, I was asleep, I didn’t—”
“Don’t apologize.” I push the covers off, not bothering to hide the effect she’s had on me. “No harm done.”
She makes a sound into her palms that isn’t quite a word. Then she drops her hands and looks at me, the expression on her face trying very hard to be outrage but not quite getting there.
“This is your fault,” she says.
I cock my head at her. “Huh. I’m going to need you to explain that logic to me.”
“If you hadn’t made us share a bed—”
“You’re the one who felt me up in my sleep, dimples.”
She scoffs. “I was asleep.”
“You were very enthusiastic for someone who was asleep.”
She rolls her eyes, and those fucking dimples show up at the corners of her mouth even as she works to hold the outrage in place.
She smiles so rarely that I’ve gotten used to it yet, and every time those dimples appear, I have the same problem, which is that I want to put my mouth on them.
I want to push her back down onto the sheets and kiss her until she stops trying to hold anything back.
I want to feel her come apart the way she did on that conference room table, hear those sounds she makes again and learn what each one of them means.
I want to drape her thighs over my shoulders and devour her until she whimpers my name like she means every syllable of it.
Instead, I get out of bed.
“I meant what I said last night,” I say over my shoulder as I head for the bathroom. “I won’t touch you until you want me to—and wanting it won’t be enough. When something happens between us, it’ll be because you’re begging me for it. Not a moment before.”
I hear her intake of breath, but I don’t turn around as I continue.
“I want my wife keyed up and needy for me,” I add in a low voice. “And I won’t fuck her any other way.”
With those words, I step into the bathroom. Leaving her some privacy in the bedroom, I quickly attend to my morning routine, splashing cold water on my face and running a hand through my hair, then brushing my teeth. After a few minutes, I emerge from the en suite, feeling more awake and refreshed.
Chloe avoids my gaze as she slips past me into the empty bathroom, and I head downstairs in only my sweats. The cool air brushes against my bare chest as I make my way down the steps, feet quiet on the polished stone.
I enter the spacious kitchen, one of the many rooms where no costs were cut.
The countertops are sleek granite, providing ample space for food preparation and cooking.
Stainless steel appliances gleam under the soft overhead lighting, including a large refrigerator, a state-of-the-art oven and stovetop, and a dishwasher discreetly built into the cabinetry.
I lay out two plates and some silverware, then start gathering ingredients and utensils to prepare breakfast. The earthy aroma of coffee fills the kitchen as I set about grinding fresh beans to brew a pot.
I retrieve bacon, oat milk, and an avocado from the refrigerator, setting them out near the cutting board.
As I putter around the kitchen, I sense Chloe’s presence before I see her. When she enters the room, I glance up from the cutting board.
She has shed the vulnerable sleepwear and reapplied her makeup. She looks composed and put together, her hair pulled back neatly, framing her face in a practical yet elegant style. Gone are the loose pajamas, replaced by more structured clothing—a cardigan and dark jeans.
I can’t help but notice the subtle transformation, the way she armors herself against the world once again. It’s a clear contrast to my own bare skin and comfort, and it feels intentional, like she’s trying to create distance between us.
“You hungry?” I ask casually, slicing the avocado in half.
“Yeah.” She settles herself at the counter. “I didn’t eat much yesterday, what with everything going on.”
“Same here.” I turn toward the stove, opening the package of bacon.
“You’re making breakfast?” There’s a note of caution in her voice.
“Sure am.”
“And are you… a good cook?”
I turn on the burner, heating up the cast-iron skillet. “No.”
Her laugh bubbles out of her like a spring, filling the kitchen with a sudden warmth. Those elusive dimples appear on her cheeks, leaving me momentarily breathless.
Then, immediately, she slaps a hand over her mouth like she didn’t mean to laugh and is trying to silence herself—but amusement still lingers in her eyes as she looks at me.
“Can’t believe you’d admit that,” she teases.
“Well, I’m your husband now.” I layer the strips of bacon into the pan, and the air fills with the sound of sizzling. “I figured you’d find out I’m not a great cook sooner or later. Might as well be upfront about it now.”
“Might as well.” I can hear the smile in her words.
With the bacon cooking, I focus my attention on the avocado toast. I pop four slices of wheat bread into the toaster.
“I’m not great at cooking, but it’s something I enjoy, so I’ve been working on getting better.
There are still plenty of times when work keeps me too busy to cook, but I don’t have a personal chef like I used to.
I prefer to cook for myself when I can.”
She seems a bit impressed by that, her eyes softening as she watches me work. The aroma of toast and bacon fills the air, mingling with the rich scent of brewing coffee.
“Breakfast is served,” I announce several minutes later, sliding a plate across the counter to her.
“Should we eat here, or take it outside?” Chloe asks, gesturing over her shoulder at the glass door to the patio.
“It’s your house too,” I remind her. “Might as well get used to everything it has to offer.”
“Outside it is.”
We sit down to eat, the morning sun casting a golden glow over the spacious veranda that overlooks the vast expanse of the ocean. The sound of waves crashing against the shore provides a soothing backdrop to our meal, and a gentle breeze rustles through the palm trees that line the property.
As we eat, Chloe breaks the silence with a question. “What else do you like to do for fun?” she asks, her gaze curious. She lifts her mug to sip her coffee, her eyes never leaving me.
“I surf when I can,” I say. “It’s sort of my way of relaxing and getting away from it all.”
“I always wanted to try surfing,” she admits, her gaze moving to the restless ocean.
“So why haven’t you?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “Scared, I suppose.”
I look at her profile against the water, the morning light brightening her hair. “It doesn’t have to be scary. It’s mostly just about learning to read the water, figuring out what it’s going to do before it does it. I could teach you, if you want.”
She glances at me sideways, trapping her lower lip between her teeth. “Maybe.”
Silence settles between us as we eat our toast and bacon. Once the food is gone and we’re just enjoying the view, I turn toward Chloe.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“How long have you had hearing loss?”
I notice a subtle shift in her demeanor as my question registers.
Her eyes widen ever so slightly, a flicker of something like fear passing fleetingly across her features.
She starts to shake her head, then hesitates, her throat working as she seems to come to the realization that there’s no point in pretending.
“It started several years ago,” she admits quietly. “I have AIED—autoimmune inner ear disease. It started out mild, but over time, it’s led to pretty much complete deafness on my left side.”
I nod in understanding, careful not to betray any hint of pity in my expression. I’ve learned enough about Chloe to understand that she wouldn’t want that, especially not from me.
“You hide it well,” I tell her.
“I’ve learned ways to cope with it over the years. I’m… I’m surprised you figured it out. People usually don’t notice.”
People may not typically notice the subtleties of her condition, but I’m not like most people. I notice everything about her—her expressions, her movements, the way she carries herself. I don’t say that out loud, though.
“It was at the wedding,” I say. “When you couldn’t hear the priest. I noticed the way you turned your head toward him and figured it wasn’t an accident.”
“Yeah.” She grimaces. “That freaked me out for a few seconds. I was afraid everyone was going to find out.”
“I don’t think anyone else noticed,” I assure her. “Just me.”
She averts her gaze, and her voice carries a somber note as she murmurs, “I’ve been learning some sign language because… there’s a chance that the disease will progress. That I’ll go completely deaf someday.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her quietly. “That must be stressful to carry.”
Her gaze meets mine. “It shouldn’t happen within the next three years, though.”
There’s a hint of defensiveness in her eyes, almost as if she’s trying to banish any concerns I might have about our marriage, about shouldering the burden of her condition.
Fuck. I don’t like that. The three years again, that firm line she keeps drawing, the finish line she’s already locked her eyes on. It bothers me more than it should, more than it would have a month ago, and the fact that it bothers me this much makes me feel like I’m standing on unsteady footing.
I reach across the table and put my hand over hers. She goes still, looking down at where my hand covers hers, her fingers warm from holding her mug of coffee.
“Whatever happens with your hearing,” I tell her, “however it goes, it won’t change anything.”
She nods, giving me a half smile before her gaze darts away from mine again. But I can see the doubt lingering in her eyes, and I know she doesn’t fully believe me.