CHAPTER TWENTY
EMMA
I don’t know how it happens exactly. One minute, Dan and I are arguing about whose turn it is to clean out Ruby’s lunchbox (spoiler alert: it was his), and the next, we’re laughing, really laughing, over something stupid.
It’s one of those moments where we forget to be tired, forget the never-ending to-do lists, and just are.
And for the first time in a long time, something shifts.
It’s small, like the tiniest spark reigniting a long-forgotten fire, but it’s there.
The morning school run is always hectic. Lost shoes, uneaten breakfasts, the kids suddenly remembering they need something for a project that’s due today. But today… something feels lighter.
There’s no bickering, no passive-aggressive sighs, no underlying tension crackling in the air. Instead, there’s this energy between us. This subtle, teasing energy.
As Dan walks past me to grab the kids’ uniforms from the drying rack, his hand brushes against my lower back before he gives me a cheeky smack on the bum. I gasp, turning to glare at him, but he just grins over his shoulder like the cocky little shit he is.
“Couldn’t resist,” he says with a wink before disappearing into the hallway.
I roll my eyes, but my lips betray me, curling into a smirk. And, okay, I totally check him out as he walks away. His broad shoulders, strong arms, that slight hint of last night’s confidence still lingering in the way he moves.
The difference is undeniable. We’re working as a team this morning, moving around the kitchen in sync, passing each other coffee mugs and lunchboxes, taking turns wrestling shoes onto tiny feet.
And everyone seems happier. The kids are still chaotic, still loud, but there’s no tension between Dan and me. Just… ease.
When the kids finally tumble out the front door, backpacks swinging, I let out a breath, hands on my hips. “Well, that was shockingly smooth.”
Dan chuckles, stepping up behind me, his hands resting on my waist as he presses a quick kiss to the side of my neck. “Told you we make a good team.” His voice is low, teasing, and it sends a little thrill straight through me.
I hum, leaning back against him for just a second before nudging him away. “Okay, get off me. We gotta go.”
I jump into the car with a spring in my step and drive the kids to school with a newly found confidence that only comes from having had earth-shattering sex the night before.
Sshhh don’t tell the school mums!
We are both working from home today, something that used to feel like an unspoken battle for space and focus. But today, as we settle into our respective spots, me on the sofa, Dan at the kitchen counter, there’s no irritation, no side-eyeing each other when one of us takes a call too loudly.
Instead, there are stolen glances.
Little smirks.
The occasional brush as we pass each other for coffee refills in the kitchen.
At one point, Dan leans down next to me, reaching for something, and his lips just barely graze my ear as he murmurs, “Can’t stop thinking about last night.”
My whole body reacts, heat rushing to my cheeks, my stomach flipping, but I keep my face neutral. “Dan.”
“Yes, beautiful?” His voice is all innocent, but when I look up, his eyes are anything but.
Beautiful? When was the last time he called me that when we weren’t in a deep conversation? I feel like a teenager; all shy and embarrassed.
I shake my head, biting back a grin. We are so screwed.
But for the first time in a long time, I don’t mind one bit.
I peek over the back of the sofa at Dan, who is staring intently at his laptop screen.
God, he looks hot today. His dark hair is slightly messy, like he’s run a hand through it absentmindedly, and the way the light hits his jawline makes it sharp and perfect.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and has the most adorable yet sexy dimples.
He’s wearing tracksuit bottoms that cling just enough to remind me of everything I’ve wanted to touch, and a tight-fitting t-shirt that stretches over the contours of his chest and arms. I bite my lip, heart doing that ridiculous fluttering thing it only does for him.
I shouldn’t be thinking like this. I should be annoyed that he’s ignored me for half an hour while he types or frustrated that he’s still not taken the bins out but instead, I feel…
electric. A warmth spreads through me, a heady mixture of longing and mischief.
I catch myself imagining him looking up, just for me, leaning back, his gaze dropping over me and just taking me right here, on the sofa.
My cheeks flush. How did he do this to me?
How did he turn my annoyance into craving with nothing one night of passion?
And then, without a word, a silent agreement passes between us.
He closes his laptop slowly, like he’s savouring the anticipation, and flashes that infuriating, knowing smirk.
I feel it deep in my belly, the pull that makes me want to follow him anywhere.
“Upstairs?” he murmurs, almost teasingly, “Come on.” And I do. Because why fight it?
The moment we made eye contact, the world shrinks to just us. My mind spins with the delicious possibilities of what comes next, and I let myself sink into the thrill of it.
I can’t help but let my imagination run wild. It’s naughty and daring and everything I’ve secretly craved. I’m living for these stolen moments and can only hope that this is the start of a new, naughty version of us.
The stairs creak under our feet, but I barely notice. Every nerve in my body is alive, buzzing with anticipation. Dan moves with that easy confidence that makes my pulse spike; tall, sure, and completely in control. The scent of him is clean, but with that faint hint of something uniquely him.
When we reach the bedroom, he doesn’t say a word.
He just reaches for my hand, guiding me forward.
My stomach flips as I realise how willingly I’m following him, how every part of me wants this, craves this.
He stops just short of the bed, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him, the weight of his presence pressing into mine.
He leans in, brushing a strand of hair from my face, and I’m trembling without even knowing why.
His lips hover near my ear, and he murmurs something soft, teasing, and utterly magnetic.
I catch the shiver that runs down my spine, and I know he feels it too.
My hands tangle in his shirt, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just us, just this closeness, just the electric pull between our bodies.
Dan doesn’t waste a second. His hands find my waist, sliding over me with a firm, confident pressure that makes my breath hitch.
I lean into him, almost trembling with anticipation. Every brush of his fingers against my skin sends tiny sparks of fire racing along my nerves. I feel like I could melt in his arms, feel like the world outside has disappeared completely.
His hands move deliberately, teasing, exploring, and I shiver as he traces the line of my neck, down to my shoulders, lingering just long enough to make me ache.
Every small touch is electric, setting off a chain reaction that leaves me dizzy, longing, desperate for more.
I run my hands over him too, feeling the tension in his muscles, the strength in his chest and arms, memorising every inch of him.
He pulls me closer, and our lips meet, slow and intense at first, tasting, teasing, igniting something deep inside me.
There’s a rhythm to it, a push and pull, a give and take that leaves me gasping, trembling, completely undone.
His hand is on the nape of my neck, pulling me closer to him.
Every so often he slows the rhythm of his kisses to bite my lower lip.
He follows it with kisses that are soft, gentle and tender but drive me equally as wild.
His hand traces from the nape of my neck around to the front where he squeezes just tight enough to remind me that I am his but gentle enough to remind me that he will always keep me safe.
His fingers then loosely trace the upper curve of my breast as he undoes my blouse; his lips still entangled with mine.
With a single flick of his fingers, he undoes my bra clasp; it’s always amazed me how he could do that. Then for a split second, I catch him admiring my breasts and the body that he was about to claim as his.
He pushes me onto the bed and removes his own clothes. I lay there, helpless and in awe of the man that I get to call my husband.
He drags himself slowly but purposefully up my body, grazing his lower lip on my thighs, my waist, my breasts and finally on my lips. I feel the heat of him pressing against me, the weight of his body anchoring me even as desire twists through me, making my skin tingle and my mind spin.
Every breath, every whispered word, every soft sigh that escapes him sends another shiver down my spine.
He’s rough and tender at once, commanding and gentle, and I’m utterly helpless to resist him.
I ache for his touch, for the way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel alive in ways I didn’t know I’d been missing.
Time becomes meaningless. There are small, stolen pauses where we catch our breath, fingers tangled, foreheads pressed together, smiles flickering across our lips.
And then it builds again. It’s slow, teasing and all consuming.
I can feel him everywhere at once, in the warmth of his hands, the pressure of his body, the heat that spreads through me from the way he holds me close.
“You going to let me spoil you?” He whispers deeply with a dark, hungry look in his eyes.
Words fail me. I nod; desperate to know what he has in store for me.