27. Neomi
I went to bed alone.
Now as I wake up to the early morning sun, Lars is behind me, one arm draped across my waist, his chest solid against my back. His hand rests just below my ribs, fingers curled into my skin. I’m tangled with him, the sheets kicked down after I fell asleep, and his scent clings to my skin.
The realization that he’s so familiar now surfaces in my mind, followed by the memory of drifting off to sleep with the condo quiet around me. He must have come in late, careful enough not to wake me, slipping into bed.
I stay still, letting myself feel it. His breathing is soft and even against my hair. The way his thumb presses once, unconsciously, into my side. The way my body has already adjusted to his presence, craving it.
This is dangerous territory for someone like me.
Lars shifts behind me, his lips brushing the back of my neck. His grip tightens, and his voice follows, rough with sleep.
“You’re awake?”
“Did I wake you?”
“You didn’t.” His face presses into my hair, a quiet inhale, breathing me in. “You fell asleep before I got home.”
“I tried to wait,” I admit. “I failed.”
He hums, and his arm pulls me closer, his body fitting around mine with ease. I turn just enough to see him, his eyes still heavy, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. How a man can be this beautiful waking from sleep should be a crime.
“Did your meeting go okay?” I ask.
“It did,” he replies.
His answer is vague, but I don’t press. I trace the edge of the tattoo on his forearm instead, letting the silence sit comfortably between us.
“It’s Wednesday.”
He opens one eye. “It is.”
“I usually have a card game tonight.”
“I know.” His hand slides to my hip. “You’re skipping it.”
I blink. “Am I?”
“Yes.” A smile curves his mouth. “I’m taking you out instead.”
“I need to make money, Lars.”
“You can play another night.” He presses a kiss to my shoulder, his mouth warm against my skin. “But you now have a very established husband, and tonight I’d rather keep you to myself.”
I roll onto my side so I’m facing him fully, studying the quiet confidence in his expression. “That sounds suspiciously like a demand.”
“It’s an invitation,” he replies, his thumb drifting along my jaw in a slow, thoughtful stroke. “I want to enjoy you tonight. It would be nice to have an evening with you that doesn’t end with us waking up to another round of self-inflicted chaos.”
“And if I say no?”
Something shifts in his eyes, a darker amusement settling there. “You’re adorable when you test me.” His mouth lowers to my jaw and trails down my neck, each kiss coaxing a small arch from my back as my body leans into him. “But if you say no, I’ll deal with you when you get home.”
My breath catches at the quiet certainty in his voice.
“I’ll tie you to this bed,” he says near my ear, his fingers finding my nipple and circling slowly until the sensation spreads warm and sharp through my chest, “and I’ll use my mouth to keep you right on the edge for hours.
Every time you get close, I’ll stop.” His lips brush the shell of my ear as he continues, “Then I’ll fuck your mouth while you beg, finish on your tits, and you won’t come once. ”
He leans back just enough to look at me, his gaze teasing.
I lift a brow. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It’s not meant to be fair, it’s meant to be a punishment. So, tell me, Bella,” he asks quietly, “are you skipping poker tonight?”
Air leaves my lungs in a shaky breath. “Yes.”
A satisfied smile touches his mouth. “Good,” he says, sliding his hand along my hip as he shifts off the bed. “Now let’s make coffee.”