28. CHAPTER 25
Orion
The morning sunlight sliced through the curtains and straight into my skull.
I’d drifted in and out for hours, never quite falling asleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her again—head tipped back, thighs tense around my shoulders, her voice breaking on my name. My body reacted before my brain did. My cock thick against my stomach.
Fucking useless.
I rolled onto my back, and stared at the ceiling for a long moment as if it might hand me back my control.
Who am I kidding?
If there was one thing I learnt from last night, it’s that my control was shit when it came to my wife. Trying to wield it back would take nothing short of a divine intervention, or a private audience with some god of self-restraint to negotiate my penance.
I should have known this was going to be the outcome from the first time I had the urge to put my mouth on her.
Now all I craved was to draw out every orgasm from her with my tongue, to have a repeat of last night every fucking night till I’ve had my fill. Which might be never.
But fuck, her reaction after she came apart ruined me.
It shouldn’t have been like that, not after three months of distance and cold civility.
Last night she’d come undone in my hands, and then one question—one simple question—and she’d bolted as though I’d asked her for her soul.
I showered fast, hoping the water would clear her scent from my skin.
At this point, nothing does.
She lived in my skin, my tongue, my veins… and in just one night. The way my body responded to the memory like she was still in the room was a huge problem. And I needed to work out a solution before it gets out of hand.
By the time I dressed and headed downstairs, none of it had helped. I was still wired. Still half-hard. Still thinking about the way she’d thanked me and walked out as though I’d handed her a glass of water instead of giving her an orgasm to remember.
The kitchen smelled of coffee and toast.
She was there at the counter, with her back to me.
Yoga pants, a loose tank that left the lines of her shoulders bare, hair pulled into a knot at the base of her neck. Casual. Domestic. Infuriatingly beautiful.
She looked… composed. Too composed. The only betrayal was the little hitch in her shoulders when my footsteps hit the tile.
“Morning,” I said, reaching for a mug, as if this were any other day.
She glanced over, quick. Her eyes were guarded, that soft haze from last night packed and locked away behind the familiar frost, as expected.
“Morning.” Her reply was short. Perfectly polite and completely wrong for someone who’d come apart on my mouth a few hours ago.
I reached for the honey from the cabinet beside her, so close I could catch the faint scent of her shampoo and the softer, warmer note of her skin.
She poured herself coffee, then mine without asking. You'd think nothing had changed between us.
We moved around each other in an awkward choreography. She reached for the jam, I stepped aside for the fridge, our hips brushed while at it. A tiny spark shot through my body at the contact; she went rigid, then retreated half a pace. Her lips pressed into a nervous line.
Coward, I thought. To both of us.
“Sleep okay after the storm?” I asked, casually.
She paused, spoon hovering over the mug, then shrugged one shoulder. “Fine. It passed.”
Nothing else. No mention of creeping into my room. No mention of trembling in my hands. Just… “fine.” Three sentences, and I was right back on the outside.
She could pretend all she wanted; the tells were there in the way her fingers held the knife handle firmer, the tiny tremor in her wrist before she set it down. I also noticed the slight press of her thighs together when she thought I wasn’t looking.
She remembered. Her body did, even if she was determined to pretend otherwise.
“Good,” I said, biting into an apple. “Figured it might keep you up.”
Her eyes flicked to mine, cautious and searching for the trap. When she didn’t find one, she rolled her eyes and carried her plate to the table.
I watched her move. The way those yoga pants fit might be a temptation on its own. Took a slow sip of my coffee to keep me from grabbing her by the waist and pinning her to the counter.
We finally ended up at the small table by the window, opposite each other. Country light spilled across the room. She spread jam on the toast with unnecessary precision, giving it far more attention than it deserved.
“Headache?”
She frowned. “No. Why?”
“You’re quieter than usual,” I noted. “And your left eye twitches when you’re tired.”
Her eyes cut to mine. “You’ve been studying me?”
For months, yes.
My mouth tilted. “I notice things.”
She rolled her eyes and bit into her toast. “How observant. You’re in the wrong business then”
“I assure you I’m in the right one.”
She snorted despite herself, then killed it quickly with another sip of coffee.
Breakfast drifted into small talk as I knew it would. She'd rather this than address last night. I played along.
We talked about the weather, the estate grounds, the horses, everything but last night.
Once, under the table, her foot grazed my leg. It was a light, accidental brush, but my body reacted as though she’d put her hands on me. Heat pooled between my thighs and my cock twitched.
She jerked her foot back, frowning down at her plate like it was responsible for the ache sitting between us.
By the time her mug was empty and her toast finished, my pulse was doing an entirely inappropriate tempo for such an ordinary conversation.
She stood, collecting her plate. “I’ll help clear—”
“Leave it,” I said. “Gladys will complain if we ruin her routine.”
She pressed her lips together, then set the plate back down. Her fingers remained on the rim a second longer than necessary, unsure what to do with it, or what to do at all.
“We’re heading back this afternoon,” I added, watching her closely. “The car will be ready at three.”
There was the faintest pause, barely a beat before she replied. “Okay.”
She didn't argue, or question why. Just acceptance, quick and flat. It was quite unlike her but I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect after yesterday. I expected her walls, yes. Everything else was new to me.
Her response shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.
I took in a slow breath. “Unless you’d prefer to stay.”
Her eyes met mine, searching for something I refused to interpret.
“This was your plan,” she said, her voice neutral. “I don’t want to interfere.”
“You interfered with all of it,” I said mildly. “That was the whole point.”
Her skin took on a rich, ember-like glow. She looked away. “Well,” she said flatly. “You got what you wanted. A successful… outing.”
Successful.
If that’s what she wanted to call last night, fine.
I pushed back my chair and stood. “I had more planned for today,” I said. “I thought we’d ride out to the ridge, then have lunch in the village. But since you’re clearly eager to get back to normal, we’ll keep it simple.”
“Normal,” she repeated, the word catching in her throat. “Right… Of course.”
I cocked my head slightly, and the angle gave her away. I could see clearly the disappointment she tried to disguise as defiance.
An unexpected annoyance coiled through me, but there was something else underneath it. The treacherous urge to grip her wrist, lift her chin, and strip the lie from her mouth instead of letting her hide behind normal.
She moved past me, and I allowed it. The faint scent of her brushed my senses as she went by. She didn’t look back.
I stayed where I was, staring at the doorway she’d just disappeared through. Hoping she’d come back and be herself again. Maybe argue with me and try to make a point about how it was my fault she ran yesterday.
Wishful thinking.
I was sure she remembered everything. Every expression gave her away. She could pretend the storm had passed all she liked, her tells were louder than her words.
I had no plans to chase her down the hall to demand she debrief her orgasm for me.
I wasn’t that desperate. Yet.
I finished my coffee, slid my phone from my pocket, and checked the tracker. Her ring tracker was already moving out toward the back terrace, then the path that cut through the gardens and lower grounds. Alone.
Works for me.
I needed the space, too, I told myself as I set the mug down.
She could build her walls as high as she liked and hide behind them, pretending I hadn’t left a mark on her. My greatest trait was patience; I knew how to wait. I’d made an entire family crawl back to my table on their knees when they’d tried to play games with me. I could wait out my own wife.
As I walked back toward my room to change, one stubborn, unwelcome thought kept circling back.
I had given her things last night that I never gave anyone: the choice, the questions, the patience. Yet, she had treated that vulnerability as if it were nothing.
The next time she came to me shaking, I decided, it wouldn’t end with her walking out. Not unless she said the word.
Until then, I'd stoke the fire. Use proximity, and the small mercies she pretended not to want.
We would go back to Paris, to our estate and the numerous storms awaiting us there.
Sooner or later, she would crack again. When she did, I intended to be ready.
LéONIE
I had entered this marriage determined to loathe the situation. Determined to be indifferent to the man at the center of it—Orion Kade—exactly the kind of man I promised myself I would never love, or choose, let alone marry.
Well, that hasn’t been the case so far.
Orion has turned out to be the greatest contradiction of my life.
Infuriating and charming. Aloof and attentive. Harsh in tone but gentle in action. Some days I think I’m being ridiculous—foolish—resisting him the way I have been.
Because being indifferent to Orion has been impossible.
So I did the only thing that felt safe: I fought him. Every word out of his mouth. Every decision he made. Every single gesture that seemed too considerate, too thoughtful, and too dangerous to acknowledge.