That morning, the sun had yet to rise fully when your eyes slowly fluttered open. Wrapped in the warmth of a thick blanket and the lingering scent of sleep, your body remained lazy and still. You were wearing nothing but one of Alesandro's white dress shirts — your husband, possessive, cold, yet dangerously addictive.

His scent clung to the fabric, making your lips curl into a mischievous little smile.

You turned your gaze toward him — standing in front of the mirror, tall and composed, adjusting his tie and black suit jacket. So polished. So annoyingly handsome. So, tempting to mess with.

The wicked idea popped into your head instantly.

Your small bare feet padded softly across the wooden floor until—gotcha!—your arms slipped around his waist from behind, your body pressing against his back.

Alesandro inhaled sharply, his tone low as he warned, “Darling, stop.”

But you didn’t.

“Hmm, you smell good,” you whispered sweetly, your nose brushing against the fabric of his shirt while your hand slipped through the small gap between his buttons.

Your fingers trailed up his sculpted chest, slow and teasing. Then they moved lower... and even lower, deliberately.

A muscle in Alesandro’s jaw twitched. Just before you could reach there—

Snap!

His large hand caught your wrist firmly, holding you still. “I said stop.” His voice was deeper now, thick with restraint, and a dangerous edge.

You giggled, biting your lower lip. “But I’m not satisfied yet” He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the dark, narrowed look in his eyes.

“Six hours. Last night. On the bed. The couch. Even on the floor by the fireplace. And you’re still not satisfied?”

“ehehe, yeah, how would I be satisfied if you were that handsome hmm” you answered innocently.

Alesandro closed his eyes briefly, inhaling a sharp breath to control himself.

“You’re a dangerously wicked little woman.”

“And you love it,” you chimed playfully, grinning up at him before quickly pulling your hand away and dashing back to the bed, giggling as you dove under the covers.

He stood there, adjusting his tie with a tight jaw, eyes narrowed at your wriggling figure under the blanket.

“You won’t get away with that tonight,”