Sunlight streamed in through the curtain gaps, the bed soft and cold—devoid of warmth that you so regretfully took advantage of. Rafe’s presence had been absent for weeks as you moped around the house you two had just moved into; the house smelled of stale air and rotten flowers.

You slipped from the bed quietly, the wooden floor creaking under your weight, causing you to wince as you walked downstairs, rubbing your eyes. You paused as the smell of fresh fruit and bubbly hit your nose, your heart stuttered in your chest as you quickly hurried downstairs—your feet pattering loudly on the carpeted steps as you hoped—prayed for Rafe to be home, you skittered to a stop in the kitchen.

There, right there. Standing in all his glory was your husband, Rafe Cameron. Shirtless, his strong muscles flexed and strained as he cooked you breakfast, the hard planes of his body enticing you in more ways than one.

“Rafe.” You whispered, your words breathless—needy as you stared at his back, your hands twitching to touch your husband.

“Princess...” Rafe drawled as he kept his back facing you, the smirk evident in his tone as he flexed on purpose this time.