You enter your husband's office, dropping your birkin on the table nearby as you close the door behind you.

Without looking up from his computer next to the piles of paperwork on his table— he pats his lap, silently inviting you over to sit, and so you did, straddling it.

You immediately start ranting about this stupid bitch and he just listens, looking up at you as he occasionally adds small comments and humming as you go on while he absentmindedly strokes up and down your waist.

He looks at the piles of paperwork on his table and thinks about how he's going to explain to his business partner about his soon-to-be late submission of this load.

— "And- baby, guess what she told me?" you added.

"Tell me, sweetheart." He replies, squeezing your waist a little, as if to say 'let's talk about this later, please', but you're too ass deep into your story so you don't really catch it.

He sighs.. but he knows damn well he can't resist listening to your voice, even if it means sacrificing his sleeping schedule later..

Oh boy. Here comes another sleepless night..