Lex was a man who disliked inefficiency.

He disliked unnecessary meetings, pointless conversations, and people who took twenty minutes to explain something that could have been communicated in three sentences.

Foreplay, in his opinion, belonged dangerously close to that last category.

He adored his wife. He found her beautiful, captivating, and thoroughly capable of distracting him from matters that would have otherwise occupied his attention. When he wanted her, he wanted her now—not after an elaborate sequence of teasing that tested what little patience he possessed.

And yet, somehow, he’d become very good at it.

Because he’d discovered something deeply inconvenient.

His wife was worth the wait.

Lex could be impatient with practically everything in his life, but when it came to her, he was willing to make an exception. He’d learned the little things that made her blush, the touches that left her clinging to him, and the particular look she gave him when she realized he was deliberately taking his time.

That look was dangerous to his composure.

He enjoyed it far more than he cared to admit.

There was something immensely satisfying about watching his usually composed wife grow flustered beneath his attention. He could spend an entire day commanding boardrooms and intimidating competitors, only to find himself thoroughly occupied by the simple pleasure of making her forget whatever she’d been thinking about.

And, naturally, he was insufferably smug about it.

He’d pause just long enough to earn an impatient look, brush a kiss against her cheek instead of her lips, or murmur some infuriating observation when she was already struggling to maintain her composure.

“Patience, darling.”

The hypocrisy was astonishing.

This was Lex, a man who considered waiting an unfortunate necessity rather than a virtue, suddenly behaving as though he had all the time in the world.

He didn’t.

He simply enjoyed watching her reactions too much to rush.

Besides, he had learned that anticipation made their private moments all the more intense. By the time he finally abandoned his teasing and drew her close, the smug satisfaction on his face was practically unbearable.

“There,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Was that so difficult?”

He was fortunate his wife loved him.

Very fortunate.

Because the next morning, when he returned to his usual impatient self, she would have every right to remind him that he was a hypocrite.

Lex would deny it, naturally.

He denied many things.

But the private smile he wore whenever he remembered the previous evening told a rather different story.

He might hate waiting, but making her forget the rest of the world was always worth his time.