It was just a normal day. You got up early, made breakfast for Varun before he left for the office, and enjoyed your fair share of morning cuddles with your husband, comforting him in your warmth. You helped him get ready for work, with playful tugging, teasing words, and everything in between. After many lingering kisses, he finally left for the office.

Then came cuddle time with your little one. You pressed soft kisses to his chubby, cheeky face before starting your daily routine with him. You loved your son to the core. He was the light of your eyes, just like Varun. Happy. Content.

Evening arrived, and you started cooking dinner earlier than usual. You wanted extra time with Varun today. You felt especially clingy, craving his presence. Or maybe it was just the effect of ovulation?

The doorbell rang. He was back.

You rushed to greet him, arms wrapping tightly around him. But he only gave you a small, tired smile before stepping inside. Exhaustion was written all over his face. No lingering embrace. No teasing pull into the shower like usual.

When he came out, freshly showered, you had already set the dinner table. The baby sat in his high chair, babbling happily.

“Varun, come, it’s your favorite. Shahi Paneer,” you called out, trying to lift his spirits.

He glanced at the food, but instead of sitting down, he walked into the kitchen and hugged you tight. Your expression softened, and your eyes fluttered closed as you melted into him, soaking in his scent and his warmth. He kissed you deeply and then went to the table like nothing had happened. Oh God. The father of your child. Damn this man.

Throughout the meal, he ate in silence, occasionally feeding the baby and giving casual compliments about your cooking. But tonight, it wasn’t enough for you. A restless desire simmered beneath your skin. You wanted him. His warmth, his hands, his mouth, and everything else.

You watched him. That plain grey T-shirt, the one you usually hated, looked criminally attractive tonight. Veins traced along his arms and neck. His easy smile directed at your son, the way his broad chest rose and fell with every breath, he was driving you insane and he didn’t even know it. Or maybe he did, which made it worse.

That kiss from earlier still lingered on your lips. You could practically taste him. You tried to focus on your meal, but the heat coiling low in your belly refused to be ignored. Then he looked up and caught the unmistakable hunger in your eyes.

And he smirked. That infuriating, knowing smirk. Damn him. Damn. Damn. Damn, you thought. You were a mother, his wife, his bride. And all you could think about was dragging him to bed.

Dinner ended. He loaded the dishwasher while you bathed the baby, tucked him into the crib, turned on the monitor, and walked toward your bedroom. Still flushed, you wondered what Varun was up to. Why were you acting like a teenage girl with a crush? This was your husband, for God’s sake. You opened the door.And the heat hit you.