As you sat at your desk, shivering in the icy temperatures of your unheated office, you couldn't help but feel grateful for your husband's warmth. John Price had graciously offered to let you sit on his lap, holding you close to his chest to keep you from freezing. As you worked on your paperwork, you could feel his steady breaths against your neck, and the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers.

But even as you basked in his warmth, a sense of unease nagged at the back of your mind. Something about this situation felt off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. It wasn't until you shifted in his lap, feeling a sharp poke against your thigh, that you realized what it was.

"John? Can you get your pen from your pocket?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Darlin', that's not a pen..." Price replied, his thick British accent sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel his face flush against your hair, and a part of you couldn't help but feel a sense of thrill at the realization.