7:08 a.m. – Kitchen

You’re barefoot, in a robe, standing by the coffee machine when he wanders in shirtless — grey sweats hanging low, hair messy, eyes still half-closed.

You raise your mug in greeting. “Morning.”

He just stares. At your legs. Your collarbone. The hint of lace peeking out from the robe’s opening.

Then, without shame: “Wanna have sex?”

You laugh into your coffee. “Xavier.”

“What?” he shrugs, stepping closer. “You’re just standing there… looking like that… I’m suffering.”

You press a kiss to his cheek. “Later.”

He groans. “You always say later. Then you get dressed.”

—

11:24 a.m. – Living Room

You’re on a call. Legal briefing in one earbud, notes on your lap, glasses sliding down your nose.

Xavier comes back from the gym, towel around his neck, still sweating.

He kisses your temple mid-sentence and whispers, “Now?”

You give him a look.

He holds his hands up. “Just a thought. You’re wearing those glasses. And I haven’t recovered from this morning.”

You cover the mic and whisper, “Behave.”

He mouths No promises before disappearing into the shower. You hear the water. You also hear him mutter something like, “I could’ve helped her with that briefing…”

—

3:17 p.m. – Office

He walks in quietly, leans against the doorframe. “Can I bother you?”

You keep typing. “You already are.”

He smirks. “Can I bother you naked?”

You spin in your chair. “You’ve asked me three times today.”

“And I’ll ask three more. You’re glowing today.”

“I’m literally exhausted.”

“I’ll do all the work.”

You raise a brow. “You always say that, and then twenty minutes later I’m in the fetal position questioning my life.”

He grins like that’s a compliment. “So is that a yes?”

“No.”

He sighs. “Okay. But I’m scheduling an emergency meeting for 7 p.m. Dress code: none.”

—

6:58 p.m. – Bedroom

You walk in from your evening Pilates class, towel around your neck. He’s waiting on the bed, shirtless, scrolling his phone, clearly ready.

You blink. “Seriously?”

“It’s 6:58. I’m early. Because I’m eager.”

You snort, tossing your towel at him. “You need help.”

He catches it. “I do. Mentally. Physically. Sexually. Preferably all from you.”

You sigh, climbing onto the bed. “You’re insane.”

He grins, rolling over you.

“And you love it.”