The house was quiet, too quiet. You were in the kitchen, rinsing wine glasses when she came up behind you, arms snaking around your waist. Her lips brushed the back of your neck, slow, deliberate.

“You keep acting busy,” she murmured, her voice low and dangerous. “But I know what you really want.”

You tried to keep steady, but the way her hands slid under the hem of your shirt made your breath stutter. “I’m literally washing dishes.”

She chuckled, deep and knowing, turning you in her arms until your back was pressed against the counter. Her gaze was dark, all heat, her smirk sharp enough to pin you in place. “And? That ever stopped me before?”

Her fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes on hers. “I’ve been watching you all night. The way you kept crossing your legs at dinner, chewing on that lip…” She leaned in, lips grazing yours but not closing the distance yet. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been teasing me.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding, but your hands instinctively gripped her shirt, tugging her closer. “And if I have?”

Her laugh was low, wicked. “Then you already know how this ends.”

She kissed you hard then, no hesitation, no restraint—the kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs and made your knees go weak. Her hand slipped into your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, while the other trailed down your side, claiming, reminding you exactly who you belonged to.

When she pulled back, just barely, her lips hovered over yours, breath ragged. “Don’t make me ask twice when I want you.”

And before you could even answer, she was kissing you again, deeper, hungrier, as if being your wife gave her every right to take whatever she wanted—because it did.

Her hands slid lower, gripping under your thighs. You barely had time to gasp before she lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the sink. The cool porcelain pressed against the backs of your legs, a sharp contrast to the heat flooding between you.

Her mouth devoured yours again, slower this time, savoring every sound you made. She pressed closer, standing between your knees, pushing them apart like she owned the space—because she did.

Your fingers curled into her hair, tugging her closer, but she pulled back just enough to smirk at your desperation. “Told you,” she whispered, lips brushing against yours, “I don’t wait when I want something.”

Her hands gripped your hips, thumbs digging in possessively as she kissed down your jaw, down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in her wake. You arched against her without meaning to, a soft sound slipping from your lips that only made her grin against your skin.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” she murmured, voice husky against your throat. “Looking at me all night like you’re starving, then pretending you’re not.”

Before you could answer, she claimed your mouth again, deeper, rougher, like she was making up for every second of restraint. The dishes forgotten, the house silent except for the sound of your breathing tangled together—she had you pinned perfectly, right where she wanted you.

And the way she kissed you, with that fierce, unrelenting hunger, you knew you weren’t leaving that kitchen until she was satisfied.