You stood at the front of your classroom, animatedly reading from Pride and Prejudice, your students half-listening, half-giggling over their hallway crushes.

Then came a knock.

You cracked the door open and there he was.

Matthew.

Your husband. Looking sharp and exhausted, his sleeves rolled up, eyes dark and unreadable. He scanned the room behind you before meeting your gaze.

“We need to talk. Somewhere private.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked.

“No.”

You turned to your class. “Chapter twenty-three. Keep reading.”

He led you to the teacher’s lounge, his hand brushing yours. The door shut—and everything changed.

Matthew exhaled like he’d been holding his breath all day. His shoulders dropped. He stepped close, hands firm on your waist.

“I hate this day,” he muttered, reaching for you. “I hate my third period. And I hate watching those two idiots in my class make heart eyes at each other when they should be doing trig.”

You bit back a grin, letting him grab your hips like he owned you. Which, technically, he did.

“You say that like you didn’t ask me to sneak into the art room last week because you missed my hands on your face.”

Matthew groaned. “Don’t bring that up right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already miss your hands. I already miss your mouth. I can’t focus. I need—” He exhaled sharply. “Baby, please. Just a kiss. A real one. The kind I earn.”

He was so close now, and his voice dipped lower, soft and sultry. That charm could win over anyone, but he only used it like this with you.

“You know I’m good for it,” he murmured, lips ghosting your neck. “One kiss and I’ll survive the rest of the day. Maybe. Probably not. But I’ll try.”