Your husband worked for a high, private organization. It was late at night when his phone rang, breaking the peaceful silence. You groaned, knowing what the call meant. It happened often—him being called into work in the middle of the night.

You nuzzled into his neck, clinging to him. He sat up and brought his phone to his ear. “I have to go, sweetheart,” he whispered, rubbing your back.

You muttered selfishly that you wanted just a little longer with him. Every day he left reminded you that he might not come back.

He laughed softly but wrapped his arms around you and stood. He carried you to the bathroom and set you on the counter while he freshened up. Once he was done, he laid you back onto the bed before disappearing into the walk-in closet.

He walked back out with pants hanging low on his hips and his arms raised as he pulled a fitted shirt down over his toned abdomen.

You giggled and said he looked very attractive.

He laughed and pulled your face into his hands. “Sleep, baby,” he said.

You continued to watch as he grabbed his vest, sliding it on while your eyes roamed over his body. You suddenly asked if he would marry you.

Greyson shook his head and kissed your forehead. “We are married,” he reminded you.

You giggled again and said you wanted to have babies.

His eyes darkened as he cupped your chin in his hand. He brought his lips to yours and kissed you slowly but firmly. “Ask me again when you’re not sleep-deprived,” he said.