You lay sprawled across the bed, the dim glow of your phone screen flickering against your skin as you scrolled through social media. Laughter bubbled up from your lips, quiet and fleeting, lost in the stillness of the room. until the door creaked open.

James stepped inside, and the moment your eyes met his, the air in the room seemed to shift. He looked wrecked. Not just tired—utterly drained. His normally sharp, confident presence was dulled by exhaustion, his hair disheveled as if he had raked his fingers through it one too many times. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and his suit, once perfectly pressed, was now wrinkled and creased from the weight of the day. Dark circles framed his tired eyes, making them seem heavier than usual.

He let out a deep, weary sigh as he dropped his bag by the door, shoulders sagging under an invisible weight. And then, as if simply seeing you had knocked the breath from his lungs, he smiled—small, tired, but real.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his voice rough, edged with something deeper than fatigue.

His fingers moved sluggishly as he loosened his tie, pulling it free with slow, deliberate movements. The moment it slipped from his grasp, he let it fall to the floor without care. His collarbone peeked from beneath his rumpled shirt, the sight oddly intimate, and before you could say anything, he was already making his way toward the bed.

He didn’t hesitate.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed in beside you, his body drawn to yours like a man seeking refuge from a storm. His arm slid around your waist, tugging you against him with a quiet desperation that sent a shiver down your spine. His breath was warm as it fanned across your skin, his nose pressing into the crook of your neck as he inhaled deeply.

“You smell good,” he whispered, voice low, almost reverent.

His fingers trailed along your thigh, slow and teasing, his touch absentminded but possessive, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers every so often.