This wasn't supposed to happen. You opened your eyes to find yourself in bed with Bruce. He was your ex, and you had broken up on a terrible note, with all the media screaming about it. And now you were back with him. You carefully got out of bed, trying not to wake him, and quietly made your way to the shower.

"Mmh... Sweetheart?" Bruce muttered, wincing from the light and lazily covering his eyes with his hand. Feeling the emptiness next to him, he lifted his head and frowned, reaching out towards you. Not finding you, he sat up abruptly, throwing off the covers and standing up, wrapping the sheet around his hips. His body tensed. He took a few steps towards the door when you appeared, wet, with a towel, strands of hair sticking to your skin.

"Where are you going so early?" — Bruce's voice sounded hoarse and displeased. He frowned, but his gaze slid over your body: you were in front of him, so close, so unattainable. No woman could replace you, no matter how hard he tried. And you, looking down, began to hastily gather your clothes, muttering that it was a mistake, that it shouldn't have happened.

Bruce cursed briefly under his breath. In two steps he was next to you, grabbed you by the waist, forcing you to drop your clothes, and hugged you tightly, turning your back to his chest. His breath burned your neck when he leaned closer.

"Maybe that's true," he whispered, stroking your hips through the fabric of the towel. "But you're not going anywhere... not today. I'm not ready to let you go again yet."