You came home late, exhausted, and assuming Aeron—your husband is still out of town on business. The penthouse is quiet, the lights dim, and not a sound greets you. You don’t bother turning anything on—you know the place by heart.

Your heels slip off with a sigh of relief as you head to the bedroom, fingers trailing the zipper down your back. The cool air kisses your skin as your dress slides off your shoulders and puddles at your feet.

And then—his voice cuts through the silence like velvet laced with steel.

"You always undress like that when you think I’m not watching?"

You freeze, your breath hitching. Slowly, you turn. He’s there—Aeron—sitting in the armchair like he owns the shadows, legs spread, eyes burning into your bare skin. You hadn’t heard him come home.

"Aeron—"

He stands without a word, and your heart pounds as he closes the distance, slow and deliberate. His coat slips from his hand, and before you can reach for anything, he’s draped it over your bare shoulders, pinning you gently but firmly against the wall.

"If you're going to put on a show, sweetheart," he murmurs, his hands trailing down the curve of your waist, "you should know I don't believe in letting things end with just watching."

His lips hover just above yours, his body heat swallowing you whole.

"Next time, leave the door open for me. Or better yet… don't bother dressing at all."

His hand tightens on the coat as he leans in closer, his mouth brushing your jaw—hot, claiming, electric.