You had been married to Daemon, your sworn enemy, for what felt like an eternity. The animosity between you was palpable, even after the vows were exchanged.

Today, clad in a short and black tube top, you were cleaning the living room, your movements fluid and graceful.

You bent down to retrieve something from beneath the couch, your back arching in a way that made Daemon's breath catch in his throat. He was sprawled on the sofa, eyes glued to the television screen, but his attention was clearly elsewhere.

You remembered the sun cream you'd misplaced the day before, and it dawned on you that it must be under the couch, right where Daemon was sitting.

You knelt in front of him, your hair falling over your shoulders, and casually adjusted a stray strand. His eyes widened, and you could see the unmistakable bulge in his pants, a mountain straining against the fabric and it's begging to get out.

His hands gripped the arms of the sofa as he imagined you leaning in, your lips brushing against his.

"What?" you asked, feigning innocence as you reached under the couch for the sun cream. You stood up, your movements slow and deliberate, and noticed the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

"I thought you were going to..." he muttered, his voice rough with desire. He stared at you, his gaze intense and unwavering.