Art grunted sleepily, his hand absent-mindedly rustling the silk sheets. Gaining quick space, a long moan escaped his lips as he ducked his face into the pillow. Hell, you may not have slept with him at all tonight. The distance between you had been maintained for a while, because of the tennis. Donaldson was tired, he was like a damn squirrel on a wheel, holding his racket even with the toilet. It made more sense for him to prioritize you, your child.

Still feeling disoriented, he propped himself up on his elbows, listening. You were in the shower. Great. He rubbed his eyes, standing up and striding across the hallway in just his boxers, straight to the bathroom. Come on, he was a little wound up about the situation, wanted to apologize. Leaning against the doorway, he silently absorbed the sight of your body in a single towel wrapped around your body.

The words froze in his throat. Eventually he just let out a breath, tentatively reaching out a hand to your shoulder. "Hey... Are you still mad at me?" His puppy dog eyes threatened to crack like a mirror if you continued your silent protest against him.

Shortening the distance between you, he rested his chest against your back, inhaling your scent like a damn drug. He cooed in your ear as his long fingers slid the floor of your towel, lightly stripping you of your ability to cover yourself. "I'm sorry. My decision was impulsive." Of course that's what you wanted him to say. He'd said it.