Soft humming greets me as I approach the kitchen, and my heart instantly begins to pound, longing washing over me unexpectedly. My hand trembles as I push the door open, finding exactly what I’d suspected — Zane standing behind the stove, still wearing the suit he wore to the office this morning.
He glances over his shoulder and smiles, driving the butterflies in my stomach wild. “Hey,” he murmurs, his expression relaxed, not a hint of his usual distaste and wariness present. He’s been different ever since he told me he was tired of being unhappy too, and it makes me hopeful for something I’m scared to want. I’m worried his recent kindness is simply the result of the pity I must’ve invoked in him when he found me crying in bed, twice, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I never meant to guilt-trip him into treating me differently.
“Hi,” I tell him belatedly, snapping out of my daze. He’s never home at this time, and I haven’t seen him cook since we got married. It always used to be my favorite sight. Zane is always handsome, but there’s something infinitely sexy about the way he looks when he’s cooking. “I didn’t realize you were home,” I murmur.
He nods and beckons me closer. “Could you help me with this?” I take a hesitant step forward, and he smiles as he gestures toward the potatoes on the counter. “I know you’re a pro at peeling these, so will you help me with this? I wanted to make dauphinoise potatoes for dinner, to go with the sea bass. Be careful with the peeler though.”
I blink in surprise, unsure what to make of his friendliness. It just makes me feel even more lonely — it’s like I’m a friend he feels he needs to support. The peace between us feels fragile, and I’m tempted to break it entirely. I’d rather have his hatred and the passion that comes with that instead of this distant kindness. “Are you… are you having anyone over for dinner?” I ask hesitantly.
“No. Just thought I’d have dinner with my wife.”
I smile involuntarily as I pick up the peeler, my heart beating a bit faster than it did moments ago. There’s something about the way he calls me his wife sometimes that just makes me feel so flustered.
“Where is Melissa?” I ask, wondering about our housekeeper. She’s hard to catch, so I’ve only ever had a handful of conversations with her, but she always makes sure I have everything I need, often without me even having to ask for it. I’m not sure how she does it, but she always has dinner warm and ready for me when I get home, no matter the hour, yet I rarely see her.
“I gave her the evening off.”
I nod and watch as Zane pulls off his suit jacket, my cheeks heating when he drapes it over one of the bar stools by his kitchen island before pulling off his tie. I’m mesmerized as his cufflinks follow and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing his forearms.
“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice rough.
My eyes snap to his, my breathing a little erratic. “What?” I say dumbly.
Zane smirks, his eyes roaming over my face and pausing on my lips for a moment before he turns back to the stove. I exhale and relax against the counter, my heart pounding wildly and my cheeks flaming. The kitchen has always been a dangerous place for us, and he still looks as sexy as ever with his broad back turned to me.
I sigh as I take in the way his ass looks in those suit pants, and regret hits me hard. I wish we were still close enough for me to walk over and slide my hand down his spine, like I used to. That easy intimacy is gone, and I never realized it before now. Sex isn’t the same as real intimacy — it’s a glimpse of it that just leaves me wanting more of what we used to have.
Zane reaches for something in the cupboard above him, reminding me of the way he’d move behind me every time I stood on my tiptoes to grab something. I used to wear nothing but his t-shirts, knowing how much he loved seeing me in them, and I’d purposely let them ride up my thighs when I reached for something. His hand would wrap around my waist and his body would press against mine, and that’d be it — dinner would be forgotten as he bent me over the counter.
I draw a shaky breath as I look around his brand new kitchen, doubt tugging at me. Has he done any of that with someone else? Zane loved his old kitchen and refused to change a single thing about it when we were dating. He wouldn’t even let me rearrange anything in the cupboards. Who did he change it for? I bite down on my lip as my memories turn to painful visions of him giving everything that used to be mine to someone else.
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m halfway across the room. Zane looks up just as I wrap my hand around his arm and rise to my tiptoes. Something flashes in his expression when my other hand slides around the back of his neck in the seconds before I pull him toward me, my lips finding his.
It’s a hesitant kiss, one filled with suppressed emotions, one that reveals I don’t know what I’m doing or why. Zane freezes for a moment, and I begin to pull back, a deep kind of shame and rejection settling in my stomach — but then he grabs my hair and tilts my face, kissing me harder, deeper. I moan against his lips, and he grabs my waist, a move he’s performed a thousand times before. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as he turns us around and places me on top of the counter, my body moving against his as he cups my face.
I’m panting when he pulls back to look at me, his gaze searching. My heart thuds loudly in my chest as I look into his eyes, feeling more vulnerable than ever before. This feels different — there’s no anger today, no excuses to explain away what I just did. My gaze is pleading as I pull him back to me, and he comes willingly, kissing me all over again, slower now, more intentional.
Things have been changing between us. I think it started at my parents’ house, when I first saw his tattoo, and my heart wavered, only for it to start beating for him all over again when he held me in his arms as I cried about everything I lost. He consoled me instead of punishing me for my mistakes, and I knew then that things would never be the same, not for me.
I slide my hand down to his chest, and his breath hitches when I begin to unbutton his shirt. It falls open just as he reaches for my blouse, lifting it up and over my head in one smooth motion. His eyes darken when he sees the turquoise bra I’m wearing, and the way he bites his lip makes me tighten my legs around him. I reach for his tattoo, the tips of my fingers caressing his chest gently, almost like I’m scared this moment between us will break.
Zane threads his hand through my hair and sighs, his gaze as emotional as mine. My hand trembles as I place it over his cheek, my heart aching. He’s right here, and I miss him more than words could convey.
Zane’s forehead drops to mine, and he inhales shakily before tilting his face, kissing me softly, tenderly. His hand slips underneath my skirt, and I undo his belt, loving the way his abs tense as I push my hand into his pants to free his cock. “Fuck, Celestial,” he murmurs against my lips, and my heart skips a beat. He rarely calls me that these days. Does he know that I savor each instance?
His fingers trail over my underwear, and I deepen our kiss when he pushes it aside to slip two fingers into me. “More,” I moan, and he smiles against my mouth before sucking my bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, biting down before letting go.
“What do you want, baby?”
“You,” I reply instantly, wondering whether he realizes what I’m asking for. It’s not just his body I want, not anymore.
He pulls back a little and grabs his cock, lining it up perfectly. “You have me,” he whispers, his words a false promise. His eyes are on mine as he pushes into me, slowly, intentionally. “You’ll always have a part of me, Celeste, whether I like it or not.”
