Page 148 of The Bad Husband

He catches me with his shirt pressed to my nose.

“What are you doing?” he asks with a smile.

I drop the shirt back on the chair.

“I missed you,” I say while he wraps his arms around me.

“I missed you too.”

His lips are cold and taste like mint.

He smoothly slips his fingers under my top and peels it off.

At the same time, he kisses me.

My arms loop around his neck while he slides his hands down the back of my thighs and lifts me up.

Within seconds, we’re on the bed, and he enters me without wasting another moment.

Despite his burning passion, I know something's wrong. He carries the burden of something he doesn’t want to talk about.

Maybe it has nothing to do with me.

Maybe it does.

I wish I knew what bothers him.

Before I can delve into that, I think solely about him.

How he moves on top of me.

How he makes me throb with pleasure.

We come at the same time, his hand clutched onto my hair, his lips burning against mine.

He needed this more than I needed it, and I still can’t shake off this feeling that something’s wrong.

We lie on our backs, staring at the ceiling. And then, I find myself speaking.

“Henrietta was here again,” I say, and his reaction is swift.

He flicks his eyes to me, pushes up, and props himself on his elbows.

I slide my hand to his arm.

“Don’t worry. Things are fine,” I murmur with a smile, still basking in the afterglow.

“What did she want?”

“She wants me far away from you.”

“And other than that?”

A grim expression slides over his face.

“There was nothing else, really.”

I search his eyes for a few seconds.