Page 135 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

I feel his hardness press against me, and that single sensation shatters the last of my resolve. My fingers claw at his t-shirt; I need him naked, I need his skin on mine.

He pulls back first, gasping for air, his forehead pressed burning-hot against mine.

“Wait. Not too fast.”

His voice is rough.

“Tell me what you want first.”

His words slowly cut through the haze clouding my thoughts.

He’s right.

I was getting carried away.

Am I ready?

I slowly release his T-shirt.

I don’t answer.

I’m not capable of it yet, but he understands.

A soft smile appears at the corner of his lips before he pulls me into a gentle embrace.

*

Eventually, we get up.

“What do you want to do this morning?” he asks, both hands wrapped around his mug.

“The Montmartre Christmas market. I want to find something for Hugo’s parents.”

He looks at me over the rim of his cup.

“Good God... I forgot about your obsession with Christmas markets.”

“Is that a flaw?”

“Who goes to a Christmas market on December twenty-fourth?”

“Please.”

“It’s going to be packed.”

I stare at him without blinking.

He sighs. But he’s smiling too.

*

He was right. It’s absolutely packed. And it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

We leave a churro stand with a paper cone each.

I bite into mine—still hot and coated in sugar—and close my eyes for a second.

“Mmm... thank you.”