Chapter 23

Rain's POV

The house hums quietly around me.

But our house is never silent, not with an estate this big and this many people moving through it like ghosts with schedules. But quieter than usual.

Kaia is in school, probably telling some poor teacher a very detailed story about our life. Win and Phi left together and Saifah is off doing whatever it is they do during the day, which probably means threatening grown men with smiles on their faces.

The maids have already cleaned up the chaos of the morning. Now I'm in our closet, sitting on the soft ottoman in the middle of it, surrounded by clothes.

Mine. His. Kaia's little things that somehow migrate into our space like she owns the whole house.

Two of the maids are with me, helping sort through it. New clothes, old clothes, what needs to go and what needs to stay. One of them is hanging Phi's shirts with the kind of careful reverence most people reserve for sacred fabric. I don't blame her. His shirts are kind of sacred fabric.

Especially when I steal them.

I'm halfway through separating my white silk pieces from the ones that need special handling when my phone starts ringing.

I glance down.

Phi.

My lips curve before I can stop them.

I answer immediately, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I reach for one of his black button-downs.

"Phi."

His voice comes through low. Too smooth. "Hi, beautiful. You busy?"

I glance around the closet, at the half-sorted pile of clothing, at the maids politely pretending not to listen, at the hanger still hooked over my wrist.

"Uh, not really. Just sorting clo—"

He doesn't let me finish. "Good. Meet me at our hotel."

I blink.

The shirt slips from my fingers and lands across my lap.

"Our hotel?"

"Mm."

I sit up straighter, brows pulling together. "Uh, sure. What's going on? We have a meeting?"

"No."

Then, with absolutely no shame, no hesitation, no attempt to soften it— "I need to fuck you."

My stomach drops, then flips, then tightens so hard I have to bite the inside of my cheek.

The maids are still in the closet and I look at them, they look at the floor.

Very respectful. Very much still breathing the same air as me while my husband calls me in the middle of the day with that voice.

I clear my throat. "Phi."

"I didn't fuck you last night," he says, like he's making a business case. "Or this morning."

My fingers curl around the edge of his shirt.

He continues, voice dropping lower, rougher. "I'm too far from home and the traffic is bad. The hotel is closer."

My mouth goes dry.

Because I know exactly which hotel he means.

Sometimes, when Kaia sleeps over at one of her godfathers' houses or stays with Papa and Dad, Phi and I go there. Not because we need to. We have an estate. We have rooms on rooms on rooms. We have privacy, staff, security, everything.

But the hotel is ours in a different way.

Lazy weekends, room service, soft robes, long baths. A bed we have definitely ruined more than once.

No daughter knocking on the door asking if we're awake because she needs to show us her stuffed rabbit's new hairstyle.

No mafia crisis interrupting breakfast. No one calling him Boss. No one calling me VaRain.

Just us.

And now my husband is calling me for a daytime booty call like we're two reckless twenty-year-olds instead of married parents with a child in school and an empire to run.

The worst part?

It works.

His voice comes again, quieter now. "Come on, baby. I know you need me too."

The bastard.

The absolute bastard.

Because he's right.

I do.

I exhale slowly and lift my hand, waving the maids out.

They move immediately, heads bowed, faces perfectly blank.

As the door closes behind them, Only then do I let myself sink back into the ottoman, pressing Phi's shirt to my chest like that's going to help.

"Phi," I say, trying very hard to sound reasonable. "I have to pick Kaia up after school."

"I know." He replies easily "We'll be in and out."

Completely shameless.

I choke on a laugh. "That is not romantic."

"It wasn't supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to be resourceful."

I press my fingers to my forehead. "You are unbelievable."

"And desperate."

I chuckle, my thighs press together before I can stop them.

His voice softens after that. Just a little. Enough to make my chest ache underneath the heat.

"I miss you," he murmurs. "I've been in meetings all morning, and all I can think about is you in my shirt this morning. You looked half-asleep and smug and too pretty to be real even with all the rushing."

I close my eyes. "Phi..."

"I want my husband," he says simply. "Come to me."

I swallow and the closet feels too warm now. Too full of his scent. His clothes around me, his voice in my ear, his absence sitting heavy in the room like a hand on my throat.

I look at the time.

Then the door.

Then the pile of clothes.

Then I make the only reasonable decision available to me.

"Fine."

His inhale is immediate. Satisfied. "Yeah?"

I roll my eyes, even though he can't see me. "Don't sound so smug."

"I'm smiling."

"I know. I can hear it."

"You love it."

"I tolerate it because you're hot."

His laugh is low and pleased, and God, I hate how much I love that sound.

Then his voice dips again. "And baby?"

"Yeah?"

"Wear something hot."

I look down at myself.

Soft house clothes. Bare feet. Hair clipped up messily. Not bad, but not hotel worthy.

My eyes slide toward my side of the closet.

White silk. Cream linen. Pearls. Soft gold. A few pieces Phi bought specifically because he said they made him lose focus in public.

A slow smile spreads across my mouth.

"Careful, P'Phayu," I murmur. "You might regret saying that."

His voice turns dark with promise. "Never with you."

The call ends.

I sit there for one second, phone still in my hand, heart pounding like I'm doing something illegal.

Which is ridiculous.

I'm married to him.

I have a child with him.

I've killed for him.

I've watched him walk through blood and come home to kiss our daughter's forehead.

And still, one midday call from my own husband has me sitting in our closet, flushed and breathless like I've been caught sneaking out.

I stand and  walk straight to the white silk section.

If Phi wants hot, I'll give him hot.

And if we're going to be "in and out," then he can suffer knowing exactly what he has to unwrap first.

I choose the shirt deliberately.

Soft white silk with soft pink trimmings. Loose enough to look effortless, sheer enough under the right light to be a problem. I pair it with tailored trousers that sit high on my waist and make my legs look longer than they are. A thin gold chain at my throat. Small diamond earrings. Soft gloss. Nothing too heavy.

Expensive and Dangerous in the way Phi likes best.

I leave the top buttons open.

Then one more.

I look at myself in the mirror.

My cheeks are already pink.

Ridiculous.

I point at my reflection. "You are a grown man."

My reflection looks back, glowing and smug.

A grown man whose husband just summoned him to a hotel in the middle of the day because traffic was too bad for him to come home to fuck him.

I grab my phone, my bag, and my sunglasses.

By the time I step out of the closet, the maids are waiting politely in the bedroom like they know nothing.

Like I'm not dressed like a sin with a school pickup alarm set on my phone.

I lift my chin. "I'm going out for a bit."

One of them nods. "Yes, Khun Rain."

No questions, smart woman.

I make it down the stairs with my composure intact until I reach the front hall and one of the guards straightens.

"Car, Khun Rain?"

"Yes."

"Destination?"

I pause.

Because what am I supposed to say?

Our hotel. The one my husband takes me to when he wants to forget the world exists.

I slide my sunglasses on. "The hotel at Sathorn"

The guard's face doesn't move, not even a twitch.

Trained by the best, honestly. "Yes, Khun Rain."

I step outside into the heat, phone already buzzing in my hand.

Phi: On my way.

Another message follows immediately.

Phi: Don't make me wait.

I smile despite myself and type back with one thumb.

Me: You will wait.

His reply comes so quickly I know he's not paying attention to whatever poor person is probably speaking to him.

Phi: Careful.

I slide into the back of the car, crossing one leg over the other as the door shuts behind me.

Me: You started this.

A few seconds pass.

Then...

Phi: I'm going to finish it too.

Heat blooms low in my stomach,  I look out the window as the estate gates open, Bangkok unfolding beyond them in sunlit glass and traffic and noise.

My phone rests hot in my palm.

My husband is waiting for me and for once, the world can survive without us for an hour or two.

PHAYU'S POV

I'm shamelessly adjusting my hard-on in the backseat after getting off the phone with Rain.

I do need him.

That's the whole problem.

Rain knows that tone in my voice. He knows when I stop being patient, when I stop being interested in compromise, when I get like this—sharp-edged, restless, already halfway out of my mind with need.

And thank fuck for both of us, he also knows I'm not in the mood to negotiate when I get like this.

My driver says nothing. Just keeps his eyes on the road and expertly weaves us through traffic, taking corners smooth and fast, cutting through Bangkok like the city owes me a favor.

I kicked Win out of the car at the office before he gives me shit for needing my husband and I sit back against the leather seat, jaw tight, one hand braced on my thigh, the other still curled around my phone. My mind is already gone. Already on Rain.

What he'll wear.

How he'll look when he walks in.

That first second when his eyes land on me and we both know exactly why we're there.

I exhale and adjust myself again.

Fuck.

I've already called ahead.

Penthouse suite. Wine, Chocolates, soft robes. The whole fucking setup.

Anything to make sure my husband feels like more than a booty call, even when that's exactly what this is. Not that Rain will mind. He likes when I get needy. Likes when I call him with that rough edge in my voice and tell him to come to me.

Still.

He's my husband.

I'm not dragging him to a hotel in the middle of the day and making it feel cheap.

The car pulls up at the entrance and I'm out before the valet fully gets the door open.

Inside, the lobby is cool, polished, discreet. Staff straighten the second they see me. One of the receptionists already has the key card ready by the time I reach the desk.

"Welcome back, sir."

I give him a short nod and take it— efficient and perfect—exactly how I like things.

I turn toward the elevator, already mentally counting down the minutes until Rain gets here.

"Khun Phayu?"

I stop and t turn.

And there he is. One of the businessmen from last night's pangolin charity gala Rain and I attended.

Ah, fuck.

I smooth my expression instantly, polite and cordial, the version of me the public gets. The respectable one. The architect. The executive. The man people shake hands with and try to impress.

"Good afternoon," I say.

He beams like he's just found gold. "I thought that was you."

Of course you did.

Before I can redirect, he's already closing the distance, one hand half on my arm, steering me toward a small group gathered near the lounge.

"I want you to meet a few people," he says. "I was just telling them about your company."

Naturally.

I let him pull me in because making a scene in the middle of the hotel lobby would be stupid, and I'm still a professional even with my cock hard enough to be a genuine problem.

Introductions start flying.

Names, firms, titles. Hands extended.

I shake each one, smile where needed, nod at the right moments.

And then they start.

Business.

My architecture company.

Projects, design philosophy, expansion, property development, one of them mentioning a resort concept, another asking about mixed-use towers, another talking margins like he's trying to impress me.

I answer automatically, as smoothly as I can. The words are all there, but my mind is somewhere else.

My husband is on his way to me, probably dressed in something that's going to make this situation ten times worse, and I'm standing in a fucking circle discussing commercial aesthetics with men who clearly have nowhere better to be.

I smile again, cordial.

And let them talk, because for now, I still have enough control not to walk away.

And then Rain walks into the lobby.

My eyes go to him immediately and so does every other pair of eyes in the room.

He steps through the glass doors like he owns light itself, and for one stupid, dangerous second everything else in the room drops away—the businessmen, the lobby, the conversation still hanging unfinished around me. None of it matters.

Just him.

Beautiful enough to make a man violent.

Soft white and pink silk clings to him like it was made for my hands, his shirt open just enough at the throat and chest to show skin, his trousers cut to flatter every inch of that perfect body I know better than my own.

His hair is styled, his face composed, but there's that look in his eyes—that private gleam that says he came here knowing exactly what this was.

One of the men beside me lets out a low whistle.

"Who is that?"

My jaw clenches so hard it almost clicks.

I turn my head just enough to look at him, and I force a smile onto my face.

"That," I say evenly, "is my husband, gentlemen. Have a nice day."

And then I walk away from them.

Straight toward my vision. Toward the man who can ruin my concentration with one look and doesn't even have to try.

The closer I get, the worse it gets. My body tightens, the pressure low in my gut turning meaner, and fuck if I don't get even harder just crossing the floor to him.

He's so fucking beautiful it almost hurts to look at him.

Rain tilts his head slightly when I stop in front of him, and that small, knowing smile curves over his mouth.

"You're insane," he says, shaking his head.

I don't answer.

My hands go straight to his waist and I pull him in, lean down, and nose at his neck like I can help it, breathing him in deep. "Hm."

Fuck.

He smells so good.

Clean and expensive and sweet underneath, something warm and familiar that always makes something ugly and possessive uncoil in my chest.

I groan before I can stop myself.

Rain chuckles softly, one hand pressing to my chest as he pulls me back enough to look at me properly.

"Let's go," he murmurs. "Before you rut all over me here like a caveman."

I groan again, lower this time, and force myself to tear my mouth away from his skin.

Barely.

I slide one hand from his waist to the small of his back and guide him toward the elevators.

Behind us, I can feel the men from before staring.

Rain, because he's Rain, glances over with that soft, shy smile of his and offers a quiet greeting as we pass. Polite and graceful, too Perfect.

I don't stop.

I just give them a short nod, barely more than a dismissal, and keep walking.

Because I am done pretending I have patience.

RAIN'S POV

The second the elevator doors slide shut; Phi is on me.

One hand fists in my shirt, the other grips my waist hard enough to make me gasp, and then his mouth crashes into mine—hot, desperate, greedy. I stumble back a step into the mirrored wall with a breathless sound, and he groans into my mouth like he's been starving for hours.

"Need you so bad, baby," he mutters against my lips, rough and wrecked. "Need you."

I kiss him back just as hard.

There's no room for teasing now, no patience left in either of us. He kisses like a man already at the edge, like the ride upstairs is one more insult he has to survive before he gets what he wants.

His hands move over me restlessly, claiming, gripping, pulling me tighter against him until I can feel exactly how worked up he is.

I pull back just enough to breathe, chest heaving, but Phi doesn't stop.

He drops to my jaw, then my throat, kissing me there with open-mouthed hunger, biting just enough to make my breath catch. My fingers tangle in his hair, trying to ground myself, but he's relentless—big hands sliding under the open edges of my shirt, warm against bare skin, exploring me like he has to make up for every second we've been apart.

"Phi—"

He kisses me again just to shut me up.

And God, he's ravenous.

By the time the elevator gives its soft chime at the penthouse, we're both a mess—breathless, flushed, clinging to each other like we barely made it through the ride.

The doors slide open.

Phi barely gives them time.

He's already guiding—almost dragging—me out into the suite, hands firm at my waist, both of us stumbling forward with the kind of urgency that makes the whole room blur around us.

I shake my head the second his fingers hook into my shirt.

"No," I tut, catching his wrist, breath already a little uneven. "I'm picking Kaia up from here. You can't ruin my shirt."

He exhales like it physically pains him, eyes darkening right in front of me.

Before I can even finish reacting, he grabs me—strong hands at my waist—and lifts me clean off the ground.

"Phi—!"

The world tilts and then I'm on the bed, bouncing slightly as he throws me down, a startled laugh ripping out of me. I barely get my bearings before I look up at him—and my breath catches.

His eyes are blown wide.

Hair already falling loose from the tie, strands slipping around his face. His suit is still on, sharp and expensive, but there's nothing controlled about him now. He looks wild and hungry.

Mine.

He shrugs off his jacket in one impatient motion, tossing it somewhere behind him, his hands already going to his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons.

"Take it off," he says, voice hoarse, rougher than usual. "Take off your clothes, fast, baby. I'm not waiting once I get my hands on you."

Something in my stomach flips.

I push myself up onto my knees on the bed, smiling slowly at him—because he's losing it, and I love it.

"Bossy," I murmur, dragging my shirt off deliberately slower than he wants.

His jaw tightens as he watches.

I toss the shirt toward the couch without looking, already reaching for my pants—but by the time I even get them halfway down, I pause.

He's already naked.

Completely.

Like he couldn't even wait long enough to pace himself.

My eyes drop and heat floods through me instantly. His hand is wrapped around himself, slow, impatient strokes, his head tipped slightly as he watches me like I'm the only thing in the room.

His tattoos stretch over his chest, his stomach, his arms, gleaming under the soft hotel lights.

"Fuck..." I breathe.

That's all it takes.

I step off the bed, closing the distance between us, and the second I'm close enough his hand comes down—hard—grabbing my ass, pulling me flush against him.

I gasp, laughing under my breath, but he doesn't give me time to say anything.

He kisses me.

Hard.

All teeth and heat and need.

It steals the air from my lungs instantly, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders as I melt into it, matching him, pushing back just as much.

He groans into my mouth, low and wrecked, like he's been holding this in all day.

And then suddenly—I'm airborne again.

"Phi!"

He doesn't answer, just carries me and throws me back onto the bed again, climbing over me immediately.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice breaking as his hands drag over my body, like he can't decide where to touch first. "I love you so much."

My chest tightens.

His gaze drags over me, intense, possessive, almost feral.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he mutters, thumb pressing into my hip. "All those men in that lobby—"

His jaw clenches.

"They were staring at you."

I reach for him, fingers sliding into his hair, softer now. "Let them look."

His eyes snap back to mine, something dark flashing there. "They wanted you," he continues, voice lower, more dangerous.

I pull him down closer, until our foreheads almost touch, my breath brushing his lips.

"But they don't get me," I whisper.

His grip tightens instantly.

"No," he murmurs, like it's a promise carved into stone.

His lips brush mine again, slower this time, but no less intense.

"Only I do."

I smile, softer now, brushing my nose against his. "Only you."

That does it.

Whatever restraint he has left snaps clean.

He presses me back into the bed again, not as rough this time—but deeper, like he needs to feel me there, grounded under him. His hands move everywhere at once—my waist, my thighs, my chest—like he's reacquainting himself, like it's been too long even though it hasn't.

"Missed you," he mutters, almost to himself, lips dragging along my jaw, my neck.

"We were apart for a few hours," I tease weakly, even as my body arches into him.

"Too long."

Then..."Spread your legs, baby."

His voice drops—low, but heavy with want—goes straight through me and I don't even hesitate.

I do it for him.

Always for him.

There's something in the way he says it, like he's been thinking about this all day. Planning it.

Then I hear it...the soft click of a cap opening.

I huff a quiet laugh, breath uneven. "You even brought lube?"

He doesn't answer right away. I feel his hands instead—warm, deliberate—settling on me, grounding me before anything else.

"Of course I did," he murmurs finally, voice brushing over my skin.

My stomach flips.

His touch shifts—slower now, more focused—and my breath catches as he slides one finger inside me, my head tipping back slightly as I feel him start to prepare me, patient but purposeful.

"The first time's going to be hard and fast," he says, tone roughening, restraint already fraying. "I need you too much to be gentle."

A soft laugh slips out of me, even as my fingers curl into the sheets.

"The first time?" I echo, glancing up at him "There's going to be more than one?"

That stops him for a second, he looks at me then—really looks—something dark and certain settling in his expression.

"Oh, baby," he murmurs, a slow, dangerous smile forming, "you have no idea."

My breath stutters as his touch deepens, more insistent now, and I grab onto his arm without thinking, grounding myself as the sensation pulls a sharp gasp out of me.

"Phi—"

He leans closer, lips brushing my jaw, steadying me even as he pushes me further.

"Relax," he whispers. "I've got you."

Before I can even steady my breathing, he pushes a second finger inside me.

I jolt, a gasp tearing out of my chest as the stretch deepens, fuller now, his hand firm where it braces my hip.

Phi groans under his breath, head dipping slightly as his fingers curl just right.

"God..." he mutters, voice rough, strained. "You're so tight." His thumb presses into my skin. "Should've told you to wear a plug... would've made this faster."

I let out a breathless laugh, the sound shaky, and my ass tightens around him on purpose.

He feels it immediately.

A low groan slips out of him, raw and helpless, and my lips curve even as my head falls back against the pillows.

"You're crazy," I murmur, voice soft, teasing—like I'm not just as gone as he is.

His fingers keep moving, slow but deliberate, stretching me open, making my body give in piece by piece.

I part my lips, about to say something else, "So fucking —" and then...he adds a third finger.

The sensation hits hard.

Too much in the best way.

A broken moan spills out of me, long and unfiltered, my back arching off the bed as my hands fist in the sheets.

"Phi"

I don't even know what I was going to say anymore.

He looks down at me, eyes dark, mouth pulling into that smug, devastating grin.

"You were saying?"

"Fuck you," I moan, voice breaking on it, breath wrecked.

He grins down at me, wicked, like he already knows exactly what he's about to do to me.

"In a bit, baby."

His fingers keep moving for a second longer, stretching me, working me open while his mouth finds mine again—hot, consuming, swallowing every sound I make. I'm so hard it hurts, leaking between us, my body aching for more, for him.

He's not much better.

I feel his cock pressed against me, heavy, hot.

Then suddenly his fingers are gone.

I gasp at the emptiness, my hips twitching, chasing it—but he doesn't let me wait.

I hear the slick sound of him stroking himself once, twice—and then he's pushing in.

Deep.

All the way.

The stretch is overwhelming, my breath punching out of me as my hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in.

"Phi—"

He groans—low, broken—like the sound gets dragged straight out of his chest.

"Fuck..." he breathes, forehead dropping to mine. "Feels like I can finally breathe."

I wrap my legs around him instinctively, opening wider, pulling him closer, wanting him deeper even though he's already filling me completely.

He starts moving slow at first. One thrust. Then another. Each one deliberate, heavy, dragging against every nerve inside me.

I barely get through three—maybe four slow thrusts—before something in him snaps.

His pace changes fast.

Too fast.

My breath stutters, turning into broken sounds as he drives into me harder, faster, losing control completely. The bed shifts beneath us, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall as the rhythm builds.

Skin slaps against skin, loud, wet, obscene.

My hands slide up into his hair, gripping tight as my body rocks with every thrust, every movement pulling another sound out of me.

"Phi—fuck—"

He doesn't slow.

Can't.

His grip tightens on my hips, holding me in place as he takes what he needs, his own moans spilling into the space between us.

The whole room fills with it.

I drag my nails up his back, feeling the muscles jump under my hands, my whole body shaking with every thrust.

"God—" his voice breaks, rough, wrecked, words spilling out like he can't hold them in. "I love fucking you... love this sweet ass—fuck—can't think, can't focus if I don't get inside you."

The way he says it—possessive, desperate—makes something snap inside me.

I moan, loud and helpless, wrapping myself tighter around him, heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper.

"Oh god, oh fuck—yes—" My voice comes out breathless, broken. "Phi... harder."

That's it.

That's all he needs.

His grip on my hips turns bruising, fingers digging in as he drives into me harder—faster—deeper. Every thrust knocks the breath out of me, the angle turning sharp, overwhelming, pushing me right to the edge.

The bed shifts violently beneath us, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room, obscene and relentless.

I can't keep up.

My thoughts scatter, dissolve, leaving nothing but sensation—heat, pressure, the way he fills me so completely it feels like too much and not enough at the same time.

"Fuck—baby—" he groans, head dropping to my shoulder, teeth grazing my skin as his pace turns brutal, unrestrained. "Fucking sweet tight hole—so fucking good—"

My hands tighten in his hair, pulling, grounding myself in him as my body gives in completely, every thrust dragging another broken sound out of me.

"Phi—I—"

I don't even know what I'm trying to say.

I just feel.

Him.

Everywhere.

And he doesn't slow down—doesn't soften—just keeps fucking into me like he needs it, like he's been holding back all day and now he finally gets to lose control.

He breaks first.

I feel it before I hear it—the way his rhythm stutters, loses its edge. Then the groan tears out of him, deep and wrecked, his body driving into me one last time as he comes, hard, spilling inside me like he's been holding it back for too long.

"Fuck—"

His head drops, breath hot against my neck, his whole frame trembling as he rides it out.

And I don't let him pull away.

I bite my lip, hips lifting to meet him, rolling against him deliberately—slow at first, then harder—milking him through it because I know he needs it. I know how far gone he is when he lets himself get like this.

His hands tighten instinctively, but he's weaker now, overstimulated, breaths coming uneven.

When he slows—I move. Quick. I push against him and flip us, straddling him before he can even process it.

His eyes snap open, dark, dazed, chest rising and falling hard.

"My turn," I murmur, voice low, steady despite the heat still burning through me.

I don't give him time to recover, I sink down on him in one smooth motion.

He groans immediately—almost pained from how sensitive he is—but he doesn't stop me. He doesn't even try.

If anything, his hands come to my hips again, gripping tight.

"Baby—fuck—"

I start moving. Hard and fast.

Setting the pace myself now, riding him with purpose, chasing my own release as I take what I need from him, using the way he's still hard, still inside me, still completely mine.

His head falls back against the pillows, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut as every movement pulls another broken sound out of him.

Too sensitive...too gone and still letting me have him anyway.

I lean forward, hands braced on his chest, watching his face twist under me, and I don't slow down.

Not even a little.

Hotel sex in the middle of the day with my husband?

It's in a league of its own.

No kid. No schedules. No staff hovering, no calls, no men waiting for orders. Just us.

Just him.

I look down at Phi, and his eyes are blown wide—black, endless, still so fucking hungry even after everything we just did. His chest rises and falls hard, lips parted, teeth catching his bottom lip as he watches me ride him, eyes flicking from my face down to watch his cock go in and out of me.

Like he's not even close to done.

My hands brace on his chest as I move harder, wilder— ass bouncing on him with no restraint now, chasing my orgasm without shame. The sound of our skins fills the room filthier, with my moans and his.

"Fuck—baby—you're gonna kill me" he groans, hands gripping my hips, trying to guide me even when he's already sensitive

I don't let him.

This is mine.

"Uhn uhn you feel so good Phi— so deep"

I roll my hips deeper, faster, hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur, my breath hitching— "oh fuck I'm gonna cum...I'm gonna—"

And then I break.

A loud cry tears out of me as I come, untouched, my body tightening, shaking, spilling over his chest as I slow from bouncing to grinding—dragging it out, using him, using the way he fills me to ride through every second of it.

"That's it baby, give it to me" he groans "Fuck you're spilling all over me—I don't even need to touch you uh?"

"Phi—hmmm, right there" My voice fades into a breathless whine as I press down harder, milking it, chasing the last waves until I finally sag forward.

We're both breathing hard.

Both wrecked.

And then...We laugh. At the same time. Soft and breathless, like we always do.

I lean down, brushing his long dark hair back from his face, fingers gentle now, tracing through the strands. His hand comes up at the same time, pushing my hair away from my eyes.

For a second, it's quiet.

I lean in and kiss him softly, "Hi," I whisper against his lips.

"Hi, beautiful," he murmurs back, voice still rough but warmer now.

I pull back slightly, studying him, then shake my head with a small smile.

"You're crazy."

He chuckles softly. "So are you."

I roll my eyes, but I'm still smiling as I shift and then let myself fall off him, landing beside him on the bed.

He slides out of me, both of us hissing softly at the sensitivity, and I feel the warmth of his cum as it leaks out. His hand immediately comes to my back, stroking up and down to my ass in slow, grounding passes.

I turn into him, nuzzling into his neck, breathing him in.

"I hate you," I mumble. "But that was incredible."

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Always is."

And he's right.

Almost eight years and it never gets old.

Never.

I tilt my head up slightly, brushing a kiss along his jaw. "How was your meeting?"

He exhales like the memory annoys him even now. "Exhausting. Too many mouths, not enough brains."

I snort softly.

"I needed you," he adds. "That was more important."

My chest tightens just a little at that, even as I huff and push myself up.

I glance around the room for the first time since we came in.

And of course, he's had everything set up.

My favorite wine sits chilling in a silver bucket, condensation dripping down the bottle. There's a spread of expensive chocolates, strawberries dipped in glossy dark chocolate, and a small box of pastries I already know I'm going to demolish.

I reach for the wine, grabbing two glasses and pouring.

I feel him before I see him. His lips press to my lower back, then move up my spine slowly, unhurried now.

I glance back over my shoulder, coy, glass still in hand.

"Already starting again?" I murmur.

He hums softly against my skin, hands settling on my waist. "I never want to stop."

His lips press between my shoulder blades, then higher, lingering, and it's not desperate like before—he feels sated, possessive in a quieter way.

I tilt my head slightly, watching him through half-lidded eyes as I lift the glass to my lips and take a slow sip.

Phi watches me like he hasn't already had me.

Like I'm still something he's starving for.

The sheets are tangled around us, loose and low over my hips, his skin still warm against mine. The room smells like sex and chocolate and expensive wine, all of it thick in the air, all of it making the afternoon feel even more unreal.

"You're staring," I point out, raising a brow.

"Yeah," he says simply. "You're mine."

I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling.

I set the glass down and shift so I can face him better, one knee tucked under me on the bed. His eyes follow every movement, dark and lazy and still too hungry for a man who just wrecked me not long ago.

I pick the glass up again and sip.

This time, I don't swallow.

I lean in and kiss him, slow at first, letting his mouth open for mine before I pour the wine into his mouth from mine.

He hums immediately, deep in his throat, swallowing as his hand slides to my waist. Then his mouth turns more demanding, kissing me deeper, tasting me, tasting the wine, dragging me closer until I have to brace one hand on his chest.

When I pull back, his eyes open slowly.

He licks his lips.

Then he leans in again, mouth brushing mine before his tongue drags over my lower lip, deliberate and filthy.

"Tastes so fucking good," he whispers.

My stomach tightens.

I smile against his mouth, breath catching when his hand slips up my back, fingers spreading over my skin like he's claiming every inch again.

"The wine?" I ask.

His eyes flick up to mine. "No," he murmurs. "You."

I laugh softly, but it comes out shaky because he's already leaning in again, kissing the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then the spot under my ear that makes my spine go loose.

"Phi," I breathe.

He hums like he likes the sound of that too much. "You started it, baby."

"I was sharing."

"You were teasing."

I pull back just enough to look at him, slow smile spreading across my face. "And?"

His fingers tighten on my waist.

"And now I'm going to take my time with you."

He reaches past me, grabbing one of the strawberries, the chocolate still glossy under the soft light. He brings it to my lips, pausing just enough to make me lean in for it.

I bite, slow, deliberate.

His gaze darkens again. "Dangerous," he mutters.

I chew, swallow, then take the glass again, handing him the other.

"To your very important meeting," I say dryly.

He snorts, clinking his glass against mine "To ditching it for something better."

We drink.

Silence settles for a moment—but it's easy. The kind that only comes after years of knowing each other like this.

His hand finds my thigh again, absentminded, warm.

"Kaia finishes at three," I say eventually, glancing at the clock.

"Mm. That gives us..." He tilts his head, calculating. "...time."

And after that, it turns into something else entirely.

We slow down first.

He takes me apart again slowly. No rush, no edge of desperation. Just my husband touching me and making love to me like he has all the time in the world. Every kiss lingers, every movement measured, like he's falling In love with me all over again.

And then, after that? It's chaos.

He can't keep his hands off me, not for a second.

I barely make it past the bed before he's pulling me back, pushing me up against the window, the city spread out in front of us while he takes me again—hard, unrelenting, like the thought of stopping doesn't even exist to him.

He had my back arched, hands gripping my waist as he whispered the filthiest things to me and fucked me hard.

Then bent over the couch. Up against the  wall. The bathroom.

Every surface in that penthouse becomes his playground.

He feels insatiable. Like no matter how many times he has me, it's never enough. Like it never will be.

We only stop because we have to.

Even then, the shower is barely a break.

We're laughing, breathless, hands still wandering, still touching, still drawn back to each other even when we're supposed to be rinsing off and getting it together.

By the time we step out, I'm already running late. I grab my clothes, trying to move fast, trying to be responsible for at least five minutes.

I'm halfway through buttoning my shirt when his hands are back on me.

"Phi—" I swat at him lightly, batting his hands away as he grips my waist again from behind.

He's dressed now—mostly.

Shirt on, pants on—but both still unbuttoned, like he didn't even finish the job before coming back to me.

Typical.

"Leave me alone," I laugh, breath still a little uneven. "You need to get dressed for your meetings."

He doesn't listen, he never does when he's like this.

He steps in closer, pressing against my back, his mouth finding my neck instantly. His nose drags along my skin, breathing me in like he hasn't had enough—which is ridiculous considering the last few hours.

His voice drops, filthy, coaxing, right against my ear. "But I wanna fuck you one more time, baby," he murmurs. "Just once."

I snort, shaking my head, even as my body betrays me, leaning back into him

"I can't wait for tonight."

"Phi—"

I don't even get to finish.

He turns me around in one smooth motion—and suddenly I'm being dragged back toward the bed.

"Seriously—?"

He doesn't answer.

He just drops back onto the mattress, pulling me with him.

I land on top of him with a soft gasp, my hands bracing on his chest as I glare down at him.

He looks up at me like he's already won. "Last one," he says, voice low, coaxing.

I narrow my eyes. "You said that three times ago."

"And I meant it every time." he shoots back, not even a little ashamed, mouth curving. "Not my fault you feel too good."

I roll my eyes, huffing—but I don't move.

That's my mistake.

His hands slide to the front of my pants, fingers already working at the waistband. My breath catches despite myself.

"Phi..."

He leans up just enough, voice dropping into something softer, more dangerous and bites my lip "Come on, baby."

I shake my head like I'm resisting him, like I'm not still sitting on him, like I'm not already halfway gone again.

"Phi, let me go," I mutter, but there's no heat in it.

His hand slips inside my pants, the bastard knowing exactly where to touch, stroking my cock while his other hand pulls me down into a kiss—deep, distracting, stealing whatever argument I was about to make.

I suck in a breath when his thumbs my slit and he makes a pleased sound into my mouth.

smug bastard

And just like that—I'm rocking into him again. "Fuck—Phi—Just this once," I mutter.

He grins.

Liar.

Both of us.

I'll probably have to get takeout with Kaia after school, because I definitely can't make it in time to her school and make it back home to make her lunch.

I lean in and kiss him then, already getting to it when my phone rings.

We both freeze for half a second.

It's loud in the quiet room, and it cuts right through the haze. I pull back immediately, blinking, and glance toward where I dropped it.

My phone's been on silent all afternoon.

There's only one exception to that.

Kaia's school.

Kaia.

I sit up immediately.

Phi groans like he's been personally betrayed, arms tightening around me as he tries to drag me back down.

"No—" he mutters against my chest. "Ignore it."

I laugh, breathless, pushing lightly at his shoulder. "That's Kaia's school. I need to get it."

He exhales dramatically, dropping his head back onto the pillows.

"It's not security," he argues lazily. "So she's obviously safe. Probably just need your permission for something."

And for a second—I almost believe him, I almost lean back down because he says it so confidently and he's still warm under me and his hand is still halfway in my pants.

Then the phone rings again.

More insistent this time.

I snort and twist away from him, stretching across the bed for it while he grabs at my waist and tries to drag me back.

"Phi—stop—"

He does not stop.

It turns into a mess.

A full-on wrestling match on the bed, both of us laughing now, his grip stubborn, mine just as bad as I stretch for my phone on the bedside table and he keeps trying to haul me back on top of him.

"Give me—!"

"No—"

"Phi!"

I finally manage to snatch it, breathless, half sprawled across him as I swipe to answer.

"Hello?"

There's a pause, then Kaia's teacher's voice comes through, polite and slightly uncertain.

"—Oh, hi, Khun Rain,"

I still, instantly.

Phi goes quiet under me too.

"I hope I didn't disturb you or anything—sorry," she continues quickly. "Kaia's just running a little bit hot. She's in the school clinic now. It's nothing serious"."

The entire mood vanishes.

Completely.

I sit upright so fast Phi's hand drops away from me.

"Running hot?" I repeat.

"Yes," she says gently. "She's not too far off or anything, She's okay," the teacher says quickly. "A little feverish, a bit tired, but she's stable. We just thought it'd be best to call."

"I'm coming now," I say immediately. "Thank you for calling," I add quickly, already moving, already pushing off the bed.

"We'll have her ready—"

I hang up before she finishes, adrenaline kicking in hard. "Phi."

Phi is already on his feet. The lazy, sex-dazed look is gone from his face like it was never there.

"What happened?"

"Kaia's in the clinic," I say, reaching for my clothes properly this time. "She's running a fever."

He doesn't say another word, he just starts dressing.