No.
Not possible. Not after so little time, and certainly not for me. Not ever.
Right?
I pushed the door open, hand on my cock.
“Ronan?”
“Who—ha!” I jumped at the sound of a very familiar, very female voice coming from across the small room.
“Ronan!” Laney shouted. “Oh my God, cover your eyes!”
Obediently, I smacked a hand over my eyes. “Okay, fine. Not looking. But… why, exactly, am I not looking?”
“Because I’m in the bath, you idiot!”
I frowned. “Well, now I have to look.”
I peered through my fingers and discovered my wife was, in fact, in my tub. The giant clawfoot tub I never used because what kind of adult man (who was completely secure with his masculinity, by the way) took bubble baths all by his lonesome?
She was also naked. Covered in a thin layer of bubbles, yes, but still obviously in her birthday suit. And holding a book.
Which she promptly threw when I dropped my hand completely.
“Ow!” I caught the book, but not before the sharp edges hit me in the gut. “What the hell isThe Rake and the Romantic? It’s not one of mine.”
“I found it at a bookshop today. Now can you give me some privacy, please?”
“‘A scandal-plagued lord proposes a marriage of convenience to save his inheritance to a starry-eyed bluestocking who quotes poetry and Latin—” I looked back at her with a grin. “Baby, if you want role play, you just have to ask. I can do a killer British accent, you know.”
“Ronan! Get out!”
Yeah, that wasn’t happening. Because Laney had just shaken off approximately three quarters of the bubbles that were previously covering her breasts, and that was when I realized it had been twenty-three days, eleven hours, and fourteen minutes since the last time I had seen Laney Fisher naked in the light—in other words, not since morning after we got married.
We’d fumbled through the darkness in her room the night of Megan’s wedding, and last night, of course, had happened in complete darkness. Both times, I’d been too busy pretending tobe a gentleman to sneak another look in the morning (a fact I was now regretting).
Now she was all but presented to me like a teenage wet dream, bubbles barely clinging to those petite curves, skin dewy with moisture and sweat, color high, eyes blazing, nipples teasing through the soapy film. If I squinted, I was pretty sure I could make out the shadow of her snatch under the water…
Fuuuuck me.
“Ronan!”
I jerked. “What?”
Her eyes flickered down, then away while a deep flush swept up her neck.
I looked down. Oh, yeah, that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. “What do you want me to do about it? I mean, look at you.”
“I really would rather you stopped.” She looked around, probably for something else to throw, before folding her arms over her breasts. That covered her nipples completely again, which was unfortunate, but also made her cleavage that much more pronounced, which I appreciated quite a bit.
I also appreciated the fact that she couldn’t stop glancing back at the evidence of that appreciation.
I smirked. “Hmm. Yeah. I don’t think so. Besides, I’m the one that’s really on display right now, so maybe you’re the one that should stop looking at me.”
“I’m not!” She was now staring up at the ceiling, a fact I conveniently ignored.
“How do we keep ending up naked in bathrooms together, anyway?” I wondered. “Do you have some kind of Greek nymph magic that makes me strip down every time I’m around you?”