two-faced

I sit on the chair and close my eyes. I hear him as he messes around with bottles on the vanity unit. I am too tired to open my eyes to find out what he’s doing. A moment later he tips my head back, and I open my eyes in surprise.“Eyes closed,” he says. Holy crap, he’s holding a cotton ball! Gently, he wipes it over my right eye. I sit stunned as he methodically removes my makeup.“Ah. There’s the woman I married,” he says after a few wipes.“You don’t like makeup?”

“I like it well enough, but I prefer what’s beneath it.” He kisses my forehead. “Here. Take these.” He puts some Advil into my palm and hands me a glass of water.I look and pout.“Take them,” he orders.I roll my eyes, but do as I’m told.“Good. Do you need a private moment?” he asks sardonically.I snort. “So coy. Yes, I need to pee.”He laughs. “You expect me to leave?”I giggle. “You want to stay?”He cocks his head to one side, his expression amused.

“You are one kinky son of a bitch. Out. I don’t want you to watch me pee. That’s a step too far.” I stand and wave him out of the bathroom.When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s changed into his pajama bottoms. Hmm . . . I gaze at his abdomen, his muscles, his happy trail. It’s distracting. He strides over to me.“Enjoying the view?” he asks wryly.“Always.”“I think you’re slightly drunk.”“I think, for once, I have to agree with you.”

“Let me help you out of what little there is of this dress. It really should come with a health warning.” He turns me around and undoes the single button at the neck.“You were so mad,” I murmur.“Yes. I was.”“At me?”“No. Not at you.” He kisses my shoulder. “For once.”I smile. Not mad at me. This is progress. “Makes a nice change.”“Yes. It does.” He kisses my other shoulder then tugs my dress down over my backside and onto the floor. He removes my panties at the same time, leaving me naked. Reaching up, he takes my hand.“Step,” he commands, and I step out of the dress, holding his hand for balance.

He stands and tosses my dress and panties onto the chair .“Arms up,” he says softly. He slips his T-shirt over me and pulls it down, covering me up. I am ready for bed.He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, my minty breath mingling with his.“As much as I’d love to bury myself in you—you’ve had too much to drink, you’re at nearly eight thousand feet, and you didn’t sleep well last night. Come. Get into bed.” He pulls back the duvet and I climb in. He covers me up and kisses my forehead once more.“Close your eyes. When I  come back to bed, I’ll expect you to be  asleep.” It’s a threat, a command . . . “Don’t go,” I plead.“I have some calls to make.”“It’s Saturday. It’s late. Please.”

He runs his hands through his hair. “Ana, if I come to bed with you now, you won’t get any rest. Sleep.” He’s adamant. I close my eyes and his lips brush my forehead once more.“Goodnight, baby,” he breathes.

I am too warm. He  warm. His head is on my shoulder, and he’s breathing softly on on my neck while he sleeps, his legs threaded through mine, his arm around my waist. I linger on the edge of consciousness, aware that if I wake fully I’ll wake him, too, and he doesn’t sleep enough. Hazily my mind wanders through the events of yesterday evening. I drank too much—boy did I drink too much. I’m amazed he let me. I smile as I remember him putting me to bed. That was sweet, real sweet, and unexpected. I conduct a quick mental inventory of how I’m feeling. Stomach? Fine. Head? Surprisingly, fine, but fuzzy. My palm is still red from last night. Sheesh. Idly I think about his palms when he’s spanked me. I squirm and he wakes.

“What’s wrong?” Sleepy gray eyes search mine.“Nothing. Good morning.” I run the fingers of my uninjured hand through his hair.“You look lovely this morning,” he says, kissing my cheek, and I light up from within.“Thank you for taking care of me last night.”“I like taking care of you. It’s what I want to do,” he says quietly, but his eyes betray him astriumph flares in their gray depths.“You make me feel cherished.”

“That’s because you are,” he murmurs and my heart clenches.