He Dropped His Secret Wife for His First Love, Then Couldn't Run His Own Life novel · Chapter 6 of 24

Chapter 6: Nine Hours

The cardiologist said Constance Aldrich would live, and that she would not enjoy it.

Her heart had skipped, then stuttered, then caught.

She was asleep in a private room with a monitor beeping over her silver hair.

Weston had been told to go home and rest.

He had not gone home.

At nine that night he stood in my doorway again, gray-faced, swaying, with his tie in his pocket.

"I can't go back to that house," he said. "I tried."

I looked at him for a long time.

Then I stepped aside.

"Sleep," I said. "On the bed. Take your shoes off."

"Lily..."

"Sleep, Weston."

He lay down on top of the covers still wearing his shirt.

I turned off the lamp.

I sat on the radiator and watched him.

It took him less than a minute.

His breath slowed.

His big hands went slack on the pillow.

The frown he wore even in his sleep smoothed out.

I stared.

In three years I had never watched him fall asleep.

He always fell asleep with me against him, and I always woke first.

He slept for six hours straight.

I slept in the armchair, and at three in the morning I woke with a stiff neck and a crazy, selfish ache.

I walked to the bed.

He lay on his stomach with one arm flung over my pillow.

The streetlight lay across his bare back where the shirt had ridden up.

He looked so young.

I knelt on the mattress beside him and put my hand on his spine.

His skin was warm.

He stirred and made a low sound, and I slid my palm up between his shoulder blades.

"Lily," he mumbled into the pillow.

"I'm here."

I took off my sleep shirt.

I eased the covers down and lay behind him, naked, with my breasts against his back and my arm over his waist.

I kissed the nape of his neck.

He drew a long breath.

"Am I dreaming?"

"Yes."

"Good dream."

"Don't wake up yet."

I trailed my hand down his stomach to the waist of his trousers and undid the button.

He was already half hard.

He rolled onto his back, slow and heavy-limbed, and looked up at me with eyes still soft with sleep.

I pushed his trousers and briefs down his thighs and kicked them off the bed.

Then I wrapped my fingers around him and stroked once, firm.

He gasped.

"Hold the headboard," I said.

His hands found the iron bars above his head.

I slid down the bed and took him into my mouth.

He was hot and silky and heavy.

I sucked slowly, deliberately, my tongue pressing along the underside.

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