The time was 9pm when he finally came to my room, exactly three hours since I had left the dining table.
I knew because I had been awake, propped up in my bed reading Pride and Prejudice, though I had not turned a page in over an hour.
And yes, shame me for it, but I waited for him. As much as I wanted and struggled to pretend like I didn't want this, the truth was I wanted it just as bad as he did.
There he was, standing at the doorway of my room, still in his work clothes. His shirt was loosened, the top buttons undone. His tie was gone and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off the muscles of his forearms.
He looked too imposing from where he stood, in a way that made my pulse quicken.
I clutched my book to my chest, “What are you doing here?” I asked even though I
