Page 86 of Choosing Hope

As she climbs the stairs, her virtually naked bottom is in my eyeline. I admire the sexy curve of her feminine spine, and the slight wiggle to her hips, which seems more pronounced than usual.

Her lily tattoo is poking out of the fabric of her dress, on the top of her right buttock. I long to press a kiss on it as I habitually do when I see it, but I resist.

We process along the landing to our bedroom suite.

“Where’s Lily?” I ask, realizing I have no clue where my daughter is.

“She’s with my mum,” Sophie’s soft voice replies.

There’s no judgment in her words; in fact she seems pleased that I’ve asked.

“Mum promised to have her all weekend, if that’s what we want.”

My gaze shoots to hers, and her chin lifts an inch, a slight tinge of defiance in her eye.

Hmm, what are you planning, Mrs. Barton-Jones?

Dr. Klein’s words ring in my ears. “Maybe it’s about letting her see you now—really see you—and trusting she still might choose you.”

When Dr. Klein said those words, I thought she was living in a fantasy world. But, maybe she’s right. I need to trust in the love we share, and Sophie might still choose me.

“Has she indeed? That’s very kind of her,” I reply.

We enter our bedroom, and I stride to my side of the bed, place my glass of water on the coaster.

When I turn around, Sophie’s exposed her shoulders. I watch as she slides the rich, red fabric of her dress down her body, allowing me to see her glorious soft skin underneath. My hands twitch to reach for her, but I don’t. Instead, I freeze mesmerized by the vision of her.

Once she’s stepped out of her sexy dress, she bends from the waist to pick it up, trailing it over our bedroom chair before striding toward me, completely naked. Her tits are bouncing with each step, but she never looks up at me.

My dick, which still hasn’t released this evening, is back to full mast. I’m desperate to grab her, throw her on the bed and make love to her.

But I don’t.

I stand staring like the lost boy I feel, admiring a woman who ever since we met has chosen me. Whom I need to find my way back to deserving.

With her back to me, she slides open the drawer beside me and takes out something silky. Her hair is trailing down her back. I’m tempted to slide it to one side and kiss her neck like I’ve done so many times before, to make her giggle and push herself back into me.

But I don’t.

“Are you sleeping standing up?” she asks flippantly as the soft, floaty fabric of her nightdress slips over her body, blocking my delectable view.

“No, I should take a shower,” I croak.

Removing my phone and wallet from my pockets, I place them on the bedside next to my water glass before unclipping the fastening on my trousers and sliding down the zipper.

Her back is facing me, she’s brushing her hair in the mirror. Another movement in the glass catches my eye. I glance up to see what it is and realize the movement is my reflection.

My gaze collides with hers in the mirror.

She’s watching me.

As I slide my trousers down, all the blood in my body seems to charge to my groin. I toss them onto the bed beside me and remove my socks.

I peer at her bottom, determined not to let her know I’m aware she’s watching me. Yet, I know she still is, because she hasn’t moved aside from the rhythmical arm brushing through her long hair—it’s getting far more attention tonight than it usually does.

As I undo my shirt buttons and then unclip the cufflinks, that she gave to me as a wedding gift, I step toward her, my chest exposed and my hard as fuck boner poking through the soft cotton of my boxer shorts.

I approach her without touching, yet I’m close enough to feel her body twitch. She’s getting turned on again.