Page 39 of Six Month Wife

“Mm-hmm,” she purrs. “And I’m thinking we could use a little internal alignment.” She gives me a wicked once-over. “For credibility.”

I lean in close enough to smell the citrus in her shampoo. “Are you saying I’m not convincing?”

“Not saying that,” she replies, tilting her head slightly,teasing. “I'm saying you constantly have to reinforce. Listen up, Dr. Matthews.”

My pulse races, and it isn't from the running.

“Got it.”

She shrugs one bare shoulder, feigning innocence. “Just saying.”

Her entire face as she turns and saunters toward the back hallway, the one that leads past the family locker rooms and toward the private steam suites. She doesn’t look back or offer an invitation. She doesn’t have to.

I trail after her with my brain on fire. This is insane. This is perfect.

When I catch up, she’s already standing in front of one of the spa doors, the ones only members use, tucked past the locker room corridor.

Without a word, she flips the small sign on the door from “Unoccupied” to “Occupied.” Then she glances back at me, one brow arched, eyes glinting with a challenge.

Her hand curls around the handle, she eases it open slowly, and the stream curls around her like an intro to a porn intro. Then she steps inside.

And I follow her.

The door clicks behind us, sealing in the steam and all the sensual possibilities. She locks it as her back hits the tile wall.

I’m already closing the distance, not thinking, wanting.

Her eyes sparkle, wicked and sure. “So tell me, Dr. Matthews…”

She reaches for my shirt and slips it up. Her palms graze across my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Should I stop you when you're performing your brand reinforcement?”

I shake my head once. “Wouldn’t let you if you tried.”

She grabs me by the waistband, yanking us flush. “That’s what I’m talking about,” she groans against my mouth.

“I've got to prove my commitment to the role,” I murmur as my hand trails down her waist to the swell of her hip.

She smirks, tilting her face up to mine. “I admire your commitment.”

I don’t even respond before she pulls me down, mouth crashing into mine, her tongue thrusting deep like she’s starving for it.

“God, you’re so sexy,” I whisper against her lips.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, and a second later, she flips us, pushing my back against the wall. She presses her hips into mine, every inch of her sharp and soft and fire.

It’s heated and reckless, but there’s something else underneath it, something real. Something I'm not supposed to feel.

I peel her top off first. The tight, cropped, and damp shirt clings like a second skin. Underneath, she’s wearing a barely-there black bra. It's not lace, but it's still sleek and feminine. It's stretchy, designed for movement, but right now, it’s my undoing.

Her breasts spill into my hands, full and warm, her nipples already tight against my palms.

She kicks off her sneakers without breaking eye contact. Then peels off those curve-hugging leggings inch by inch, hips swaying as she steps out of them.

Fuck.

My shorts are gone a second later. She wraps her hand around me, like she already knows exactly how I like it.

Because she does.