Chapter 15

When I awoke, it was to the soft glow of morning light filtering through my bedroom windows.

Monique was still beside me, her golden hair spilling across the pillow, her face serene in sleep. The sight of her like this—unguarded, peaceful—made something in my chest tighten.

We had things to talk about. Things to figure out. But not now. Not yet.

Carefully, I leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Her eyes fluttered open, hazy at first, but the moment she registered my touch, a slow, sleepy smile spread across her face.

“Good morning, my love,” I murmured.

Her eyes widened slightly, then softened. She reached for my face, pulling me down for a deeper, lingering kiss.

“Good morning, my dear John,” she whispered against my lips. “I will never tire of hearing you say that.”

She pulled back just enough to study me. “How are you feeling this morning?”

I exhaled heavily. “To be honest, baby, I am sore as hell. My left side aches, and I have a headache.”

Concern flickered across her features, but she didn’t let it overshadow her warmth. “Let me get washed and dressed, and then I’ll be back to help you.”

She tossed off the covers and sprang from the bed, her movements light and full of energy. I watched as she disappeared into the ensuite, catching a glimpse of her perfect, bare backside before she vanished.

My body stirred instinctively, but as soon as I shifted, a fresh wave of pain pulsed through my skull. I groaned, closing my eyes. Any thoughts of morning play would have to wait.

I heard Monique’s soft footsteps moving through the room, assuming she was heading to the guest room to dress. I decided I should do the same, but as soon as I managed to sit up on the edge of the bed, a wave of dizziness rolled over me, forcing me to pause. The room spun wildly, and I had to steady myself against the mattress. If this was what a concussion felt like, I’d had enough of it already.

Before I could attempt to move again, Monique reappeared, dragging a suitcase behind her. I chuckled, realizing what it meant—she was staking her claim, settling in, making this our space. The thought sent a rush of warmth through me, a quiet thrill of knowing she intended to stay. I met her gaze and smiled.

“Make space for yourself, my love,” I murmured, my voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

Monique arched a playful brow. “That’s for later. First, let’s get you dressed and ready for the day,” she said, setting the suitcase aside before moving to the closet.

I exhaled a breath of amusement, but before she could start selecting my clothes, a more urgent need made itself known. “Help me to the ensuite, please, Monique, before I burst.”

She was at my side in an instant, slipping her hand into mine as she steadied me. Her touch was firm yet gentle, her presence grounding me as I carefully made my way into the ensuite. Once I settled onto the toilet, she leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a teasing smile curving her lips.

“Do you think you can handle this, or should I stay?” she asked, mischief gleaming in her eyes.

I let out a soft laugh and pointed toward the door. “Out.”

She smirked. “Call out if you need me to give it a shake, baby.”

I barked out a laugh, shaking my head as she exited. Even in my slightly battered state, she had a way of making me feel lighter, less burdened by the discomfort.

Alone, I took care of business, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. When I looked up into the mirror, I took stock of the damage. My torso was a patchwork of bruises—deep purples, angry reds, fading yellows. It looked worse today than it had yesterday, but I knew that was the nature of healing.

The sound of running water must have drawn Monique back because she slipped inside, carrying the clothes she’d chosen for me—sweatpants and a T-shirt. Simple, comfortable. She stepped close, holding them out to me, her fingers brushing over mine as I took them.

“This should be fine for today,” she said softly.

I nodded, but I didn’t move to dress just yet. Instead, I looked at her—really looked at her. The way the morning light kissed the warm tones of her skin, the way her hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, the way she stood there, watching me, completely at ease in my space.

“I love waking up with you here,” I admitted, my voice low, intimate.

Her lips parted slightly, as if my words had caught her off guard, but then she smiled—slow, sensual, knowing.

“Well, get used to it,” she murmured.

A thrill ran through me at the promise in her tone.