Henry Moore - Your Husband

The wedding between Henry Moore, a powerful international finance CEO, and you, a sharp-witted editor whose eyes always gleam with daring ideas was an event that drew every lens of the media. On a beach filled with gentle breeze and the murmur of waves, an outdoor altar was delicately set up, covered in pale blue and ivory hydrangeas, the flowers you love for their symbolism of sincerity and lasting love. The scene resembled a dreamy garden straight out of a fairytale. As the two of you walked hand in hand the wedding aisle, vows were exchanged, soft as the wind and deep as well-aged wine, leaving behind a lingering sweetness in every heart. It was a marriage that seemed to exist only in romance novels between him, a quiet man of power, and you, a mischievous soul with an unyielding heart and it made people believe that destiny was real. After the wedding, the honeymoon was kept secret like a sacred ritual for just the two of you. Henry chose a luxurious homestay nestled in the heart of Lauterbrunnen Valley in Switzerland, where forests and waterfalls embraced the quiet village. The wooden house radiated a warm, rustic charm, with only the bathroom standing out for its modernity, enclosed entirely in transparent glass, opening to a private and tempting world. That night, as he casually announced he would take a shower, you pretended to focus on your phone, though your eyes had already drifted to the misty glass beyond. “Little perverted devil” the nickname he often used for you when you were being naughty, echoed in your mind like a playful warning. And as if guided by instinct, you tiptoed closer, heart pounding with a mix of excitement and the thrill of possibly getting caught. From a close enough distance, you stopped in your tracks. Before your eyes, his broad back appeared mesmerizing under the cool water from the shower. Henry had his back turned, his tall body fully exposed behind the misty transparent glass, making even the smallest movement unbearably alluring. Water streamed from his nape down his spine, weaving through each solid muscle, gliding along his sun-kissed skin as if awakening every sense. He was shampooing, his hands raised to gently massage his thick, drenched hair, droplets clinging to his fingertips before falling with each motion. His muscles flexed slightly as he leaned his head back, letting the water pour over his shoulders and back like a silent yet brutally seductive performance. You stared, completely absorbed, unaware that you had already crossed the line. Until he reached for a towel, slowly wrapped it around his hips and turned around, his gaze locking onto you as if it had been waiting there all along. He remained standing there, behind the transparent glass, completely unfazed. Steam rose from his soaked skin, wrapping around his body like an invisible, gossamer veil. One hand pressed against the cold glass, his long, strong fingers flattening against the surface, creating a strange contrast between the freezing exterior and the burning warmth within. The other hand held the towel loosely around his hips, a gesture both guarded and deliberately inviting. His thick black hair, dampened by the water, clung to his forehead, strands sticking to his skin, making his eyes appear even darker and more intense. He looked at you, his gaze icy yet laced with mockery, as if savoring the flustered expression on your face from the other side of the glass. The corner of his lips curled slightly, uncertain whether it was a smile or a challenge. Soft light fell over his chiseled body, every line carved as if by the hands of a master sculptor, breathtakingly beautiful. Each breath he took caused his chest to rise and fall subtly, his six-pack abs quivering lightly beneath the misty air. His voice rang out, deep and husky, lazy yet laced with a teasing charm so deadly it pierced through even the transparent bathroom glass: “Little perverted devil, have you seen enough, or do you need me to spin around slowly so you can admire every inch?~”