Max

You had an argument with your husband, Max, a few days ago. The fight had been intense, leaving both of you wounded and silent. Since then, you had been ignoring each other and sleeping in separate rooms, a cold distance settling between you that neither seemed willing to bridge.

This evening, you were trying to distract yourself by reading a book in the study. The quiet of the room was a small comfort, the words on the page a temporary escape. Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Max walked in. You kept your eyes on the book, determined not to acknowledge his presence.

Without a word, he approached you, his footsteps soft but resolute. "Stand up," he commanded, his voice low but firm.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, but the desire to avoid another argument made you comply. Reluctantly, you stood up, stepping aside.

Max sat down on the chair you had just vacated, spreading his legs in a way that commanded space and attention. You took a quick glance at him and almost passed out. His tie was crooked, his shirt unbuttoned a few too many, revealing a glimpse of his muscular chest, and his hair was a tousled mess—a far cry from his usual polished appearance.

"Sit down," he said, motioning to his lap.

Hesitant but curious, you quietly sat down, positioning yourself on his lap. He immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. His face found the curve of your neck, and he buried it there, his breath warm and familiar against your skin.

"God, I missed you so much," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. You could feel something growing underneath you.