“You sucked the life out of me.” His voice is low, rough with exhaustion, but his fingers are gentle as they brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear. There’s no way I’m going to sleep tonight not dreaming of that, not with the way my heart’s still racing from what we did, but he looks wrecked, the kind of bone-deep fatigue that comes after both physical release and a long night shift at the hospital, so I know I need to let him rest.
I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “Sleep well, Hayes. Don’t worry about the things you agreed to on the list tomorrow morning. I’ll figure it out. Thank you.”
He shakes his head, stubborn even as his eyes drift shut. “I’m still doing them, but I’m about to black out. Goodnight, Regan.”
I smile, sliding off the bed, pausing at the door to glance back because it’s probably too intimate for me to fall asleep beside him. Our wedding day is coming up. Oursecondfake wedding. Maybe Hayes was right about us not having sex tonight. Sex and sleeping in the same bed’s a line we shouldn’t cross.
By the time I make it to the doorway he’s already out cold, snoring softly, his cock still half-hard resting against his stomach, body sprawled carelessly on top of the sheets, utterly spent. And damn, does that feel good knowing I did that to him. That I unraveled him so completely he couldn’t even make it under the covers.
And that night, I sleep soundly too.
Chapter 22: Hayes
When I wake up the next morning, I already know I’ve overslept. The distant buzz of a saw outside the bedroom window jolts me upright, the sheets tangled around my waist, my cock already hard from dreams soaked in Regan—her taste, her touch, the way her breath caught when I held her thighs apart and tasted every inch of her pussy. The way her mouth gave me an orgasm that had me blacking out almost instantly.
Fuck.
I scrub my hands through my hair, disoriented, the echoes of last night wrapped around me like a second skin. The clock on my phone glares back: 10 a.m.
The saw that I was hearing cuts off with a sharp snap, pulling me out of the early morning haze. I jump out of bed, tugging on a pair of sweatpants, skipping the mirror, just a quick splash of cold water to my face before heading downstairs. The burnt orange carpet under my feet, the same one that I heard Regansuggest we tear out and replace when we‘get the time,’ feels like an accusation with every step that I’m not doing enough to contribute to our new house.
I need to make a point to work on it as soon as this wedding is done. She’s been handling all the renovations and taking care of the place while I pull long hours at the hospital. It’s not right that she’s doing everything on her own and I feel like a real ass leaving the heavy lifting to her.
I make a pit stop in the kitchen, grabbing a mug of coffee, but the sight outside the window steals my attention. There she is. Looking fucking beautiful in the front yard, standing next to the swing that hangs from the old oak, operating a table saw like she was born to. Clear, plastic goggles are perched on her nose, she’s barefoot, wearing nothing but a flimsy floral dress with thin spaghetti straps, cutting boards like she doesn’t give a damn about safety protocols.
No gloves. No hesitation. Just pure, reckless beauty.
I nearly choke on my coffee as she fires the saw back up, blade dangerously close to her fingers, sawdust spraying like confetti on either side of her body.
What the hell is she doing?
I toss the mug onto the kitchen counter and bolt outside just as she finishes the last board. She pulls off her goggles with a triumphant grin, cheeks flushed, auburn hair wild.
“What are you doing?” I shout.
“Oh, good morning, Hayes,” she replies breezily, eyes unapologetically raking over my bare chest like she always does when I’m shirtless. I stand a little taller, not minding her looking one bit. My eyes drop to her bare legs that were wrapped aroundmy shoulders last night as I return the favor. She looks even prettier up close in the morning sunlight.
“Just cutting some boards for the signs I’m making for the rehearsal dinner tonight. Had an idea when I woke up and I just had to do it.”
“Which was what time?”
She shrugs. “Six.”
Dammit. She hardly slept and I feel like a lazy ass.
She drops to the grass, crossing her legs with ease, grabbing a paintbrush and dipping it into a can of light blue paint like it’s second nature. A few quick swipes and I can see her vision.
“Anything I can do to help you with this?”
She shakes her head without looking up. “Nope. I took care of everything.”
My heart sinks. “What do you mean byeverything?”
“I skimmed the pond. Mowed the lawn.”
I step back, eyes scanning the yard, and for the first time, I notice the neatly trimmed grass, the fresh lines carved into the earth like she tamed the whole goddamn place while I was knocked out after getting the best head of my life.
“Regan...” My voice deepens because now I’m pissed that she didn’t wait for me when I told her I’d take care of it today.
