He knows exactly how I like it. Milk steamed extra hot. Just a dab of foam at the top. Very sweet.

The centerpiece of the tray arrangement is a small box, white velvet. He sits on the edge of the bed next to me. Grins at me. Juts his chin at the box. “Open it.”

I hold the box in my palm, lift the lid. Within, a round bezel-cut sapphire pendant. Brilliant, stunning blue, almost the size of my two thumbnails together.

“Oh…my god, Adrian.”

He’s proud of it. “It’s an heirloom Ceylon sapphire, almost two and a half carats.” He lets me lift it out of the box, and the chain is delicate and filigreed, but substantial. Heavy. “The chain is platinum.”

I unclasp the chain, hand it to him. He slides behind me, fixes it on me. The pendant rests about an inch and a half below the hollow of my throat, a little more than that above the cleft of my breasts.

“It’s incredible, Adrian.”

“I know I’ve been traveling a lot, lately,” he says. His voice is heavy, serious. “I just…I want to thank you.”

“Thank me?” I’m puzzled.

“For putting up with me leaving.”

“Oh.” I lift the pendant in my palm, gaze at it; it sparkles in the late afternoon sun, glitters luminous. “Whatever you need to do to write the best story possible, Adrian. You know I support you a thousand percent.”

He cups my cheek. “I know.” He seems deeply emotional, right now. I’ll take it. “That’s what I’m saying thank you for.”

“Always, baby,” I whisper. “No matter what.”

“Promise. Promise me, no matter what.”

“I already did promise you that, dork,” I tease, reaching for him. “When I married you.”

He responds readily, hardening in my hand. “Nadia.”

I kiss him, leaning into him. Fondling him. “I promise, Adrian. Always, forever, no matter what. Anything, everything, always.”

He huffs, growls. “Nadia…”

I smirk at the edge in his voice. “Yes, Adrian?”

“The way you touch me…”

I laugh. “I know.”

“Stop,” he whispers, “stop a minute. Let me—”

“Ah-ah,” I whisper, push him to his back. “My turn.”

“I’m not gonna last—” he starts.

I know what he’s going to say before he does. “Good.” I don’t straddle him. I just sit beside him. Hold him, stroke him, touch him. “I don’t want you to.”

“I want to be inside you,” he growls.

“I took all day tomorrow off, and I already had Saturday off,” I said. “We have all the time in the world.”

“But I need—”

I touch his lips with a finger. “What you need is to lay there and enjoy what I’m doing.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” I slow down, but add a twist. He loves the twist.

“God, yeah.” A huff. “Do that again.”

“What? This?” I do it again.

“Fuck, yeah. That.”