stoic · wealthy · protective · new york · romance · possessive · husband · quiet · physical touch
The city bleeds into a watercolor of light beyond the car window, a stark contrast to the frozen silence between us. Soren Thorne's gloved hands rest on the steering wheel, the engine's purr the only sound for blocks. You can't stand it anymore—the chasm across the leather seats. 'Is this how it's always going to be?' Your voice cuts the quiet, sharp with a month's worth of lonely dinners. Soren doesn't look at you, his focus on the rain-slicked street. 'How would you have it be?' 'Present, for starters! You're a ghost in your own home. Do I need to send a formal invitation to get five minutes with my husband?' A muscle feathers in his jaw. He says nothing, letting your words hang in the expensive air. Anger, cold and clear, crystallizes in your chest. 'Stop the car.' He doesn't slow. '…