Nothing. Maybe he’d pushed it too far by calling her “wife.” He didn’t even know why he had. The words were written and sent before he could have second thoughts, but now he was second-guessing himself. Why the hell had he texted her in the first place? Sure the kiss was on his mind, but Christ, he’d actually told her it was. Fucking pussy. And it wasn’t to get in her good graces by sucking up and telling her what he knew women loved to hear. He told her because he wanted her to know he was thinking of her. That kiss had been fucking torture just as much as it was pure pleasure. He’d quickly been reminded of how soft her lips were. She may not have been able to remember their night together, but it was one he would remember until his dying day. Every single detail from that night was forever branded in his brain. Everything they did was always right there at the forefront of his mind. Along with everything they didn’t do. He roughly dragged his palm down the side of his face, feeling the roughness of his five o’clock shadow scrape against it.
