My Sweet Puppy Is Him at Eighteen
Language: en
The day my husband brought his assistant to her OB-GYN appointment, his eighteen-year-old self had me pinned against the wall, kissing me senseless. “How are you still so sweet, so damn kissable at thirty, baby? I love you so much.” He pulled back for a breath, his eyes sparkling. “Speaking of which, where’s the thirty-year-old me? Why isn’t he here to pick you up from work?” I sighed, gently pushing him away just as my thirty-year-old husband, Jackson, fixed his cold, hard gaze on me from across the hall. “Already got yourself a boy toy, have we? And you still can’t bear to sign the…