Monica May Smith was running late on that crisp Monday morning. She had to be in early for the regular breakfast meeting her boss held for the sales managers, and she’d overslept—something she was more than happy to blame on her husband, Barry. She was still tying the belt of her silk bathrobe when Barry strolled into the bathroom, his eyes darkening with that familiar hunger the moment they landed on her.

“Mmm, you smell absolutely glorious,” he murmured, voice low and rough. He slipped his hands inside her robe without hesitation, palms gliding from the soft swell of her sideboobs down the curve of her waist to the small...