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They don’t even make it all the way to the bed at first.
Gwen is on him the second the bedroom door clicks shut, kissing him like she’s been starving all week. Because she has. Two kids, two schedules, zero privacy. Tonight, they have maybe fifteen uninterrupted minutes if the universe feels merciful.
Miles backs her towards the bed, hands already under her shirt, pushing it up and over her head. Gwen laughs breathlessly as she lifts her arms to help him. “Hurry,” she whispers against his mouth. “Before one of them remembers we exist.”
Miles laughs softly. “Don’t jinx it.”
They move frantically together, the kind of rush that only comes from knowing how easily a good moment can get ruined in a house with two kids. Clothes hit the floor in a trail; shirt, bra, sweats, socks. Every touch is a spark. Every glance says “God, finally.” Miles can feel her shaking with anticipation. Gwen can feel him more than ready against her.
Gwen doesn’t wait to be guided. She pulls away and lies back onto the bed without hesitation, propping herself up on her elbows, her legs parting in invitation.
Miles curses under his breath.
He’s on her immediately, sliding into place on top of her, hands gripping her hips as he pushes into her in one smooth, claiming thrust.
“I love you so much.”
He moves into her slowly at first, savouring the way she arches into him, the way she pushes against him like she needs him deeper. His hands move up her waist, thumbs brushing the curves of her hips, and Gwen lets out a breathy laugh.
“God, Miles… don’t hold back,” she pants. “I want all of you tonight.”
He leans over her, pressing his chest to hers, lips brushing her ear.
“You have me. Every damn inch, mi amor.”
Gwen shivers. She loves when he talks like that. She pushes her hips back again, needy, and Miles groans, sliding deeper with a slow grind that makes her gasp. “You feel so good,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “Don’t stop.”
Miles drags his lips along her neck, thrusting harder now, letting his breath hit her skin. “Not a chance.”
Their bed rocks with every movement, soft creaks mixing with Gwen’s quiet moans and Miles’ low grunts. Her fingers clench the sheets, back arching more as she meets each push with her own. They’re both getting close, their bodies moving with a tempo only they know.
“Mi vida…” he murmurs, tightening his grip on her. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna -”
“CHARLOTTE, GIVE HIM BACK!”
“IT WAS ON THE COUCH, MAX, I WAS JUST MOVING IT!”
Miles pauses for half a second, just long enough to hear them, then groans and tries to keep his rhythm from faltering. Gwen grips his ass to help him, determined to finish.
“They’re fine,” she pants, breath trembling. “Just keep going.”
He does, but they’re both listening. The voices downstairs rise again.
“YOU ALWAYS TOUCH MY STUFF!”
“THEN STOP LEAVING IT AROUND!”
Gwen squeezes her eyes shut, face buried in Miles’ shoulder, muttering under her breath between ragged thrusts. “Please don’t call Mom… please don’t call Mom… please, please don’t call Mom.”
They increase the pace, trying to get them both to the finish before the inevitable.
Gwen is so close she’s almost shaking. Still whispering, “Please don’t call Mom… please don’t call -”
“MOM!” they both scream.
Gwen’s throws her head back into the mattress. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Miles freezes mid-thrust, chest still flush to hers, both of them breathing hard and absurdly close to screaming.
Downstairs, the argument continues, louder now, the complete chaos of two siblings escalating without restraint. There’s a stomp, and Charlotte snaps, “MAX, YOU’RE SO ANNOYING!”
Gwen sighs, equal parts defeated and furious. “I swear they have a seventh sense for when we’re finally having a good time.”
Miles lets his head fall to her shoulder, exhaling heavily against her skin. “I can’t go downstairs like this,” he mutters.
“No, you cannot.” Gwen pushes her hair out of her face, forcing herself into Mom Mode. “I’ll handle them.”
She slides out from under him carefully, gives him a look that’s half apology, half murder, and reaches for her robe.
“Don’t go anywhere. Not that you have a choice.”
Miles collapses onto his back, one arm behind his head, still painfully hard. Gwen ties her robe tight, checks the mirror to make sure she looks appropriately parental, and marches downstairs.
Gwen hits the bottom step with her robe clutched around her, jaw clenched so hard it could cut glass. Her pulse is still racing from what nearly happened upstairs. Her legs are wobbling, and her skin is flushed in a way she prays the kids won’t notice.
Max has a plush toy clenched in both hands like it’s a sacred relic. Doggy, the older of the two, his fur worn from years of affection. Ducky, his other favourite, lies on the coffee table. Charlotte is looming over him, fuming, her hair wild.
Gwen starts with a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Okay,” she says sharply. “What is going on?”
Both kids pivot to her instantly.
“Mom!” they shout, pointing at each other.
Max speaks first, breathless. “Charlotte grabbed Doggy and Ducky off the couch even though I told her not to! She KNOWS they’re my - they’re -” He swallows. “They’re private!”
Charlotte throws her hands up. “I wasn’t grabbing them! I was moving them because they were ON THE COUCH and I didn’t want to SIT ON THEM!”
Max hugs Doggy to his chest, turning away as if to shield him from Charlotte. “You always touch my stuff!”
“That’s because you never put anything away!” Charlotte fires back. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong!”
“YES YOU WERE!”
“NO I WASN’T!”
Gwen raises one hand. “Enough.” She doesn’t even raise her voice, but the word lands like a hammer. Both kids fall silent instantly, still glowering at each other, still breathing hard.
Gwen takes another breath, and it comes out shaky. She hopes they chalk it up to irritation and not the very different reason she’s flushed and trembling.
“Max,” she says, keeping her voice level. “Did Charlotte actually hurt Doggy or Ducky?”
Max looks down at the plush in his arms, then the one lying peacefully on the coffee table. “... No,” he mutters.
“And Charlotte,” Gwen continues, turning to her. “Did you move them because you were trying to annoy him, or because they were on the couch?”
Charlotte folds her arms tight. “Because they were on the couch. I didn’t want to sit on them.”
Gwen presses her fingertips to her temples. “Right. So we agree that Charlotte wasn’t trying to do anything wrong.”
Max looks away, mumbling something that could pass as agreement.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. Max, if Doggy and Ducky are that important to you - and I know they are - if you don’t want Charlotte to touch them, then they need to live in your room, not on the communal furniture.”
Max’s ears go bright pink. “I forgot I left them here.”
“I know you did,” Gwen says gently. “So go put them in your room now.”
Max hesitates, glancing at Charlotte, still embarrassed by the whole subject. But he shuffles past her anyway, muttering, “Sorry,” under his breath as he grabs Ducky.
Gwen looks to her daughter and raises her eyebrows.
Charlotte huffs, crossing her arms tighter. “Sorry,” she echoes, quieter.
Gwen nods. “Thank you.”
Max trudges upstairs with his stuffed animals clutched protectively to his chest. Charlotte hangs back awkwardly, clearly wanting the last word but also knowing better.
Gwen softens her tone. “Hey. You weren’t wrong. But you know how he feels about them, so instead of moving them yourself… maybe just ask him. That would’ve avoided all of this.”
Charlotte sighs. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry, Mom.”
“And please,” Gwen adds, running a tired hand through her hair. “No shouting unless someone’s injured or the house is actually on fire.”
“Okay,” Charlotte mutters. It takes a few moments, but soon, Charlotte is looking up at her mom with narrowed eyes. “Are you okay?” she asks.
Gwen is startled. “What? Yes. Why?”
“You’re all…” Charlotte gestures at her mother’s face. “Sweaty.”
Gwen forces a smile that borders on painful. “It was… warm. Upstairs.”
Charlotte looks down at her robe.
“And I was in the middle of changing for bed,” Gwen says quickly, tightening the belt as if that somehow erases any suspicions. “But some people interrupted me, so I had to make do.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows climb slow, but she doesn’t push it.
“Okay,” she says eventually, heading toward the stairs. “Sorry, Mom.”
Gwen exhales when she’s finally gone. A long, silent breath of defeat and leftover arousal. She heads upstairs, no longer walking with urgency. Just as painfully aware that the moment with Miles has passed. Maybe tomorrow, she thinks. Maybe. But she doesn’t believe it.
Gwen moves down the hallway quietly, knowing that both kids’ doors are only half-shut. She pauses outside her bedroom, her ear tilted towards the corridor.
Quiet. Thank God.
She eases the door open just enough to slip through, body turned sideways, and she shuts it behind her with a soft click.
Miles is exactly where she left him, sprawled out on the bed, now under the sheet. His chest is rising and falling with the rhythm of a man who got yanked out of heaven mid-thrust. His head snaps up when she enters.
“Everything okay?” he whispers, though the answer is obvious from her face.
Gwen leans back against the door and rubs her hands over her face. “Max left Doggy and Ducky on the couch, and Charlotte touched them,” she says, her voice strained.
Gwen steps away from the door and comes closer, but she doesn’t climb onto the bed. She just sits down on the edge beside him, robe still clutched around her.
Miles shifts up onto his elbows, his eyes dark and still full of the need they both had minutes ago. “You okay?”
She lets out a small, humourless laugh. “Define ‘okay’.”
Miles reaches out, fingers brushing her thigh. “You look…” He searches for the right word. “Worked up.”
Gwen gives him a slow, pointed look. “You don’t say.”
For a moment, they just breathe in the same space, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off him. That same heat she was seconds from losing herself in before Charlotte and Max pulled them out of it.
Miles rakes his gaze over her, lingering on the way her robe sits over the curves he knows by heart. He swallows. “I’m… uh… still up for it if you are.”
“I noticed,” Gwen murmurs, glancing down at the very obvious tent under the sheet. “Don’t get any ideas. The kids are right next door.”
Miles groans and falls back onto the pillows.
“I know,” she mutters, rubbing her temples.
They sit in silence for a few moments. Tired, horny, annoyed, and absolutely resigned to their fate.
Miles shifts, careful not to brush against her because even that’s enough to make things worse. “We can… hold onto this for tomorrow.”
Gwen snorts. “Oh, sure, I’m sure we won’t get interrupted.” There’s a beat. “Maybe when the kids are asleep?”
Miles sighs. “Maybe,” he says, even though they both know they’ll be asleep by then. “Or we wake up early.”
Not a chance.
“Maybe,” Gwen says.
Time passes. Gwen stays seated at the edge of the bed, hands clasped between her knees. Miles stays very deliberately still.
She looks down and lifts one eyebrow. “Still?”
Miles groans into his hands. “My body hasn’t caught up with reality.”
Gwen makes a tortured little sound. “Yeah. Same.” There’s a beat of silence, and Gwen pushes herself up from the bed. “Right,” she says, tugging at her belt. “I’m going to get into pyjamas.”
Miles sits up straighter instantly. “Wait - hold on -”
Too late. She shrugs off the robe in one smooth, casual movement. She’s completely naked, and Miles’ brain shuts off like someone yanked a power cable out of a wall.
“Gwen,” he hisses, clamping the sheet against his hips. “You can’t do this to me right now.”
“What? I’m getting dressed.” She says it like it’s nothing… while bending to grab a top from the drawer, giving him a perfect view of everything he’s so desperately trying not to look at.
Miles squeezes his eyes shut. “Please, I’m begging you, move faster.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” she mutters, stepping into her pants. “You’re the one having a crisis.”
“Caused by you.”
She snorts. “Flattering.”
Miles peeks once, instantly regrets it. “Gwen, come on, I haven’t come in a week. You can’t just -” He gestures in a helpless, vague motion. “Do all that.”
Gwen glances over her shoulder, her cheeks pink. “Yeah, well… I haven’t either.”
That shuts him up.
For a moment, they just stand there; Gwen half-dressed and flustered, Miles dying under the sheet.
Gwen pulls her trousers on and sits on the bed again, knees drawn up, staring into space.
“How long do you think we could go?” she asks suddenly. “Without coming?”
Miles laughs once. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“Okay, but, hypothetically.”
“A week is torture.”
Gwen nods. “I agree.”
“It’s like… every day, I get more… twitchy.”
“Twitchy,” Gwen repeats, amused. “Very scientific. Anyways, we’ve never actually tested our limits.”
“Yeah, there’s a reason for that.”
“I know, I know,” Gwen says, kicking her heel lightly against the mattress. “Because we’re married and we like doing it,” she imitates his voice. “And we’re good at it.”
Miles smirks. “Facts. And it would be pointless.”
Silence settles again, except now it’s thoughtful. Gwen turns her head towards him. “You know November’s in two days.”
Miles groans. “You’re joking.”
Gwen grins slowly. “We’ve never tried it.”
“That’s because we’re married!” Miles flashes his wedding ring. “You just said it yourself. We don’t have to do it. And if we did, it would be really, really stupid.”
“Maybe. But…” She stretches her arms above her head, the hem of her pyjama top lifting a little. Miles immediately looks away to protect his sanity. “I think it’d be funny.”
“Funny?” Miles sputters. “Gwen, I’m already on the brink.”
“Same!” she says, laughing. “So, maybe… I don’t know, maybe we should just lean into the suffering.”
Miles side-eyes her. “You’re sick.”
“And you love me.”
“Yeah,” he sighs.
She nudges him with her foot. “Come on. You and me. No orgasms for all of November.” A beat. “Pure willpower.”
Miles gives her a long, incredulous stare. “We’ll crack in forty-eight hours.”
“Probably,” she agrees cheerfully. “If we actually get the chance with two kids in the house. But imagine if we don’t.”
Miles exhales slowly. “So, what? No sex? No touching? No, uh…”
“No finishing,” Gwen clarifies. “Anything else is allowed.”
Miles blinks. “That sounds worse.”
Gwen grins. “If you think you can’t handle it…”
They look at each other. Something competitive sparks.
Miles leans forward. “All right. Fine. If we’re doing something this stupid, I’m not losing.”
“Oh?” Gwen lifts her chin. “Confident, are we?”
“Not even a little,” Miles says honestly. “But I’m stubborn.”
“Same.” She extends her hand. “So it’s a bet.”
Miles takes her hand and shakes it once. “What are we playing for?”
“Winner picks the next family holiday,” Gwen says without hesitation.
Miles pauses. “Anywhere?”
“Anywhere.”
“Oh, you’re on.”
Their hands break apart, and they stare each other down.
Gwen smirks. “November’s gonna kill us, isn’t it?”
Miles runs a hand down his face. “Absolutely.”
Two days before chaos. Two days before No Nut November ruins their lives. And neither of them plans on losing.
***
Two days later, Miles wakes to the sound of rain against the window and the warm weight of Gwen beside him. It takes a second for his mind to catch up. They (stupidly) confirmed their bet, squeezed in one last night before the clock struck midnight, and flipped the calendar.
Gwen is curled around him, both of them still naked. Her thigh rests over his. Her hair is scattered across his pillow. The room carries the soft, heavy scent of everything they did while they still could. For a moment, he lets himself sink into it. Pretending the night never ended and the rules haven’t kicked in yet.
And then it hits him, sharp and cold in his stomach. It’s No Nut November.
Gwen is still pressed against him, her leg shifting lazily in her sleep, and even that small movement sends a quick, involuntary ache through him. Miles angles himself away so they aren’t touching quite so much, hoping she won’t wake up and notice why.
She does.
Not fully. She’s still drifting between sleep and awareness, but her eyes open just enough for her to catch the space he’s created between them. Gwen squints at him through her lashes, her hair a wild, blonde halo.
“Mmmm… morning.
Miles swallows. “Good morning.”
Gwen shifts onto her stomach, blanket slipping just low enough to make him squirm.
“You’re tense,” she says quietly.
“Trying not to be,” he replies, a little too honest.
“Mm.” Gwen’s smile is barely there, soft and knowing. “Day one.”
He doesn’t answer. There’s nothing to say that doesn’t sound like he’s already lost.
With nothing to keep them in bed, Miles and Gwen get up much quicker than normal. Gwen pads across the room to get dressed, her body catching the light in a way that makes Miles shut his eyes for a second and breathe through it. He focuses on getting dressed instead, on the sound of the kids rummaging downstairs, because if he keeps looking at her, he’s done.
The chaos hits as soon as they descend.
Charlotte is going through her backpack, hair sticking out in every direction. Max is hopping on one foot, trying to pull on a sock while shouting something about where his Jordans went. Gwen moves past Miles to help, and the brush of her arm against his sends a pulse of heat straight through him. He steps back like he’s avoiding a burning flame.
In the kitchen, he tries to get the kids’ breakfast ready. He spreads butter on bread without thinking, then realises too late that he’s buttering the counter instead.
Gwen’s voice floats over from the fridge. “Distracted this morning?”
He doesn’t look up. “Nope.”
Miles sets the knife down and sighs. Every part of him is wound tight, not just from wanting her, but from the determination not to be the first one to crack.
When she leans over to grab something from a low cupboard, he looks away so abruptly that he gets whiplash.
Breakfast is a blur. Charlotte talks about an assignment, Max just eats, and Miles answers everything with the wrong words. After the kids leave for school, the house goes quiet in a way that feels suspiciously intimate. Miles lingers near Gwen without meaning to.
She looks up at him, the faintest smile on her lips. “Twenty-nine more days, sixteen-and-a-half more hours to go.” How she manages to sound so optimistic, he has no idea.
Miles watches her head upstairs, unable to stop himself. He realises, uncomfortably, that he wants to follow her. However, he stays where he is because he doesn’t trust himself around her. Miles thinks about the bet again, and what it means; thirty days without her. Thirty days of wanting and waiting and pretending he isn’t affected when he clearly is.
Miles rubs a hand over his face and exhales slowly. “I’m not going to survive this,” he says into the empty kitchen.
From upstairs, Gwen calls out, “Then try harder.” There’s a beat. “Get it? Harder?”
“Very funny, babe,” Miles grumbles.
***
Miles brushes his teeth like a man preparing for war.
He tries not to look at himself in the mirror. The faint blush has been on his cheeks all day. There’s a subtle ache in his muscles, and all the memories of Gwen embracing him race through his mind. Miles splashes cold water on his face, but doesn’t help. It just makes him look awake and tortured instead of half-awake and tortured.
After drying his face off, Miles looks out into their bedroom. Gwen is waiting for him under the covers. He can only see the foot of their bed, but he imagines a grin on her face, like a predator setting a trap for her prey. Miles feels his pulse quicken at the thought of it.
Climbing into bed with her? There’s no way this isn’t a trap, but sleeping without Gwen is impossible at this stage of their lives. So, Miles grits his teeth, shuts off the lights, and steps into the lion’s den.
“Hey,” Gwen acknowledges, giving him a smile when she sees him. “Ready for bed?”
Miles comes to a stop, looking her up and down. She has a top on, so that’s a good start. And it’s not one of his, so that’s even better.
“Yeah…” he says, stepping carefully.
Gwen pulls back his side of the blanket for him, and he catches a glimpse of her legs. They’re covered, too. But they might not stay that way. Clothes are easily removed.
“Are you okay?”
Miles clears his throat, trying to act like a normal husband instead of a man walking straight into a minefield. “Yeah. I’m okay,” he says. In his head, it sounds steady. Out loud? Not so much.
“Okay,” Gwen says, soft and easy.
He slides under the blankets beside her, careful not to brush against anything that might undo him completely. They settle into their usual positions. It feels familiar. Safe. And that’s the problem. Familiarity is what Miles is trying to avoid.
“Goodnight, Miles,” Gwen murmurs.
“Goodnight, mi amor,” he returns.
They lean in at the same time, the same way they do every night. A small kiss. Quick, and sweet. Not meant to do anything except say “I’m here.”
But Gwen doesn’t pull back right away. Her palm stays warm against his cheek, and her thumb strokes just once, slow, like she’s testing what will happen if she pushes her luck. Her eyes flick between his and his lips, and it’s not even subtle. Miles knows that look. It’s one of his favourite ones. The one that asks for things without saying a word.
Gwen tilts her head, studying him. “Are you hard?”
Miles freezes. “No.”
Her eyebrows lift just a little, like she expected that answer and still finds it cute. “Okay.”
The next moment, crawling over his torso to reach the lamp on his side, getting on her hands and knees, and Miles swears she arches her back a little. The light clicks off, plunging their room in darkness.
Gwen settles back down beside him, curling into him with her head on his shoulder and her arm over his chest. Miles prays that she doesn’t bring her leg on top of his, but just as he thinks that, it happens.
There’s a tiny pause.
“You sure you don’t want me to take care of that?”
Miles swallows, hard. “No thank you.”
Gwen nods against his shoulder, like he just declined an extra blanket. “Okay.” She tilts her chin up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Miles stares at the ceiling. He’s already losing, and she’s only just getting started.
***
Rio’s dining room smells like spices and comfort; that warm, familiar mix of Morales family recipes that settles into their bones before they even sit down. The table is already crowded by the time Miles and Gwen arrive. Chairs scraping, plates clinking, Jeff pouring drinks, Charlotte and Max bickering half-heartedly about who gets to sit near Abuela.
It’s an entirely normal moment of their lives. A good moment, too. Miles should be relieved, but he’s not because Gwen sits next to him, and under the table there’s no rulebook.
Miles tries to focus on the food, he really does. But then he feels it; the lightest brush against his ankle, and he freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth.
Gwen doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t even twitch. She just takes a sip of water, her expression completely innocent. Miles clears his throat and tries to shift his leg away, but the table is crowded and there’s nowhere to go. Gwen’s foot follows.
There’s a slow, warm press along the inside of his calf. Her toes skim lightly, tracing up before retreating, then returning in a lazy rhythm that has no business being this effective.
Miles’ grip tightens on his fork.
“Everything all right, Miles?” Rio asks suddenly.
Miles jolts. “Yeah. Yeah, just… hungry.”
Gwen takes another mouthful of her food, biting back the faintest smirk. Not visible to anyone else, only him. Only because he knows her better than anyone.
Miles tries to ignore it and looks around the room. Max is done already and going for seconds. Jeff is commenting on the sight, impressed. Rio is touched that her grandson loves her food this much. George, meanwhile, is telling Charlotte a story from work, which she listens to intently. Noise and family, Miles has plenty to focus on, and there’s no way he’ll crack with everyone around. Gwen has her limits.
Her foot nudges higher, and he nearly chokes.
“You okay?” Gwen asks quickly, putting her hand on his shoulder.
Miles shoots her a look, clearing his throat. “Yep. All good. Thanks.”
Gwen doesn’t move her hand. She turns and leans in to listen to something Rio is saying, polite and attentive, the soft light from above catching the curve of her cheekbone. Above the table, she looks like a model daughter-in-law. Under the table, her leg moves on top of his.
Miles stares down at the reflection in his plate. He’s Spider-Man. He’s fought super villains ten times his size.
He is losing to his wife.
“Abuela, did you make the platános this time?” Max asks, mercifully loud.
“Of course,” Rio beams. “They’re just in the kitchen. I was letting them sit for a bit. Want to help me with them?”
Max is already halfway out of his chair. Charlotte sighs dramatically and follows. Jeff gets up, too, and George excuses himself and goes with him.
Within seconds, the table is nearly empty, and Miles realises that Gwen has him completely cornered.
“Gwen… stop. I mean it,” he breathes, trying to keep his face neutral for anyone who might walk back in. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Gwen finally glances at him, her eyes soft and impossibly innocent.
“Me?” she whispers back, feigning confusion. “I’m just sitting here. Eating.”
Her foot moves. Miles inhales sharply.
“Gwen,” he hisses. “Do you want me to choke?”
“If you do, I’ll give you the Heimlich.”
“Please.”
“‘Please’ what?” she asks, tilting her head like she genuinely wants clarification.
Under the table, she a slow curve behind his knee. He swallows hard, his jaw clenched. “Please don’t do this right now.”
“Okay,” she whispers sweetly, and her foot withdraws.
Miles exhales shakily, relief flooding through him. He nods, grateful, trying to pretend his pulse isn’t pounding through his entire body. For a few moments, Miles actually thinks he’s safe. Until Gwen shifts, turning just enough that her shoulder brushes his. Miles glances toward the kitchen, then back at her, and she leans in. Warm lips press softly to the side of his neck. Not a peck, not a lingering kiss, just enough to punch the air right out of his lungs.
“Gwen,” he chokes.
She pulls back by an inch, eyes lowered, voice barely audible.
“I stopped,” she murmurs, lips grazing his ear as she speaks. “See? I’m being a good girl.”
“Please don’t say it like that,” Miles begs.
“Like what? I’m just telling you I behaved.”
“You didn’t,” he whispers. “At all.”
Her smile turns wicked. “You going to punish me?”
“Gwen!” Miles cries.
She transforms back to innocence the moment footsteps approach. Gwen sits back in her seat, her posture perfect, her face calm. There isn’t a single hint of mischief in sight. She looks like someone who would never, ever tease her husband at family dinner in a million years.
Jeff rounds the corner with a plate of plátanos, Max trailing behind him.
Miles straightens so quickly that his chair squeaks.
“You two doing okay over here?” Jeff asks cheerfully.
Gwen smiles. “Perfect.”
Miles nods stiffly, trying not to look like a man who was just kissed senseless under the threat of witness. The rest of the family fills in around them. Plates are passed and conversations are picked up without missing a beat. Gwen doesn’t touch him again that night. No foot, no hand, no leaning in. Nothing.
Miles spends the rest of the meal trying not to think about the feeling of her lips on his neck. Trying, and failing. And it’s only day three.
***
Miles stands under the spray with his hands braced against the tile, forehead bowed, water pounding over the back of his neck like he’s trying to rinse the entire evening off himself. The water is cold. Ice-cold. The kind that should be able to shock a man back to sanity.
It doesn’t.
Miles exhales through gritted teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. The water hits his skin and runs in shivers down his spine, but all he can think about is Gwen. The way she touches him, the way her lips felt on his neck after days of absence, the low, innocent whisper of “I’m being a good girl.”
He groans and pushes himself harder against the wall.
Miles stays there for another full minute, letting the cold beat into him, breathing slow, trying to calm down, trying to be rational.
It’s impossible. Not with her.
“One day at a time,” he mutters, wrapping a towel around his waist.
***
The worst part is that he doesn’t mean any of it.
If Miles were doing this on purpose, Gwen could handle it. Sabotage she can prepare for. Flirty games she can play back. With that, she has a strategy. A plan. But this? This is just Miles being Miles, and it’s killing her.
***
It starts in the kitchen.
Gwen is standing by the counter, trying to focus on making dinner. It’s normal. There’s no risk. It’s exactly what she needs right now.
Until Miles walks behind her, just trying to get to the fridge. She doesn’t think anything of it until…
His hand lands on her waist. Just a steadying touch so he doesn’t bump her. His palm warm, his fingers curling around her hip for half a second. And it’s half a second too long.
Gwen goes completely still, and her breath hitches. The knife hovers over the vegetables like she’s forgotten where she is and what she’s supposed to be doing. Meanwhile, Miles opens the fridge like nothing has happened, humming under his breath, muscles shifting under his shirt.
“Sorry, babe,” he says absentmindedly, reaching for orange juice. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.” And he steps away.
Gwen lets out a breath, shifting on the spot. It’s pathetic how much her body is reacting. Her face is warm, her pulse is pounding in her ears, and her legs feel unsteady in a way she really does not have the right to be feeling in the middle of cooking.
“No worries,” she says, her voice coming out quiet.
But there are worries. Many, many worries.
***
Gwen is halfway down the hall when she hears voices coming from Max’s room. Not raised voices. The very opposite, actually.
She pauses, then peeks inside.
Max is sitting cross-legged on the floor, his brow furrowed, worksheets spread out in front of him. The kind of homework that looks like punishment. Miles is sitting beside him, guiding him through it. Patient and gentle, tapping his pencil lightly on the page as he explains something for the third or fourth time. And Max… listens. Actually listens. No sighing, no eye-rolling, no “Dad, I get it,” even though he clearly does not get it.
Gwen stands there watching without meaning to. Something tightens in her chest, something warm. She knows this feeling. It’s the same one she gets every time she remembers she married the right man.
But then that warmth slides lower, and suddenly she’s wishing she could drag her husband into their bedroom and thank him properly for being such a good dad. Which she cannot do, because she made a stupid bet and she’s too competitive to fail first.
“Ohhh, I get it,” Max says, his eyes lighting up.
Miles nudges his shoulder. “Told you you’d get there.”
He smiles, and Gwen feels her entire body react like she’s sixteen again and he just told her she looked pretty.
It takes all the will power she has to make her legs work. Gwen forces herself to walk away before she does something reckless like crawl into his lap in front of their son.
***
Patrol should help. Physical exertion usually clears her head.
Tonight, it makes everything worse.
Miles swings ahead of her, confident, smooth, the easy movement of years of practice. His suit pulls tight across his backside, tracing every line Gwen has ever memorised with her hands and more.
And because he’s in front of her, she’s stuck looking at him.
Gwen tries to focus on the skyline. On the wind, on the route they’re taking. But every time Miles twists mid-air, every time he swings low and pulls himself up with that strong, instinctive movement of his, Gwen feels heat crawl beneath her suit.
He doesn’t even glance back. Of course he doesn’t. He has no idea.
Gwen lands herself on a rooftop before she forgets how swinging works altogether. Miles lands a few second later.
“You okay?” he asks, stepping toward her.
Terrible question. Awful timing. Gwen lifts her chin and lies through her teeth, thanking God that she’s wearing a mask right now. “Yeah. Just… adjusting my grip.”
Miles nods, utterly oblivious. “Cool. You good to keep going?”
“Yeah, go on. I’ll catch up in a second.”
Miles nods, probably smirking under his mask. He turns, and Gwen watches his hips swing for one unwise second too long.
“Oh, my God,” she mutters under her breath.
Gwen has to wait until her pulse stops hammering.
Eventually she follows. After all, she’s Spider-Woman, the city needs them, and she refuses to let her husband see how badly he’s wrecking her without even knowing it.
***
When they fall through the portal and into their home, the masks come off, and Gwen has to look away immediately. If she makes eye contact, she’ll fold.
Miles tosses his mask onto the bed with a sigh. “Long night.”
“Yeah,” Gwen says quietly. “Longer than you know.”
Miles doesn’t know what he’s doing to her. But tomorrow? Tomorrow Gwen absolutely knows what she’ll be doing to him.
And it’s going to be merciless.
***
Click.
Click.
Click.
Each one sharper than the last. Each one too perfectly spaced, like the steady approach of something dangerous. Miles looks up from the kitchen table, fully prepared to spot a villain in the doorway.
Instead, he sees his wife.
“Wow,” he breathes. Or maybe the air just falls out of him. Hard to tell.
“Hey.” She smiles, and it takes years off his life.
At first, Miles pinches himself, certain that he's dreaming. Or maybe it’s some stress-induced hallucination. But Gwen is still there, standing before him in the most unreal dress he's ever seen. Second only to her wedding dress, he thinks, except this one could not be more different. Black. A spider suit as evening wear. High neckline, long sleeves, the fabric so tight that Miles can see absolutely everything. The clean lines of her waist, the faint cut of her abs, the details in her back leading down as a trail to her perfectly formed ass. The dress leaves nothing to the imagination, but somehow still looks proper.
And the heels… God, the heels look amazing. But when Miles drags his eyes up, suddenly they’re nothing compared to her hair. It’s been styled to perfection. Pinned, curled like a princess, smoothed and glossed in a way that must have taken her hours. Her makeup is subtle but devastating. Right now, Gwen looks as if there should be a limo and a red carpet rolled out behind her.
Charlotte and Max stop mid-sentence.
“Mom…” Charlotte starts, eyes going wide. “Woah.”
“Yeah,” Max agrees. “Mom, you look really nice.”
“Aww, thank you,” Gwen smiles. She reaches up to adjust one of her earrings; the ones Miles bought her earlier this year. “I've got some stupid gala for work next week. Mayday’s going to be watching you, by the way.”
Charlotte and Max exchange a thrilled, hushed celebration.
“And I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to wear.”
Miles hasn’t said anything else. He’s still deciding where to look. Anywhere except his wife would do, but that’s impossible, because he can’t tear his eyes away from her. Miles is utterly hypnotised, overwhelmed in the way he only ever gets around her. He’s back to being fifteen again, hopelessly in love with a girl who could fold him in half.
Charlotte leans forward, studying the dress with curiosity. “Mom, can you even breathe in that? It looks tight.”
Gwen glances down at herself, smoothing a hand over her ribs. “Oh, yeah, it’s a great fit. Feels like my suit, just fancier.” She flicks her eyes to Miles without warning, and his stomach drops. “Do you like it?”
His throat is dry. “I think… I… I mean, wow… you look…” Miles swallows. Hard
“Do you want to see the back?”
Gwen doesn’t wait for an answer. She pivots, and everything happens in slow motion. Halfway through the turn, she pauses - just long enough, just subtle enough, that the kids don’t notice anything.
But Miles does.
Her ass is suddenly angled directly toward him, framed perfectly by the cling of the black fabric. Gwen looks over her shoulder. Just a flicker of a glance, and it hits him like a punch to the gut. The memories. The position. Her body under his in this exact angle. The hitch in her voice. The way she would -
Miles forces himself back to reality before the room starts spinning.
Gwen finishes the turn as if nothing happened.
Charlotte nods thoughtfully. “I like it.”
“Me too,” Max says.
Gwen hums, looking down at herself. “I’m still not totally sold. I’ve got other options.” She turns toward the kids. “Want to help me pick? I could use a fashion panel. You two up for a quick show?”
Miles silently prays for mercy. None is granted.
“Sure,” Charlotte and Max say together.
“Okay! I'll be right back.”
Gwen turns and walks away, and Miles has no trouble deciding where to look now. As she heads upstairs, her heels are clicking like the ominous score to a horror film. The sound fades, then returns after a few excruciating minutes.
Gwen steps back into view in dress number two: emerald green, silky, and a slit that shifts with every step, revealing toned muscle in a way that should be illegal. Professional, high-class, acceptable at a gala, and yet somehow just as dangerous as the black one.
“Oh my God, Mom, that one is so pretty,” Charlotte gasps.
“You look really cool,” Max says, eyes wide.
Gwen smooths the fabric, holding the top of the slit. “Too much leg?”
“I don’t think so,” Charlotte answers. “It’s perfect. It looks really fancy.”
Miles stares at the table. “Yeah. Go with this one,” he mutters, quietly begging God to let that be the end of this.
It isn't, simply due to the fact that Miles doesn't have anything that matches emerald green, and outfit coordination is suddenly very, very important to Gwen.
She disappears and returns in dress number three: sparkling blue, cinched at the waist and flowing at the skirt. She looks like she’s stepped out of a Disney movie and into their kitchen, the soft shimmer of the fabric catching every bit of light it can find. Now, her hair is intentionally messy in a way that somehow looks glamorous instead of rushed. Her eyes are bright, framed perfectly by the makeup, and as she crosses the room her heels click in a rhythm that sounds like she’s seconds away from breaking into song.
Charlotte’s mouth falls open. “Mom… you look like Cinderella.”
Max nods hard. “Yeah! You look like a princess!”
Gwen lifts the skirt slightly so it doesn’t drag on the floor, laughing under her breath. “Cinderella? Really?”
The dress moves with her in soft, sweeping arcs. The skirt swishes around her legs, the bodice hugging her in a way that’s delicate but somehow still undeniably Gwen. For a second, Miles sees her in a ballroom. Not their kitchen, not a gala, but an actual ballroom. Glowing, spinning, smiling at him across a crowd of people, and it hits him in a way he should’ve expected but didn’t: in this moment, he wants to marry her all over again.
“Wow,” Miles says quietly, but it doesn’t sound like a compliment. It sounds like a confession.
Gwen meets his eyes for just a heartbeat, something warm flickering there before she turns back to the kids, twirling enough to make the dress bloom around her.
But then she sighs, glancing down at herself. “I don’t know,” she says, running her hands along the sparkling waist. “I think it’s way too fancy. I’m not actually going to a ball.”
Charlotte opens her mouth to argue, Max looks disappointed on her behalf, but Gwen waves it off. “It’s beautiful, but… yeah, no. I’d feel overdressed. Let me grab the next one.”
She disappears again, and when she returns in dress number four - the red one without a back - Miles forgets how to exist.
The dip of the fabric traces her spine, highlighting every detail of her back, every flex and fine line of muscle. The skirt clings just enough to hint at her shape before going loose at the knee. Gwen turns carefully, checking herself in the reflection of the microwave, and Miles accidentally inhales at the exact wrong moment. All he can think about are his hands on that same skin, her arching and telling him not to stop.
He drags a hand across his jaw, willing the memory to back off before he embarrasses himself in front of their children.
Charlotte tilts her head, analysing. “It’s really pretty, but… I don’t know. It’s kind of… a lot? Like, a lot-a lot.”
Gwen exhales. “Yeah. I was thinking that, too.”
Max squints at the open back. “Mom? Won’t you get cold?”
Gwen laughs. “It’s definitely… breezy.”
Miles has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the sound he almost made from escaping.
Charlotte folds her arms, weighing it like a fashion critic. “It feels like you’re supposed to wear that to, like… the Oscars. Or in a James Bond movie.”
Gwen snorts. “Okay, so maybe that means it’s not right for a work event.”
Charlotte nods. “Probably not.”
Max nods, too, because Charlotte is older and therefore correct. “Yeah. Also your back will freeze.”
“All right, all right,” Gwen laughs. “Guess this one's out.”
Gwen steps up to him before she heads toward the stairs, her fingertips brushing his shoulder as she moves. a casual touch that absolutely is anything but casual to him. “One more,” she says lightly. “Then I swear I’ll stop.”
Miles can hear her upstairs. The closet opens, something soft swishes. There’s a faint mutter about zippers and looking for the right heels. Miles tries not to imagine her stepping out of the red dress, skin bared, hair pinned up, makeup flawless. He tries, and fails spectacularly.
A moment later, the clicking returns.
Gwen descends the stairs, not rushing, not showing off, just existing in the deep violet dress. Structured and elegant, and somehow more lethal because it doesn’t try to be.
“Yeah. This one,” Charlotte says, decisive.
Max beams. “I like that colour!”
“It’s fancy but not, like, crazy fancy,” Charlotte continues. “People are gonna be like, ‘Whoa, she looks amazing.’”
Gwen blinks, startled in a way she rarely is, then smiles. Soft and genuinely touched. “That’s… so sweet of you, Lottie. Thank you.”
“So this is the one?” Max asks, bouncing a little.
Gwen looks from Charlotte to Max, then down at herself. She smooths a hand over the waist seam, lifts the skirt just slightly to test how it moves, rolls her shoulders to see how the top sits. Her reflection in the microwave stares back at her, bright and confident and, in Miles’ opinion, borderline divine.
“Yeah,” she finally says, nodding with a long exhale. “I think this is it.”
Charlotte and Max let out a happy cheer-noise. Miles still can’t move.
Gwen leans down to kiss the tops of their heads. “Thank you so much. You two were perfect helpers. Now I’m going to change and hang these back up, and then I have a surprise for you.”
“Pizza for dinner?” Max asks hopefully.
Gwen grins. “Pizza for dinner.”
Charlotte pumps a fist. Max cheers.
Gwen gathers the skirt delicately so she doesn’t step on it and starts for the stairs again. She passes Miles and says, “Be right back.”
Miles doesn’t breathe until she’s out of sight.
The kids are already arguing about toppings as they scatter toward the living room, Charlotte loudly insisting that adding mushrooms is a crime and Max protesting that mushrooms are delicious. They disappear into the living room, voices fading, and Miles finally stands.
Gravity. That’s what it feels like. Like he’s tethered to her. Miles knows he shouldn’t go upstairs, that it’s definitely a trap, but he can’t fight it.
When he reaches their bedroom, he stops in the doorway.
Gwen’s heels, four pairs, are sitting neatly across the floor. Each dress she tried on is draped across the bed in careful layers: the black suit-dress, the emerald silk, the Cinderella, and backless red. And the violet one, the winner, is still on her body.
His wife stands in front of the mirror, earrings already off, her hair pins in a small dish on the dresser. The room is quiet in a way the rest of the house never is. Gwen’s reflection meets his eyes through the mirror like she's been expecting him.
She takes off a bracelet, then sets it down again deliberately. “Can you give me a hand with something?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know the answer.
Miles takes one step into the room. “Anything.”
She faces the mirror again, catching his eyes over her shoulder.
“The zipper,” Gwen says. “It’s stuck.”
It isn’t stuck. He can’t see it, but he knows it. The zipper is perfectly fine.
However, Gwen is not moving to fix it herself.
Miles steps fully into the room, and with one soft push the door clicks shut behind him. He doesn’t remember deciding to lock it. His hand just acts.
Gwen watches through the mirror, her mouth curving. She lifts her hand, gathers her hair, and pulls it over one shoulder. Her entire back is bared to him now, down to the point where the zipper begins.
Miles’ breath stutters.
Gwen doesn’t look away from his reflection. “If you don’t mind.”
Miles steps behind her. Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to stay calm. Don’t shake, don’t touch her too long, but he can’t help it. His hands hover for a moment above her spine, close enough that he feels the warmth.
He presses two fingers to the zipper, and it moves. Easily.
Gwen’s lips twitch in the mirror. “Mmff,” she says softly. “Guess it wasn’t stuck after all.”
The zipper lowers with a slow, whispering sigh. Inch by inch, violet fabric parts. Her skin reveals itself in a line that he’s traced with his hands, his lips, countless times but rarely like this; Gwen looking at his face in the mirror, watching the way his pupils dilate like she’s conducting an experiment.
Halfway down, Miles freezes.
The backless line of the dress opens wide enough for him to see the truth:
She isn’t wearing a bra.
Miles’ hands stop moving. Gwen doesn’t. She rolls her shoulders, subtle and deliberate, and the shift is enough that the dress loosens. It slides open more, showing the soft curve of her sides, the curves of her breasts from the smallest angle. Her chest lifts when she inhales, and Miles sees the way her skin warms under the bedroom light.
“Miles,” she murmurs, still meeting his eyes through glass.
He drags in air. “Gwen… what are you doing?”
She smiles. Sinful. “Being a good girl.”
Gwen reaches up, places her hand over his on the zipper, and pulls it the rest of the way down herself. The dress splits open fully, the fabric relaxing and falling away from her torso. Without breaking eye contact, Gwen hooks her thumbs into the shoulders of the gown and begins to ease it down. The sleeves slip past her arms. The bodice sinks past her ribs. And when it reaches her waist, sliding over her hips, Miles sees the second surprise:
She’s wearing a thong. Violet to match her dress.
Gwen steps out of the dress, leaving a violet puddle on the floor, and she stands there in nothing but heels and that tiny strip of fabric. Her body reflected in front of him. Gwen reaches up, lightly touching the mirror with one finger, her hip shifting just enough to make the thong curve higher on one side.
“Tonight,” she says softly. “You’re going to break.”
Gwen takes one deliberate inch backward, her bare back pressing lightly to his chest. Another half-inch, and his hands settle instinctively at her hips. Gwen tips them back and brushes herself against him, and he’s instantly hard. Her chin lifts by the smallest degree, and she rolls her hips back again, a smooth glide that lines her perfectly against him. Miles makes a sound. Not even a word, not even a breath, just a defeated sound. And Gwen has the audacity to smile.
Gwen braces herself as she eases her hips back a third time. Slower, deeper. Miles’ hands fly up to her waist before he can think, fingers digging into her skin where the dress had been moments ago. Her warm, bare waist.
Gwen breathes out. “Miles…”
“Gwen… seriously… I shouldn’t… I’m trying -”
“I know.” Her voice is silk. “You were doing so well.”
She pushes back again. Miles’ knees nearly buckle.
“Gwen…” His forehead drops toward her shoulder, but she reaches back and cups his jaw, guiding him to look up. Look her in the eye. Look at what she’s doing to him.
“I said… I’m going to break you.”
Gwen steps forward just enough to slip from his hands, only to turn and face him fully. Bare except for the violet thong and heels, flushed from chest to cheeks, eyes bright with that dangerous heat Miles has never once survived. Her hands land on his chest, and she pushes. Not hard, just firm, purposeful, until his legs his the bed.
“Miles,” she whispers, leaning in. “Lift your arms.”
He obeys her immediately. Gwen’s fingers hook under his shirt and she pulls it up and off in one smooth, practiced motion. It hits the floor somewhere near the dresser, and before Miles can catch his breath, her hands are on his belt The buckle is undone so quickly he doesn’t even see her fingers move. His trousers are shoved down, pooling around his ankles, and his boxers follow. He’s left naked, hard, and very, very doomed.
Gwen steps into him again, her body brushing his in a slow, deliberate slide that steals his breath. Mile’s hands twitch like they want to grab her, hold her, but she places one palm flat against his chest.
“No touching,” she mutters. “Not yet.”
Miles swallows so sharply that she hears it. Gwen smirks and sinks to her knees.
Her heels click against the floor as she settles, thighs parting slightly for balance, hair falling forward in soft waves that she doesn’t bother to tuck back.
Gwen lifts her chin to look at him from below, eyes bright, pupils wide, lips parted just enough to ruin him. She rests her hands lightly at the tops of his thighs. Not holding him in place, just reminding him that he’s not going anywhere.
“Miles,” she says softly, almost apologetic. “You know you can tell me to stop.”
Miles chokes on a breath that might be a laugh, might be a prayer. “I don’t want you to stop.”
Gwen’s smile deepens into something evil. “I know.”
Her hands slide inward, ghosting up the insides of his thighs, so feather-light it makes his muscles jump. She stops a breath away from touching him, her fingers hovering, not giving him anything yet. Miles makes a strangled noise. Gwen’s lashes flutter with satisfaction.
“Look at you,” she whispers. “Trying to be good. Trying so hard.” Her eyes flick to his; hungry. “But you don’t get to win tonight.”
And she leans in.
Her lips brush him, barely a kiss, a promise more than a touch. Miles groans, one sharp, desperate sound that shudders through the quiet room. She closes her mouth around him with exquisite slowness, heat and softness enveloping him inch by inch until Miles’ hands clench uselessly at his sides.
“Oh my… Gwen…” he breaks off, his voice dissolving into a breathless, wounded noise that she absolutely savours.
Gwen’s palms slide higher, steadying him as she takes him deeper, her jaw relaxing, breath warm against his skin. She moves with devastating patience. No rush, no mercy. Just slow, perfect pressure, her tongue drawing long, deliberate strokes that make Miles shake. He sways forward involuntarily. Gwen’s nails dig lightly into his hips, and she releases him.
“Don’t,” she warns softly, breath hot against him. “If you move, it’s over too fast.”
“M'sorry,” Miles gasps, voice cracking. “Gwen, I - I can’t -”
“I know.” Her lips curve around him, her voice a low hum that nearly undoes him right there. “You’re doing so well. My amazing husband.”
The praise hits him like a shockwave. His knees buckle again, and Gwen steadies him with one hand, the other wrapping around the base of him to move with her mouth. When she pulls back, it’s slow. Slick. Miles swears under his breath, a plea. Gwen wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“You’re close,” she says simply.
Miles nods helplessly.
“Say it.”
“I’m… I’m close… Gwen, please…”
That word.
Please.
Her eyes darken like that’s what she was waiting for. She takes him back into her mouth with a sudden, focused intensity that pulls a full-body jolt out of him. Her tongue works him with ruthless precision, her hand matching perfectly, her rhythm steady and inescapable.
“Gwen, I’m - I’m gonna -”
She looks up at him, holds his gaze, and doesn’t stop. Miles shatters, and he spills into her mouth with a desperate, helpless groan that pulls straight from his spine, his whole body shaking as he comes completely undone.
Gwen doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t look away, and she doesn’t dare let go. She takes all of it, every pulse of him, swallowing slowly, her eyes never leaving his. When he finally sags forward, boneless and ruined, she pulls back with one last soft drag of her lips that nearly makes his knees give out again.
Gwen rises gracefully, smoothing her hair back, violet thong glinting, taunting him. She steps towards him, presses a small, sweet kiss to his cheek, and lingers. When she pulls away, she whispers, “Thanks for playing, babe.”
Miles’ legs finally give. His body just folds, strength gone, breath gone, everything gone. He drops backwards onto the bed with a groan. His arm flops over his eyes, his chest still heaving, the last aftershocks rippling through him. Gwen stands over him like she’s just finished a performance at the ballet academy. Chin lifted, shoulders back, victorious in every cell of her body. She plants her hands on her hips. “I win.”
Miles lifts one limp hand in surrender. “GG’s.”
Gwen laughs, low and smug, and crawls onto the bed beside him. She stretches out on her stomach like a cat who just caught the only mouse that ever mattered. Gwen pokes his side gently.
Miles groans again.
“Come on,” she teases. “Talk to me, champ.”
Miles drags both hands over his face. “What day is it again?”
Gwen snorts. She reaches over and pries one of his hands away so she can see his face. “November tenth, babe.”
“I only made it ten days.”
“Ten whole days! I’m impressed. I was sure you were going to fold on day five. Maybe six.”
“I was doing so good.”
“You were,” she says warmly. “I was about to crack if you didn’t first.”
Miles blinks. “Really?”
“Mm.” Gwen traces the back of her knuckles along his shoulder. “You have no idea how bad you were messing with me. I almost climbed on you so many times this week.”
Miles stares at her. “You could’ve told me.”
“Why?” Gwen swings one leg over his lap, not sitting on him, just hovering there. “I wanted to win.” She leans in, presses a soft kiss to his jaw. “And now,” she adds. “Since I won, I believe that means I get to choose our vacation.”
Miles lets his head thud back onto the mattress. “Oh my God. I forgot about that.”
“I didn’t,” Gwen says cheerfully. “I’ve been coming up with ideas since before we made the bet”
Miles squints at her. “Before the bet?”
She pats his chest sweetly. “Miles, please. You don’t let the challenger set the stakes. I wanted veto power over the vacation.”
Miles lets his head fall back with a dramatic groan. “I married an evil genius.”
“You did,” Gwen agrees, pleased. “Now.” She straightens, palms sliding up his chest. “Option One: Italy. Warm, coastal, pasta. A little town where I can wear sundresses every day and you can sketch me in one of the most beautiful countries on Earth.”
Miles has a hard time being mad at her right now.
“That actually sounds incredible.”
“It does,” she nods. “But I’m not done. Option Two: The South of France. Beaches, wine, and the villa I found has a private pool.” She gives him a slow smile. “Lots of privacy.”
Miles snorts. “Like the kids would give us privacy.”
“That,” Gwen says, pointing at him. “Is not the attitude I’m looking for.”
He laughs, exhausted and adoring.
“Option Three: Scotland.”
Miles lifts an eyebrow. “Scotland?”
Gwen’s grin widens. “The Highlands, stone cottages, misty mornings. And so many castles. The kids will lose their minds. Charlotte will take eight hundred pictures. Max will want to wear every suit of armour we see.”
Miles laughs. “He definitely will.”
“Plus,” Gwen adds, leaning in conspiratorially. “You would look stupidly good in a sweater up there.”
“Yeah, okay,” he smiles, unable to stop.
“So those are my leading choices. Italy, France, and Scotland. All excellent. All mine to pick from. Because I won.”
“Oh, no, what a punishment,” Miles mocks. “I get to go on an amazing holiday with my awesome wife and kids. All because my wife gave me a blowjob. The injustice!”
“I know, I’m evil,” Gwen says, pushing lightly at his shoulder. “Now -”
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
Both of their heads snap toward the door.
“Mom! Dad!” Charlotte’s voice comes through, muffled but urgent. “Max wants to put mushrooms on all the pizza! We’re doing half-and-half, he can’t put mushrooms on my half!”
“She won’t let me put mushrooms on my half!”
Miles covers his face with both hands. Gwen exhales through her nose, halfway between amused and exhausted.
“Hey, kids,” Miles calls out, steadying his voice. “Mom is changing. Give us a second. And stop fighting, it’s all going to be fine.”
There’s a beat of silence from the hallway before Max pipes up. “But she said mushrooms are gross!”
“They are gross!” Charlotte fires back.
Gwen drops her forehead to Miles’ shoulder and mutters, “What is with them lately?”
Miles rubs her back, gathers enough strength to sit up, and reaches blindly for his boxers. “Okay,” he calls out, trying to sound like a functioning parent. “Lottie, if Max wants mushrooms, he’s getting mushrooms. On his half,” Miles says, wrestling a foot into his trousers with the grace of a newborn deer.
Outside the door, Charlotte huffs. “I don’t want him to have any mushrooms on my pizza, Dad. There are spores.”
Miles stops mid–wrestle and looks at Gwen with an expression that asks, “Are you hearing this?”
She lifts her head, blinking. “What?”
Charlotte continues from the hallway, voice slightly calmer. “Spores travel.”
“Lottie, it’s pizza, not a rainforest,” Gwen calls back, moving off the bed. She bends down to grab her dress, then moves towards the closet. Miles’ pupils go wide again for half a second when she hooks her fingers into the thong. Gwen shoots him a warning look. “Don’t even think about it,” she whispers.
Miles raises his hands. “I’m not thinking anything,” he fibs.
From the hallway, Max groans. “Mom! Dad! Charlotte’s being bossy!”
“I’m not bossy! I’m RIGHT!”
“No you’re not!”
Gwen closes her eyes like she’s praying for strength. “Give us two minutes. Please,” she calls, grabbing a loose t-shirt from her drawer and pulling it over her head. “I miss the days when they got along,” Gwen mutters.
“Back when Max was a baby? Yeah, me too.”
“You can’t prove mushroom spores don’t travel!” Charlotte yells.
“You can’t even see spores!”
“That’s the problem! And you don’t even know what spores are!”
“Yes I do!”
Gwen pinches her brow. “I swear, if mushrooms are the hill she dies on…”
“To be fair,” Miles starts carefully. “You hate mushrooms, too. Like, a weird amount.”
Gwen freezes mid-adjustment of her shirt. She turns, eyes narrowed. “Yes. Because they’re disgusting, rubbery little… things pretending to be food.”
Miles bites back a laugh.
“They squeak when you bite them,” Gwen continues, shuddering. “‘Food’ shouldn’t squeak. And they taste awful!”
“This is where she gets it from,” Miles mutters. “They’ll calm down once we put on a movie.”
“You’re assuming we’ll survive ordering the pizza.” Gwen puts her hands on top of her head and sighs. “Vacation is going to be chaos.”
Miles steps behind her and wraps his arms around her, kissing her cheek. “Hey, it’ll be fine. Fresh air, new scenery, lots of distractions. They’ll be too busy to fight.”
“I hope you’re right,” Gwen says.
Miles squeezes her gently. “I’m right,” he says into her hair. “But we really need to get out there.”
“Okay.” Gwen angles her cheek towards him for another kiss, which Miles happily provides before they get back to getting dressed.
“And then we start the movie, and maybe we get an hour of peace.”
“Optimist,” Gwen says, slipping one of his hoodies on.
“You love that about me,” Miles counters. “Ready?”
Gwen nods, and he reaches for the bedroom door. The kids snap their heads up the second the door opens, and Miles raises his hand before they have a chance to open their mouths, successfully silencing them.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” Miles says “Charlotte, you’re going to share a pizza with your mom. No mushrooms at all. Okay?” Charlotte nods, and he turns to his son. “And Max, you and I are going to share a pizza, and you can get all the mushrooms you want, okay?”
“Okay, Dad,” the boy nods.
“And,” Gwen adds. “Stop bickering so much. I don’t know what it is with you two lately, but if it keeps going, there’s going to be consequences. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mom,” they say in unison, quiet.
“Good,” Gwen nods, satisfied. “Now, hug and make up.”
“Do we have to hug?” Max groans.
At that moment, something flickers in Charlotte’s eye. She looks down on her brother, a wide grin spreading to the girl’s face. “You heard her. Come on, Max.”
“No.”
“Come on,” Charlotte drags out, wrapping her arms around her little brother. Max tries to push her away, but she’s too strong for him. “Come on, hug me back. Hug me back.”
“Let me go!” he squirms. “Mom! Make her stop!”
“I told you, hug her,” Gwen says.
“Dad!”
“Listen to your mother,” Miles says. “Hug her back, and it’s over.”
With a resigned sigh, Max stops struggling. Charlotte’s wicked grin only grows wider as he embraces her, glowering with every passing second.
“Can I be done now?” Max asks, his voice muffled by his sister.
“I'm not done yet,” Charlotte says.
“You're so annoying.”
“Mom said no bickering. Do you want to get in trouble?”
“I… no.”
A long while passes. Max only grows more exasperated, but doesn't open his mouth to complain. Charlotte doesn't show any signs of getting bored, and she only lets go of her brother when Gwen tells her to.
“Great. That's settled,” Gwen says once they've broken apart. “Now head downstairs and we’ll order.”
Both kids rush down the stairs, leaving Miles and Gwen standing alone in the corridor.
“How long do you think it'll be until they start up again?” Miles asks.
“I don't know,” Gwen sighs, resting her head on his shoulder and intertwining their fingers. “I just hope this is a phase.”
“Same.”
They start down the stairs together, still holding hands. Miles finds himself wobbling a little.
“How are your legs?” she asks.
“Functioning,” Miles answers. “Kind of wrecked.”
“Poor baby,” Gwen teases.
When they reach the bottom step, Gwen gives his hand one last squeeze before letting go. Miles stays put while she walks ahead, and he watches her for a beat too long.
She catches him, but Miles isn’t embarrassed. Not even a little. He’s standing on the last step, one hand on the railing, eyes locked unapologetically on her in his hoodie like she’s the eighth wonder of the world.
Gwen’s smile blooms, slow and warm. “Come on, loser. Pizza time.”
Miles finally steps off the last stair and follows her, grinning helplessly. “I’m coming,” he says, his heart full.
***
Miles hasn’t been in the shower long. He’s only been standing under the water, letting himself get wet, letting his body relax. The glass doors have begun to fog up, and when they slide open, he doesn’t flinch. He only smiles.
Arms slide around his waist a second later, and Gwen’s whole body presses in behind him. Bare skin, warm breath, her chest flattening against his back like she’s trying to melt into him. Gwen’s hands glide up his stomach, her fingers tracing every line of his muscles slowly. She presses a kiss to the spot between his shoulder blades, then his neck, tracing a trail up to his jaw.
Miles grabs the shampoo bottle like absolutely nothing is happening. “So,” he says casually, blinking water out of his eyes. “What brings you here?”
Gwen pauses mid–neck kiss.
“What brings me here?” she repeats, her voice dry, hands still roaming even as annoyance creeps in.
“Yeah,” Miles says, scrubbing his hair like he’s conducting a completely normal morning routine. “Just making conversation.”
Gwen presses her forehead firmly into his upper spine. “Miles,” she warns, sliding her hands higher, nails curling over his chest now. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?” Miles asks, lathering shampoo and pretending he can’t feel her literally groping him. “I’m just here to shower.” His wife takes a bite out of his shoulder. Miles only hums, thoughtful. “You having a snack? Or is that a new way of saying hello?”
“Miles,” she says, dead serious.
“Yes, dear?”
“Stop ignoring me.” Gwen digs her nails deeper into his chest. “Turn around.”
“I’m not ignoring you, I’m talking to you. You’re the one acting weird. Just give me one minute, mi amor,” Miles says, switching to conditioner as if she isn’t sliding her hands even lower.
Gwen grabs his hips and pulls him back against her. Hard.
He laughs softly. “Someone’s eager.”
“I haven’t had sex in eleven - days,” Gwen says through gritted teeth. “And I am not walking out of this shower until you -”
“Until I what?” he asks, pure innocence, rinsing his hair.
She moves around him so fast that droplets of water fly off her skin. Now she’s in front of him, pinning him with an incredulous, blazing stare. Gwen’s wet hair clings to her collarbones, huffing and puffing.
Miles leans one shoulder against the tile, relaxed as can be. “You look like you want something.”
Her voice drops. “I want you to make me come.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Ohhh. That.”
Gwen smacks his chest. He just chuckles.
“Stop enjoying this.”
“I promise, I’m not,” he says with a slow grin. “Hey, can you hand me the soap?”
She ignores his request.
“This is revenge, isn’t it?”
“Revenge for what?” Miles asks, moving around her. “The way you tortured me with the dress thing? Or the way you kept bending over in front of me for no reason? Or how you kissed my neck at family dinner?” A beat. “Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”
Gwen blinks once. Hard and slow. But he just keeps rinsing his hair, humming like he’s in a shampoo commercial, completely unbothered by the naked woman staring him down like she’s one minor inconvenience away from tearing him apart with her teeth.
Gwen steps closer, pressing her body to his again. Her voice dips lower, almost a purr. “I need you.”
“Need?” he echoes like it’s a foreign word. “Like… emotionally? Spiritually?”
She stares at him.
“Miles,” Gwen tries again, grabbing his wrists and dragging his hands down to her hips. “I’m serious.”
“Oh!” He lifts his brows, delighted. “You mean physically.”
Her jaw drops. “Are you kidding me right now? I already said I want you to make me come!”
Miles shrugs, slipping right out of her grip like he hasn’t been approached by the world’s sexiest, wettest, angriest predator. “I’m just making sure we’re communicating. That’s the key to a good marriage, you know.”
Gwen presses her palm on his stomach, pushing him lightly but firmly against the tile, standing on her toes. “Communicate later,” she growls into his ear. “Touch me now.”
“Not yet,” he says patiently, “I still have to wash my legs.”
She lets out a noise somewhere between an incredulous scoff and a full-body meltdown.
“Stop it,” she demands.
“Stop?” Miles blinks. “Gwen, I always wash my legs.”
“No, you don’t!” she fires back. “You’re a guy! Washing your legs means letting leftover soap run down and you call it a day!”
Miles gasps. “That is slander, Miss Stacy.”
“It’s Morales-Stacy!” Gwen cries. Her chest is rising and falling, her eyes wild with the kind of frustration that only a married man with a sense of humour can cause. “Miles. I’m begging you.”
His grin is instant, and, hopefully, annoyingly charming. “You’re begging me? Wow, this is such an honour. Should I get a certificate printed?”
She grabs his face with both hands. “Miles.”
He gives her his softest smile. The gentlest. The absolute worst he can do in her current state, and says, “You’re cute”
Gwen lets out a strangled groan. “MILES.”
“What? I can’t tell my wife she’s cute?”
“Please!”
He reaches his hand up and brushes a thumb along her cheek. “Aww. You’re all worked up.”
“I WONDER WHY,” she shouts over the water.
“You should have a shower. They’re super relaxing.”
Gwen’s hands clench at her sides. “Miles Morales, if you don’t do something in the next ten seconds, I swear to God, I’m going to -”
Miles straightens, his eyes darken, and Gwen’s breath catch mid-threat.
He steps forward until her back hits the wall.
“Oh,” she whispers, caught off guard by the sudden shift. Miles grabs her wrists. Both of them. He pins them above her head in one smooth, soaking-wet motion. Gwen gasps, her spine arching instinctively. “Miles -”
His other hand presses to her hip, firm and steady, warm as the water washing over them. “You wanted my attention,” he murmurs, leaning in until their lips barely brush. Gwen nods quickly, her breath stuttering. Miles smiles. “You’ve got it.”
Gwen’s breath trembles as he holds her there. “God, I’ve missed you.”
Miles laughs quietly, his thumb brushing her hip. “I know,” he says. “I missed you, too. Now stop yelling at me… and let me take care of my wife.”
As he lowers himself, Miles realises that, for the first time in a long time, the kids aren’t interrupting; and he plans to take full advantage.