Morning had already slipped into the room, but he was still fast asleep, completely lost in a dreamy world where his wife was in his arms. In the dream, he leaned in, slowly, dramatically, ready to kiss her lips.

But reality… had other plans.

Because in real life, he was holding a cushion so tightly as if it were the love of his life. His fingers were cupping the pillow’s “cheeks,” and he was just about to kiss it with full romance—fully convinced it was his wife.

Right then, his wife walked in.

She stopped at the door, blinked once, and then had to cover her mouth to hide her laugh.

There he was, sleeping peacefully, lovingly about to kiss a cushion.

She raised her eyebrow, amused.

“Really?” she whispered under her breath, watching him pucker his lips toward the completely confused pillow.

As if feeling her presence, he woke up, confused for a moment, then looked at the pillow in his arms—and instantly sat up straight, embarrassed.

She burst into soft laughter, and he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“I swear,” he muttered, “in the dream, it was you.”

She smiled teasingly. “Sure… but I didn’t know I felt like cotton today.”

His face turned red as she continued laughing, and he snatched the pillow away, refusing to make eye contact.

But before she could walk away, he tugged her wrist and gently pulled her onto the bed, hiding his embarrassment by burying his face against her neck.

“If anyone gets kisses in the morning, it should be you,” he murmured, making her blush despite trying to stay annoyed.

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth as he whispered against her lips,

“Do you have any idea what you do to me? One look at your lips… and I forget how to breathe.”

His breath warmed her skin as he leaned closer,

“You shouldn’t stand this close if you don’t want me to kiss you senseless.”

She tried to step back, but he slid a hand behind her waist and pulled her in,

“No, stay… you woke me up from a dream where I was about to kiss you. At least let me finish it now.”

His forehead rested on hers, lips almost touching,

“If you blush like this before the kiss… what will happen when I actually taste these lips?”

Her heartbeat stumbled, and he smiled—slow, deep, and devastating,

“Don’t look away… look at me. I want to see your eyes when your lips finally meet mine.”

The room was still quiet when he pulled her closer, his fingers brushing along her waist as if memorizing the shape of her. He began with a soft kiss to her closed eyelids, slow enough to make her lips part in a tiny breath. Then he kissed the tip of her nose, making her smile without meaning to.

His lips trailed to her cheeks, not kissing fully—just nibbling lightly, playfully—enough to make her gasp and then laugh softly against his shoulder. She cupped his face in her hands and gave him a gentle peck on his cheek, leaving him looking far too pleased.

Her palms rested on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath as he dipped his head lower. His mouth brushed the side of her throat, lingering there, teasing her with a slow kiss before moving lower along her neck. The tenderness shifted into a little boldness as he left a warm mark near her collarbone, making her clutch his shirt tightly.

He whispered against her skin, “You have no idea what you do to me…” before trailing another kiss just below her jaw. His fingers reached behind her, brushing over the delicate tie of her blouse, loosening it just enough to make her feel his breath against her bare back.

She shivered, her pulse stumbling as he kissed the dip of her shoulder and slowly moved back up, hovering over her lips now—his breath warm, his eyes dark with desire. He grazed her lower lip with his thumb before leaning in, giving her a soft, consuming kiss that deepened for a heartbeat… and would have gone further—

—but that’s exactly when their children barged into the room.

He froze.

She gasped and quickly pushed him back.

He groaned, dropping his head in pure frustration.

And then two cheerful voices filled the doorway.

“Good morning, Mumma! Good morning, Papa!”

Aanya’s younger siblings — Aanya and little Rhea — ran in with innocent excitement, completely unaware of what they had just interrupted.

And here, the readers learn something new:

Yes — they were Vikram and Meera Singh, the parents of Aanya, Rhea, and Krish.

He shot his wife a helpless look.

She tried not to laugh.

And he muttered under his breath, “They always come at the worst possible time…”