Dear Ex-wife Marry Me

A big guy being called pretty isn't exactly a compliment.

Fitch's lips twitched slightly as he grabbed one of her hands and placed it on his cheek, "Wanna feel?"

Zoey's eyes widened in surprise, as if she hadn't expected such a stroke of luck. "Really?"

Though she asked, her hands were already exploring obediently. His skin was smooth, his bone structure impressive. Her fingers slid down, pressing gently against his Adam's apple.

The look in Fitch's eyes shifted, his hand covering hers with a hint of seduction. "You can touch anywhere else too."

Zoey wasn't quite sure what she was thinking, her mind a blur as if a distant memory had suddenly struck her. She found herself increasingly drawn to his face, liking it more the more she looked.

Fitch was tense under her gentle caresses. Drunk people don't really know what they are doing, acting purely on instinct. After playing for about ten minutes, she suddenly licked her lips, "I'm a bit thirsty."

It was a kind of restlessness bubbling up from deep within, making her feel parched. Fitch pulled her closer by the back of her head, leaning down to kiss her deeply. After what felt like half an hour, he asked, "Still thirsty?"

"No, I feel better."

Fitch's breathing grew heavier, knowing he shouldn't really take things further, so he kissed her all over again, ending up more frustrated himself. He grabbed Zoey's hand, guiding it towards him. Zoey, now half-asleep, mumbled after a while, "My hand's tired."

"Soon."

His voice was hoarse, seeing her reluctance made him coax her again. "Almost there."Content provided by NôvelDrama.Org.

Zoey opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and called out, "Fitch?" Fitch froze, thinking she had sobered up. But the next moment, her eyes were clouded again. "Fitch, there's a fire."

Fitch's grip tightened, stopping abruptly. Her fingertip hooked his, sweat beading on her forehead.

"Zoey?"

Zoey, eyes closed, was not sleeping peacefully, "Such a big fire, help..."

"Zoey!"

He shook her shoulder, calling out in a rush. Zoey half-awoke, glanced at him, and muttered, "Quiet down." With that, her breathing evened out.

Fitch was drenched in cold sweat, feeling nothing in that instant. He sighed in relief, burying his face in her neck. "It's okay, don't be scared."

Zoey felt as if she had dreamt of a fire, an inescapable blaze where the beams seemed about to collapse. Her desperation in the dream was palpable, unable to flee a world engulfed in flames. Waking up, that sense of despair lingered, painfully gripping her heart.

Her hand was pinned down; turning, she saw Fitch sitting by the bed, holding her hand. Startled, she quickly withdrew her hand. Her head ached slightly, probably from the drinks last night.

"I'm sorry, did I drink too much?"

Fitch watched her, taking a deep look before shaking his head. Zoey tried to recall what she did last night but couldn't, feeling awkward.

"I've never been drunk before, didn't expect the drinks to hit me so hard. I'm really sorry."

"Zoey."

"Hmm?"

"What did you dream about last night?"

The sudden shift in topic caught her

off guard. Once she caught up, she brushed it off, "Just a weird dream, all about fire. Mr. Haskins, I'll freshen up and join Nolan."

She didn't dwell on the dream. But Fitch remained seated by the bed, motionless.

"Mr. Haskins?"