Zara’s POV
God, I need him, that’s all I can think about as Gerrard stumbles his way into our bedroom with me held tightly in his arms. My hands are clawing at the shirt he’s wearing, wanting it off him so I can touch him, feel his skin against me.
As he lies me down on our bed, I manage to undo the top two buttons, growling in frustration at how long it’s taking to get to him. I hear the soft chuckle of my husband before he reaches behind him, grabs the fabric at the back of his neck, and pulls, tugging the offending article of clothing over his head and tossing it aside.
I moan softly, reaching for him as he bats my hands away, grabbing my wrists and forcing them to my sides before my clothing is ripped from my body by his frantic hands. I hear the growl of anger as he sees the bruise
