Mio pinched his side again, sharper this time, making Claude jolt with a laugh that filled the car.
"Ouch! My poor waist is going to be nothing but bruises if you keep treating me like this," he said, pressing a hand dramatically over the spot. His grin, however, betrayed how much he enjoyed every second of her retaliation.
Mio crossed her arms and leaned back in her seat, staring stubbornly out the window. "Serves you right. Who told you to waltz into my meeting like a king with no manners?"
"I'm your husband," Claude replied with mock innocence, one hand steady on the steering wheel, the other adjusting the collar of his shirt—the very collar that still couldn't hide the faint red mark she had so boldly left on his neck earlier. "If I can't waltz into your meeting, then who can?"
