Alexia – POV:
I should’ve pulled away.
Should’ve shaken him off, turned around, slapped him even—sothing.
But I didn’t.
Because the mont his lips brushed against the side of my neck, everything else fell away. My guilt. My anger. The loneliness. The ache of being hated by the man I once crushed under heel, and now... loved with every breath I took.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t give ti to think. Just turned around with a firm grip on my waist, hands commanding, movents sure, gaze heavy. And when our eyes finally t—God, I didn’t see hatred.
I saw need.
Raw, volatile, sharp enough to cut.
Then his mouth was on mine.
Rough. Hungry. Starving.
Like he’d been trying to forget and failed. Miserably.
My knees buckled, but he caught , one hand cupping the back of my head, the other sliding down my spine. I should’ve resisted, scread sense into him—but instead, I kissed him back. Desperate. Needy. Like a dying woman offered one last taste of air.
His tongue parted my lips, taking what he wanted—what we wanted—and I lted into him like he still belonged to . Like he hadn’t spent the last few weeks looking at like I was dirt beneath his feet.
A low groan rumbled from his chest when he pressed harder against the kitchen counter. His thigh slotted between mine, coaxing them apart without a word. I gasped when the pressure hit just right, grinding against him because I was starved—not just for him, but for the warmth, the illusion of forgiveness. For the chance to pretend I wasn’t broken. That we weren’t.
"You shouldn’t..." I whispered, breathless, my head falling back as he kissed down my neck, open-mouthed and slow like he wanted to brand with every bite.
"No," he muttered darkly, lips dragging over my collarbone. "But I want to."
And just like that, we stopped pretending.
His hands slid beneath my dress, shoving the fabric up, bunching it around my hips. My pulse thundered when his fingers found my thighs, then higher—so much higher—until I was moaning into his mouth, gripping his shirt like it was the only thing tethering to this earth.
"Aiden," I whimpered, and he stilled.
His na on my lips. The sa way I used to say it when I was his and only his.
He pulled back, eyes wild, chest rising and falling like he’d just run through a storm. "Say it again."
I did.
Because I couldn’t stop myself.
"Aiden."
His mouth crashed into mine again—punishing, searing, claiming. He lifted , effortlessly, setting on the counter as if he couldn’t wait another second. His hands road, pulling, gripping, marking every inch of skin they touched.
It was fire.
And I wanted to burn.
I didn’t care if he hated tomorrow.
Right now... he wanted .
And I would take whatever pieces of him he was willing to give.
Even if they tore apart.
Aiden – POV
What the hell was I doing?
Her lips were so soft—too soft—and my na on her tongue? It ripped straight through my resolve. I knew I shouldn’t touch her. Should’ve shoved her away, reminded myself who she was, what she’d done. What she used to be.
But then she said my na again.
"Aiden."
And everything snapped.
I grabbed her harder, hauling her up onto the counter, gripping her hips like I was anchoring myself to the one thing that’d always undone . My mouth found hers again—hot and savage—and when she whimpered into the kiss, I lost it.
I needed to hear more of that. Needed to know she could still break apart under my touch like she used to. That no matter how far gone we were, her body still rembered who it belonged to.
Mine.
All fucking mine.
Her dress was bunched around her waist in seconds. I yanked at the neckline, rough, not caring if the seams gave way. Didn’t give a damn if I ruined the damn thing. I wanted skin—warm, trembling, begging-for- skin.
And there they were—those perfect, perky breasts I’d dread about for weeks. My palms swallowed them up in a heartbeat. I groaned against her throat, kneading them, squeezing harder than I should have, but she arched into my touch like it wasn’t too much. Like she craved it just as desperately.
"Fuck, Lex," I rasped, biting down on her collarbone before dragging my lips lower.
Her nipple was already hard—taunting .
I took it into my mouth without a second thought.
Sucked.
Nibbling rougher than I ever had before, licking over the peak, then biting—just enough to make her cry out and claw at my shoulders. My other hand rolled and tugged at her other breast, fingers flicking the bud until she was panting, squirming, begging.
"You still like that?" I growled against her skin. "Still lt when I touch you like this?"
She nodded, dazed, breathless.
I smirked against her chest, then latched onto the other nipple, giving it the sa rciless attention. I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t think. All I knew was that I hated her for what she’d done in another lifeti. Hated how she made care in this one.
But I couldn’t stop wanting her.
Touching her was punishnt—for her and for .
I wanted to ruin her. Mark her all over again. Leave no part of her untouched, unclaid.
"You drive insane," I muttered, licking down the valley between her breasts. "And I hate that I still fucking want you."
Her hands buried in my hair, tugging, and I looked up at her—her lips swollen, eyes dark with lust, pupils blown wide.
"I want you too," she whispered.
God help .
I wasn’t going to stop.
Not now.
Not until I had her screaming my na again, and every moan reminded her who owned every inch of her body.
Even if I hated myself for it.
She said she wanted .
That was all the permission I needed.
But this wasn’t going to be slow. It wasn’t going to be sweet.
No.
This was punishnt.
For everything she’d done to —then and now. For the way she haunted my goddamn dreams. For the way her scent could make forget the hate I carried like blood in my veins.
My fingers found the thin scrap of lace between her thighs.
Soaked.
"Fucking filthy," I growled. "You were already wet the second I touched you, weren’t you?"
She bit her lip, but her hips betrayed her—rolling forward, desperate for friction. I didn’t wait. I didn’t tease. I hooked my fingers into the sides of her panties and tore them off like paper, letting the ruined fabric fall to the floor.
Then I shoved two fingers inside her.
Hard.
She gasped, back arching as I pushed deep, curling them to hit that sweet spot that made her legs tremble. I worked her like she was mine to wreck—because she was. I thumbed her clit in rough, relentless circles, watching her co apart under , her chest rising and falling fast, lips parted in a silent moan.
"Look at you," I sneered against her ear, fucking her with my fingers even harder. "You act like you hate , but you’re dripping all over my hand like a desperate little whore."
She whimpered. Didn’t deny it.
Her walls clamped down around my fingers, spasming, her moans growing more frantic with every thrust. I didn’t let up. I wanted her wrecked. I wanted her ruined before I even got inside her.
I pulled my fingers out just as she was about to co. She cried out in frustration, grabbing at .
"Not yet," I snarled, freeing my cock and slamming into her in one brutal thrust.
She scread my na.
Fucking music.
The stretch of her around , the tight heat pulling deeper—I didn’t ease in. I didn’t wait. I grabbed her hips and fucked her like a man possessed. Fast. Deep. Relentless.
Every thrust was a declaration.
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
Her nails raked down my back. Her legs locked around , drawing in tighter. But I kept the rhythm harsh, rciless. My hand found her throat, squeezing just enough to have her eyes roll back.
"Take it," I growled. "Take everything."
She was sobbing my na between gasps, so close to the edge again, body trembling, begging for release. I didn’t stop. I didn’t slow. I just took.
Because I could.
Because she fucking owed .
Her orgasm hit like a storm, her body clenching around , dragging with her. I buried myself deep, groaning as I ca, spilling everything inside her with one final punishing thrust.
For a long mont, the only sound was our ragged breathing, the faint drip of water from the kitchen sink.
And then?
I shoved away from her like she burned .
Zipped up. Wiped her from my hands like she was filth.
"That ant nothing," I spat the awful lie, grabbing my discarded blazer. "You’re still my wife. Which ans you better start acting like it."
She blinked at , dazed, used, still spread open on the counter like so forgotten doll.
"Clean yourself up," I snapped. "And finish the damn dishes. I’m not keeping servants for your comfort anymore."
I turned on my heel and walked out without another glance. I hated myself for saying that.
But fuck if I didn’t still feel her heat on my skin. Her voice echoing in my head. My na on her lips.
This was far from over.
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