CHAPTER 147: WANTING MY WIFE

Aiden POV

I told her to sleep in the guest room.

Said it like I meant it. Like I had any real control left. Like sending her down the hall would silence the fire under my skin. It was a joke. I knew it the moment I poured another drink.

God, she was beautiful.

Even now, the memory of her—lips parted, cheeks flushed, body trembling around me as she moaned my name—burned behind my eyelids like a brand. She’d fallen asleep like that, with me still inside her, like she belonged there.

I hated her for it.

And I hated myself more for wanting her anyway.

I don’t remember walking. Just that one second I was staring into my drink, and the next, I was outside her room. Not the guest room. Her room. The one I said she couldn’t have. The one I hoped she’d never leave.

My hand hovered over the doorknob.

I should’ve walked away.

But I opened it.

She was sprawled across the bed like a painting half-ruined by sleep. The torn dress clung to her shoulder. Her thigh peeked through the sheets. Her hair was a mess, her lips slightly parted—and fuck me, I wanted her all over again.

I stepped inside. Quiet. Careful. Set the bottle down on the nightstand like it was fragile. Like she was.

I didn’t mean to touch her.

I didn’t mean to get in the bed.

But I did.

And the second I slid in beside her, she moved—like her body knew mine. She turned toward me in her sleep, breath hitching. Her fingers brushed my chest.

She wanted me.

Even now.

Even after everything.

And I wanted her too.

God, I wanted to bury myself in her and forget all the reasons I shouldn’t.

My hand slid down her side, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her hip. She was warm—so warm it made my stomach twist.

Then I went lower.

Just a little.

And I froze.

She was sore.

Still swollen from earlier. Tender. My fingers barely brushed her, and I felt it. The ghost of pain, lingering. My own body ached with need, but...

I couldn’t.

Not like this.

Not again.

I pressed my forehead to her bare shoulder and squeezed my eyes shut, breathing hard.

"I hate you," I whispered.

But my arm only tightened around her waist.

And I stayed.

Holding her like she was something I’d lost.

Or something I was terrified to lose again.

I woke before her.

That was the first mistake.

The second was realizing I hadn’t moved. That I was still holding her like something sacred. My arm was draped around her waist. My face was buried in her neck, breathing her in like some kind of addict. And her body—soft, warm, trusting—was curled into mine like we fit. Like we were made for this.

Goddammit.

What the hell was I doing?

I untangled myself carefully, but even that felt like betrayal. Her breath hitched when I moved. Not fully awake, just... sensing the shift. Like her body missed mine.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head in my hands.

What the fuck had I done?

Not just last night. Everything. All of it.

Dragging her out of that storm. Screaming at her. Touching her again. Wanting her. Telling myself I hated her while my hands trembled for more. And now this—crawling into her bed like a drunk fool and clinging to her like she was the answer to every broken piece inside me.

I couldn’t even trust myself around her.

Last night, I’d wanted to punish her. Fuck her. Make her feel the same helplessness I’d felt in that past life. But when I touched her—when I really touched her—I saw it. The rawness. The pain I’d already left behind on her body. The way she whimpered in her sleep without knowing why.

And I couldn’t do it.

I’d wanted to break her.

But I couldn’t bear to see her shatter.

I glanced over my shoulder. She was still asleep. Peaceful. Guard down. Vulnerable in a way she never let me see when she was awake.

She trusted me.

Even after everything.

That’s what killed me most.

Because I didn’t deserve it.

Not her trust. Not her body. Not even the warmth of this damn bed.

I stood up, moving quietly. Her dress was still crumpled on the floor. My shirt was somewhere I didn’t care to look. The air was cold on my skin, sobering me faster than the headache clawing behind my eyes.

I stared at her for a long second.

Then forced myself to leave.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I didn’t trust what I’d do if I stayed.

**********

I didn’t know how I ended up here.

Sitting in this goddamn chair, in the middle of the villa, my hands shaking like I couldn’t control them anymore. I had no idea what I was supposed to be feeling—rage, guilt, or something worse. But all I could feel was that tight, suffocating knot in my chest, the one that never seemed to go away when it came to her.

I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have walked into her room.

I told myself I would leave her alone, that she needed to sleep, that I needed to stay the hell away from her. But my feet... they moved like they had a mind of their own. She looked too beautiful, too fragile, lying there in the bed like she hadn’t done anything to break me. But god, how could I forget what she’d done? How could I forget her?

I didn’t want to want her. I couldn’t.

But when I saw her last night, her body, the way she moved under me, I remembered everything I thought I’d buried. I remembered how it used to be, how she used to look at me, like I was nothing. Like I was less than nothing. How she used to whip us, torment us with those cold eyes and that smile that didn’t know mercy.

But last night... I wanted her. I wanted her like I wanted my next breath. And that fucking terrified me.

I let myself slip. Let myself touch her again. To kiss her, to break her down like she had broken me all those years ago. But when I was inside her, when I saw the way she trembled, the way she reacted, something inside me cracked.

I remembered all the times she made me feel small. All the times I begged for mercy, for her to stop, and she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

But then I saw her... vulnerable. And I couldn’t keep going. Not like that. Not when I saw the bruises on her skin, the fear in her eyes, even as she let herself fall apart with me.

She was sore. She was still sore from the morning. How fucking sick was I? How could I have been that desperate? That weak?

I ran my hands through my hair, my chest tight, my pulse hammering in my ears.

I wasn’t supposed to want her. Not like this. I wasn’t supposed to love her. I hated her, damn it. But it was the kind of hate that bled into something worse.

Desire. Need. Something I couldn’t control.

I stood up, pacing the room, my thoughts spiraling. How was I supposed to fix this? To fix me?

She was just as broken as I was. But I couldn’t even begin to make sense of what happened last night. I couldn’t figure out where the hate ended and the need began.

I didn’t want to need her. But I did.

And that scared the living hell out of me.

I couldn’t even tell if I wanted to hurt her or make love to her. The lines were so fucking blurred now.

I needed a drink. I needed something. Anything to drown out the mess of my thoughts.

But deep down, I knew it wouldn’t help. Because I couldn’t forget her. Not anymore.