CHAPTER 138: WIFEY DUTIES

Alexia – POV:

I should’ve pulled away.

Should’ve shaken him off, turned around, slapped him even—something.

But I didn’t.

Because the moment 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 me time to think. Just turned me around with a firm grip on my waist, hands commanding, movements sure, gaze heavy. And when our eyes finally met—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 me and failed. Miserably.

My knees buckled, but he caught me, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other sliding down my spine. I should’ve resisted, screamed 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 melted into him like he still belonged to me. Like he hadn’t spent the last few weeks looking at me like I was dirt beneath his feet.

A low groan rumbled from his chest when he pressed me 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 me 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 me to this earth.

"Aiden," I whimpered, and he stilled.

His name on my lips. The same 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 me, effortlessly, setting me on the counter as if he couldn’t wait another second. His hands roamed, pulling, gripping, marking every inch of skin they touched.

It was fire.

And I wanted to burn.

I didn’t care if he hated me tomorrow.

Right now... he wanted me.

And I would take whatever pieces of him he was willing to give.

Even if they tore me apart.

Aiden – POV

What the hell was I doing?

Her lips were so soft—too soft—and my name 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 name 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 me. 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 remembered 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-me skin.

And there they were—those perfect, perky breasts I’d dreamed 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 me.

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 melt when I touch you like this?"

She nodded, dazed, breathless.

I smirked against her chest, then latched onto the other nipple, giving it the same merciless attention. I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t think. All I knew was that I hated her for what she’d done in another lifetime. Hated how she made me care in this one.

But I couldn’t stop wanting her.

Touching her was punishment—for her and for me.

I wanted to ruin her. Mark her all over again. Leave no part of her untouched, unclaimed.

"You drive me 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 me.

I wasn’t going to stop.

Not now.

Not until I had her screaming my name again, and every moan reminded her who owned every inch of her body.

Even if I hated myself for it.

She said she wanted me.

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 punishment.

For everything she’d done to me—then and now. For the way she haunted my goddamn dreams. For the way her scent could make me 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 come apart under me, 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 me, 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 come. She cried out in frustration, grabbing at me.

"Not yet," I snarled, freeing my cock and slamming into her in one brutal thrust.

She screamed my name.

Fucking music.

The stretch of her around me, the tight heat pulling me 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 me, drawing me in tighter. But I kept the rhythm harsh, merciless. My hand found her throat, squeezing just enough to have her eyes roll back.

"Take it," I growled. "Take everything."

She was sobbing my name 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 me.

Her orgasm hit like a storm, her body clenching around me, dragging me with her. I buried myself deep, groaning as I came, spilling everything inside her with one final punishing thrust.

For a long moment, 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 me.

Zipped up. Wiped her from my hands like she was filth.

"That meant nothing," I spat the awful lie, grabbing my discarded blazer. "You’re still my wife. Which means you better start acting like it."

She blinked at me, dazed, used, still spread open on the counter like some 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 name on her lips.

This was far from over.