I feel his response immediately, his arms tightening around my waist as he pulls me closer.
The porch is too exposed for what is happening between us. And as if he can read my mind, without breaking the kiss, Aiden guides me inside. Our movements are clumsy with need. My back hits the wall at one point, and I gasp as I feel him hard against the notch between my legs, his hands tangling in my hair.
"God, I've missed you," he murmurs against my throat.
I feel the vibration of his words against my skin. Myknees go weak at the familiar roughness of his voice when he’s aroused.
I run my hand over his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his shirt.
I tug at his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine.
He helps by pulling it over his head. I run my hands over his torso, marveling at how right this feels.
How could something that’s supposed to be wrong feel so perfect?
"Mia," he breathes my name like a prayer.
I look up to find his eyes searching my face. I can see the question there, the careful hope he’s trying not to show.
I answer by taking his hand and leading him to our bedroom.
The door is slightly ajar, and when I push it open, I’m surprised to find the décor and art exactly as I left them. It feels frozen in time, as though he’s preserved our shared space like a museum exhibit.
"You didn't change anything," I whisper.
Aiden stands behind me, his hands settling gently on my shoulders. "I couldn't." The warmth of his palms seeps through my dress. "Changing it meant accepting you weren't coming back."
My chest tightens with emotion. “We’re divorced, Aiden.”
“That’s just words on a piece of paper, baby. In my heart, in my soul, we’re married, and I’m working very hard to make you feel the same way.”
The moonlight filtering through the curtainscasts shadows across his face, highlighting the stubble along his jaw, the slight furrow between his brows.
His eyes hold a vulnerability I rarely saw in our marriage. Aiden was always so sure of everything—but now he’s fragile, hopeful.
I reach up, tracing the line of his collarbone with my fingertips. His skin is hot beneath my touch. I feel him shiver slightly.
"I've thought about this…of us being together again," I admit, my voice catching. "About coming back here, about touching you like this."
His breath hitches. His pupils dilate.
A familiar ache, low in my belly, intensifies as I remember how responsive he’s always been to my touch, how attuned we were to each other's bodies, even when everything else between us fell apart.
Sex was never a problem between us.
"Baby." He frames my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with devastating gentleness. "I need you to be sure. I don’t think I could stand it if you regretted this."
“I won’t.” I kiss him hard.
He tastes like port and tiramisu, like promises and heartbreak and home all at once
He floods my senses, familiar yet somehow new after all this time apart. I feel the tension in his shoulders beneath my hands, the careful restraint he’s exercising, even as his body presses against mine with unmistakable need.
His fingers find the zipper of my dress. Itremble at the brush of his knuckles against my skin as he pulls the zipper down.
His touch is deliberate.
How could I forget how he can make the simple act of undressing me feel like worship?
