The Price Of Desire

The kiss should have meant nothing.

It should have been just another move in this twisted game we were playing.

But when his hands tightened around my waist, when his lips moved with slow, aching reverence against mine, something inside me cracked.

I could taste the desperation on his tongue, feel the tension in his grip—like he was afraid that if he let go, I would slip through his fingers.

He had no idea he had already lost me.

He just hadn't *felt* it yet.

His touch was familiar, yet foreign.

The same hands that had once made me feel worshipped had also betrayed me.

But in that moment, with his body pressed against mine, all I could focus on was the heat between us, the way he sighed into my mouth like he had needed this—*needed me*—for far too long.

"Stay with me tonight," he murmured, his forehead resting against mine. "I don't want to sleep alone."

I swallowed hard, forcing a soft laugh. "Where else would I go?"

He exhaled, his arms tightening around me. "I don't know… I just—I need you here."

He was unraveling.

And he didn't even know why.

I let him pull me down onto the bed, his lips finding my shoulder, my collarbone, the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

It wasn't just hunger—it was *pleading.*

I should have pushed him away. Should have reminded myself of what he'd done, of how I was systematically dismantling his life piece by piece.

But the way he held me, the way his breath hitched against my skin, made it feel like *he* was the one being destroyed.

I turned my face slightly, and his lips brushed over my jawline, slow and deliberate. "I don't deserve you," he whispered, his fingers threading through my hair.

"No," I agreed softly. "You don't."

But I let him kiss me anyway.

The night unfolded in a way I hadn't expected.

There was no rush, no frantic desperation—just a slow unraveling. His fingers traced the length of my spine, memorizing the dips and curves of my body like he was afraid he might forget them.

I could feel the tremor in his hands as he touched me, as though he thought I might disappear if he wasn't careful.

"Tell me you still love me," he breathed against my skin, his voice raw.

I didn't answer.

Because the truth was, I didn't know.

Love and hate had tangled so deeply inside me that I could no longer tell which one I was feeling.

He pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my collarbone, his grip tightening around my waist like he could hold me together. "I dream about you," he confessed, his breath warm against my skin. "Even when I don't mean to."

I closed my eyes, pretending his words didn't affect me. Pretending my heart didn't twist painfully in my chest.

Because I *wanted* him to suffer.

But I also wanted to believe him.

Hours passed, the night stretching into something dreamlike.

For the first time in weeks, he seemed at peace—his breathing steady, his body relaxed beside mine.

And yet, I was the one left restless.

I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind caught in a dangerous loop.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He was supposed to suffer.

He was supposed to feel *alone.*

Instead, he had spent the night wrapped around me, whispering things that felt too *real.*

And worst of all?

I had *let him.*

As the first light of morning seeped through the curtains, I carefully untangled myself from his hold.

His arms instinctively tightened around me, a soft noise of protest slipping from his lips.

"Where are you going?" he mumbled, his voice heavy with sleep.

I forced a smile, running my fingers through his hair. "Just to get some water."

He made a low, content sound, his grip loosening slightly.

I slipped out of bed, wrapping his robe around my body as I stepped out of the bedroom.

But instead of heading to the kitchen, I went straight to my office.

Because no matter how much my body craved his touch, no matter how much my heart betrayed me in the quiet hours of the night…

My revenge wasn't over.

Not yet.

And soon, he would understand that even in my arms, he was *still* losing me.