Page 86 of Crown of Hate

Her defiant shoulders seem to sink under my words. My chest aches. I need to make this right. And that starts with washing this cowardly stench from my skin.

With a short nod, I turn away and walk to the bathroom, half expecting her to follow me. She doesn’t.

So, I strip off my clothes in silence and step into the shower, groaning as the hot water hits my flesh. The heat works its way into my muscles, loosening the tension that’s coiled tight in my body. But it does nothing to calm the storm in my head.

What the hell am I doing? Why couldn’t I just say it back to her? Just three simple words, but they feel like weight dragging me down, suffocating me. I’ve stared death in the face countless times, but the thought of opening up to Alya, of being that vulnerable, somehow has me paralyzed.

Maybe I didn’t really need a shower. Maybe I just wanted to hide.

Coward.

I press my forehead against the cool tiles while the water pours over me like rain. It’s always been easy to shut off emotions, to keep people at arm’s length. But Alya isn’t just anyone—she’s my wife, my woman. Damn it. And I fucking love her.

I close my eyes, letting the warmth seep into my bones, trying to find some clarity.

Before I can latch on to anything, though, I hear the bathroom door creak open. My eyes open and I turn around to see Alya walking in.

Her red nightgown drags along the tiles, her long hair cascading over her shoulders. From behind the steamy glass shower door, she looks utterly angelic. But that splash of red reminds me of all the pain she’s been through… and of all the hurt I’ve caused.

“Join me?” I offer, edging the shower door open. I’m not expecting her to accept, but I can’t think of anything else. I need her close to me.

Alya looks down at her feet, clearly weighed down by conflict.

“Would you let me say no?” she whispers, barely audible over the shower.

I harden my resolve.

“I think we both know the answer.”

She sighs, looking up at me, hunger and conflict dancing in her eyes.

“Then I might as well get something out of you.”

“Anything.” I hold out a hand to her, inviting her in.

Holding my gaze, she slides off the robe, then takes my hand and steps under the water. Her soft body presses against mine, and I inhale deeply. She smells different tonight—sweet, like roses instead of her usual vanilla.

It’s a small change, but it catches me off guard. So much for resolve. I wrap my hand around her waist and pull her closeruntil she’s fully drenched. Her body molds to mine, and I’m instantly rock hard against her. Everything is heightened—the heat, the steam, the intoxicating feel of her skin against mine.

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” she mumbles.

God, I want to fuck her like I’ve never fucked a woman. No. That’s not it. I don’t want to fuck Alya. I want to make love to her. To lose myself in her completely. I’m dying for it. But first, I need to address what happened earlier.

“I heard you the first time,” I say, unable to help myself. She’s at her best when she’s fighting me. But it can’t be all rage and hate this time. I need to show her how I feel, even if I can’t bring myself to say it yet. “And I agree.”

I begin to pepper a trail of kisses along her neck, reveling in the way her breath hitches and her body arches into me. Her moan is soft, almost lost in the sound of the water, but it’s there—a sweet melody that has me throbbing for more.

“Just because you accept it doesn’t mean I forgive you,” she rasps, her hands reaching to my chest. Her fingers furl and unfurl like she isn’t sure whether to pull me closer or push me away for good.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I murmur against her neck. “I fucked up.”

She stiffens slightly, then lets out a harsh breath as I flip her around and cup her tits from behind. “For what? The girl… or the words you refused to say?”

“Both.” My hand slides between her legs, fingers parting her folds. Even through the water, I can tell she’s already wet. Soaking. “Sasha was nothing to me. Just a fucktoy to use and throw away.” My thumb circles over her clit in slow, deliberate strokes.

Alya’s moans grow loude. “Is that what I am to you?”

“No. You’re so much more. You… You’re everything to me.”

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