Page 41 of Worship Him

He pulls me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. The scent of his cologne surrounds me, a familiar comfort I hadn’t realized I missed so much.

“I don’t hate you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m angry and frustrated, sure, and you made a mistake—a big one—but I don’t hate you.”

I cling to him, my sobs quieting as the warmth of his embrace seeps into me. It’s been so long since I felt this close to him.

“We need to move on from this,” he says firmly, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. “For Avery’s sake. We can’t let this define her childhood.”

I blink up at him, surprised by his words. “You really think we can?”

“We have to,” he replies. “She deserves better than this mess we’ve made.”

I nod slowly, the weight of his words sinking in. He’s right—Avery deserves parents who can put aside their differences for her.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” I promise.

“We both will,” he says with a small nod.

We stand there for a moment longer, the storm outside a distant echo of the one inside us. But for the first time in a long while, there’s a glimmer of hope.

Adam’s arms tighten around me again, and I rest my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His scent envelops me once more—a mix of cedarwood and something uniquely him—and it’s like coming home after being lost for so long.

16

ADAM

I’m not sure how I feel about holding Destiny after so long, but she looked so broken and fragile, I couldn’t resist.

Having her in my arms feels so foreign but also so perfectly natural.

When we pull away from the hug, our eyes lock. There's an unspoken understanding between us, an undeniable pull that draws us together.

In a split second, our lips meet in a passionate and urgent kiss.

Destiny's hands tangle in my hair as I pull her closer. I can feel her heart racing against my chest, matching the rhythm of my own. The storm outside rages on, but in this moment, all that matters is the desire between us.

Without breaking the kiss, I almost lead her towards our old bedroom, the one we used to share before everything fell apart. But I catch myself and redirect us to one of the guest rooms instead.

It's where I've been sleeping and doesn't feel quite right, but it will have to do for now.

Mother Nature’s rampage outside is nothing compared to the tempest raging within these four walls.

I kick the guest room door shut behind us, the sound like a wordless punctuation in the quiet house.

Her eyes are on fire, a mirror of the tumultuous emotions churning inside me. This isn't tenderness. It's a wildfire, consuming every ounce of reason and restraint.

"You drive me insane," I growl, my hands fisting in her hair, pulling her into a bruising kiss. Her fingers clutch at my shirt, a silent plea for more, for harder, for everything we've held back.

"Adam, we—" she starts, but I cut her off, my mouth crashing down on hers with a ferocity that brooks no argument. This isn't about talking; it's about action, about feeling something other than the betrayal that's been gnawing at me.

Her hands push against my chest, but it's a half-hearted attempt at resistance at best. I back her up against the wall, my body pinning hers, leaving no room for escape. "This is happening," I growl against her lips, and I feel her surrender in the way her body sags against mine.

"Damn you, Adam," she murmurs, but there's no heat behind her words, only a raw need that matches my own.

Our clothes are a hindrance, a barrier that needs to be torn down. I yank her shirt over her head, my hands rough as they explore the familiar curves of her body.

She's not the same woman I married—she's stronger, more resilient—but her responses are etched into my memory, as ingrained as my own heartbeat.

I watch as she fumbles with my belt, her fingers frustratingly slow against the leather. I bat her hands away, taking over the task with swift efficiency. My pants hit the floor, followed shortly by hers.

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