Chapter 207

Hannah

My fingers nervously gripped the polished wood, my thighs clenching against one another beneath the table.

Flashes of last night’s activities with Noah flickered through my mind, unbidden and entirely too vivid.

The way his hands had roamed my body, the heat of his breath on my neck, the feeling of him inside me... Each memory sent a shiver down my spine and a flush to my cheeks.

He had finished himself into me last night, sweaty and panting as he gripped the headboard. I could still feel his throbs, each one aching more than the last.

When I had gotten up to clean myself and use the bathroom, he had waited for me in bed. “We’re not done,” he had said as I climbed back beneath the covers. “You still have to finish.”

“I did finish.”

“Then do it again.”

He had slipped beneath the covers, disappearing like the tide had come in over his head. I’d gripped the sheets beside me, whimpering and begging and writhing, as he licked me until I went over the edge.

I really had finished already, when he was pumping himself into me. But he had made me finish again, had made me tremble and tighten my thighs around the sides of his head.

Only then had he stumbled to the bathroom to wash himself. I had been fast asleep, my limbs tired and aching, by the time he had come back. And by the time I had awoken this morning, he had already been at the breakfast table.

And now, across from me, Noah calmly poured his coffee as he flipped through the newspaper, his hand steady and sure.

That same hand that had made me finish last night. Again. And again. Thick, warm fingers plunging into me, all the way up to the hilt. Curving and scraping against my most sensitive spots, knowing where all of the right buttons to push were hidden.

I watched the muscles in his forearm flex as he lifted the cup to his lips, remembering how those arms had held me, pinned me, pleasured me.

Dammit. I could feel my face reddening even more.

“Here you are, Luna Hannah,” Ana, my maid, said as she set my breakfast down in front of me. The aroma of freshly cooked eggs and bacon wafted up, but my stomach was too tied in knots to feel hungry.

Ana paused, concern crossing her face as she saw the look on my own. “Are you feeling alright, Luna? Your face is quite red.”

I felt Noah’s eyes flick up to look at me, and I squirmed even more under his gaze. There was a hint of roguish amusement in his expression that made me want to both slap him and kiss him senseless.

“I’m fine, Ana. Thank you,” I managed to say, perhaps a bit too quickly.

I picked up my fork and began to dig into my breakfast, desperate for a distraction. But the food tasted like ash in my mouth, my mind too preoccupied with thoughts of Noah to enjoy it.

As the days, and then weeks, passed, Noah and I fell into a routine. Our nights were spent fulfilling our contract, tangled limbs and sweaty sheets becoming the norm.

I had never felt so sexually satisfied in my life. Each night, I would ache and moan on him until I was practically begging for it to be over. And each morning, I woke up feeling like a kitten basking in a shaft of sunlight, happy and content, my muscles loose and lazy.

But as time went on, I began to feel conflicting emotions.

Being intimate with Noah was nice—more than nice, if I was being honest with myself. The way he touched me, the way he seemed to know exactly what I needed, it was intoxicating.

But doing it so routinely reminded me of how our intimacy nights used to be—always scheduled and so… clinical.

And with Noah always being out of bed by the time I woke up, always at some meeting or another while I was stretching languidly and my hands were instinctively searching for him, I always felt a bit... strange.

Empty, almost.

Was… guilt the right word?

One morning, about three weeks into our new arrangement, I found myself staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, trying to sort out my jumbled thoughts. The woman looking back at me seemed different somehow, and it wasn’t just the not-so-subtle swell of her belly—her skin glowed, her eyes sparkled, and yet…

There was confusion in my expression.

I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. What was more, I didn’t know why I was doing this to myself. Why I was allowing my heart to wander toward—

I couldn’t finish the thought. I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that I might be developing feelings for Noah again. It was too complicated, too dangerous.

We were supposed to be getting divorced, not falling back in love.

More than anything, I wished I had someone to talk to about all of this. Drake wasn’t really the type I wanted to discuss such intimate matters with, and Amber... Well, she wasn’t aware of everything going on between Noah and me. We weren’t as close as…

My thoughts drifted to Viona. I missed her. Dearly.

Now that significant time had passed, I felt guilty for fighting with her. She hadn’t reached out to me in the past weeks, probably still angry at me herself, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to talk to her, to set things right.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my keys and headed out. The drive to Viona’s apartment felt both too long and too short. My heart was pounding as I knocked on her door, my palms sweaty.

When Viona opened it, her eyes widened in surprise. She had cut her hair recently, a chin-length bob now that swayed as she stumbled backwards. “Hannah? What are you doing here?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “Can we talk?”

She hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching my face. Then she nodded and stepped aside to let me in. We sat on her couch, an uncomfortable silence stretching between us. I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, unsure of how or where to begin.

Finally, I spoke. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper. “I… I shouldn’t have gotten so angry with you. You were just trying to help. Fuck. I miss you.”

Viona’s expression softened, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Oh, Hannah… I’m sorry too. I promised not to tell Noah everything, and I broke that promise. I should have found another way. I miss you, too.”

We looked at each other for a moment, and then suddenly we were hugging tightly. I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, relief washing over me. It felt good to have my friend back, to have someone I could confide in again. And that argument… it felt so damn silly in hindsight.

“I was just scared, and looking for someone to be angry at,” I admitted into her shoulder. “I took things out on you, and—”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” she sobbed—

“Viona, you’re my best friend—”

We blubbered like that for some time, just holding each other, sobbing into each other’s shirts. Only once our tears had dried did we finally pull back, and I gripped a strand of her hair, sniffling miserably.

“Your hair…”

“I chopped it off when we had our argument,” Viona sobbed, fresh tears springing to the surface. “I hate it. It looks so bad.”

“It doesn’t look bad. It looks… unique.”

Viona sobbed harder.

But then those sobs turned into laughter. And soon, we were both crying again, but they were tears of laughter this time—laughter from realizing just how bloody ridiculous this all was.

When we finally pulled apart again, our faces aching and streaked with sticky tears, Viona huffed and leaned her head back on the couch.

“I thought you came to talk about that online post,” she said, wiping at her wet cheeks.

I frowned, my brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“The post, Hannah.” Viona blinked at me. “You know, the ‘10,000 likes and I’ll reveal everything’ post?”

I blinked for a moment, and then it hit me. I had completely forgotten about it—I had gotten so caught up in everything else that it had faded from my mind. But the post…

“What about it?” I asked softly, my heart suddenly racing.

Viona was silent as she swiped at her phone screen. I could hear my own blood rushing through my ears, panic lancing through me.

No, no, no—

She turned the screen toward me, and I felt like I might be sick.