Chapter 29 Mia
Mia
Aiden says, “Stay,” when I tell him it’s time to leave. “Stay the night with me.”
Eight months have crawled by since Christmas Eve, six since I gave him divorce papers. As for how long it’s been since we made love? That number’s even blurrier. And a woman has needs….
“I….”
“We don’t…we don’t have to make love. I just want to sleep with you, hold you, be close.”
“Aiden.”
“Please.” He pulls me against him. “Tell me you don’t want me.”
“I want you, always,” I tell him honestly.
“Then let me just hold you for the night. Just that.”
“What if I want more?” I ask boldly.
His eyes shine. “Tell me what you want, baby.” His breath is warm against my ear.
My heart hammers in my chest.
After months of separation and trying to convince myself that leaving him was the right thing to do, I am back in his arms as if those divorce papers never existed.
But this is not the man I left.
"I want you.” My voice is barely audible. "All of you."
Aiden's fingers trace the curve of my jaw, tilting my face up to his.
The familiar scent of his cologne wraps around me, bringing back a flood of memories—lazy Sunday mornings and passionate nights.
His gaze darkens as it holds mine, filled with a hunger that matches my own.
"Are you sure?”
He’s giving me control, and I love that about him.
Love him.
Instead of answering, I press my lips to his.
The kiss starts gently but quickly deepens. Months of longing pour into that single point of connection.
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. My knees 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 curtains casts 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. I tremble 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?
The dress falls to the floor.
I feel the cool air against my heated skin. He swallows hard as he scans me.
I wore my sexiest black bra and panties. It wasn’t deliberate, but I think, subconsciously, I wanted this to happen, wanted to be with him, wanted to be intimate.
“You’re perfect.”
His hands move to the clasp of my bra. My breath catches as his fingertips graze the sensitive skin of my shoulder as he slides the straps down my arms. The feel of his touch after so long apart is almost overwhelming.
"Is this still okay?" he asks, his voice husky.
"Yes.”
He flings the bra away like it offends him.
His gaze travels over my exposed breasts with such intensity that it feels like a physical caress.
He cups my breasts, teases the nipples. I moan.
“Fuck, baby.” He squeezes, arousing me. “You’re so beautiful.”
Despite everything we’ve been through, despite how many times he's seen me naked before, his admiration still makes me feel like the only woman in the world.
He guides me backward while his mouth descends on my breasts, suckling, nipping. My legs hit the edge of the bed.
I feel the mattress give slightly under me as he sits me down.
He kneels in front of me, his hands resting on my thighs. His palms are warm on my bare flesh as his thumbs trace small circles.
The gentle pressure makes my breath catch. I feel my body responding to the familiar rhythm of his touch.
He knows exactly how to build the anticipation, how to make me ache for more.
"I dreamed about you every night." Aiden’s voice is thick with emotion. "I'd wake up reaching for you."
A lump forms in my throat.
His confession lands like heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Months of separate beds, separate lives, and we’ve both been haunted by the same ghosts.
"I couldn't sleep on your side," I admit. "I tried, but it didn't feel right."
His fingers tighten slightly on my thighs, and he leans forward until his forehead rests against mine. His breath mingles with mine, warm and intimate in the space between us.
I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the familiar comfort of his nearness.
“You want me.”
“Yes,” I say honestly.
He keeps asking, wanting to make sure I’m comfortable. This is my Aiden. The considerate man I fell in love with and married.
He grabs the waistband of my panties. I lift my hips, and he slides them down, away.
“Watch me,” he growls.
I do as he parts my thighs and places his mouth against my pussy. My back arches with pleasure.
He pulls back, and slides a finger inside me.
I gasp. It’s been a while, and it feels so good to have him touch me this way.
His tongue presses in, and drags up my slit, and his lips close around my clit.
He sucks.
I begin to shake. One lick, one suck, that’s all it’s taking to get me there.
“Aiden.”
He licks me again and again. He lifts my hips and touches his tongue to the tight hole, licking down to my pussy again.
I clench around his fingers.
“I don’t have lube.” He kisses my clit. “Next time, I’m taking you there.”
It won’t be a first for us. We used to do it often. Our sex play before he got busy was long and inventive.
My hands tangle up in his hair. He looks at me, and as he does, he circles my clit with his tongue.
I start to pant.
My thighs shake.
“I want to be inside you when you come.” His voice is hoarse.
I watch with pleasure as he rises and gets rid of his clothes, because my husband looks good.
“Like what you see?” he teases.
“Always.” I hold my hand out and he takes it.
He gently presses me back on the bed, his body following mine, until he covers me.
The familiar weight of him, the heat radiating from his skin, makes me moan.
My hands find their way to his shoulders, tracing the muscles that tense beneath my touch.
"I've missed you so much," he murmurs against my neck, his lips brushing the sensitive spot below my ear. His breath is warm, sending ripples of desire cascading through me. "Not just your body. Everything about you."
He drags his hands down my body as he suckles my breasts. He rests his palm over my pussy for a moment before I feel the tip of his penis brushing against my sensitive clit.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he demands.
“How good it’s going to feel when you’re inside me.”
“That’s my wife.” He slams into me.
We both cry out at the pleasure.
“Mia, baby, I’m home,” he says in a voice that tells me how desperately he’s been wanting this.
I’ve never felt this cherished, this loved, not even when we were married.
He drags his cock out and then shoves it back in.
The pace is slow, but his movements are hard and deep.
I feel full of him.
He surrounds me, in and out.
“Oh God!” I scream when I feel his fingers on my clit.
“Give me your tit,” he orders.
I do, and he suckles my nipple as he moves in and out of me, as his finger plays with my clitoris.
The onslaught of all three has me shaking.
“Aiden, how do I feel?” I whimper.
He bites my nipple. “Like fucking heaven. Now, come all over my cock.”
His words do it.
I erupt like a geyser, shuddering.
His fingers continue to touch my clit, he continues to pound into me, and his mouth keeps the pressure on my nipple.
It’s never happened before, but even as I’m coming down from an orgasm, I can feel a new one build.
“Ah,” I rasp.
“I can feel it.” He looks at me and begins to pound now. “Give it to me, Mia. Give it to me.”
And I do, which prompts him to lose control until he’s pouring inside of me.
We slowly come down from our high.
His lips trace a path along my collarbone, and the familiar pattern of his kisses—the way he knows exactly where to linger, where to apply pressure—makes me arch toward him. He shifts above me, one hand sliding beneath the small of my back to pull me closer.
“All okay?”
“Yes. This feels like coming home," I admit, my voice catching. "And that scares me."
His hand stills against my back. He lowers his head until his lips are inches from mine, searching my face with an expression I can’t quite read.
"Maybe that's alright. Maybe we can be scared together."
It’s the perfect thing to say.
I reach up to touch his face, my fingertips tracing the familiar line of his cheekbone.
He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to my palm.
The simple gesture sends warmth shooting through me, pooling low in my belly. I’d forgotten how tender he is.
I’m aware that the last barrier between us fell when we made love.
I spent months convincing myself that leaving was the right choice, that the pain between us is too deep to heal. I’ve never, in my life, been happier to be wrong.
"I've missed this," I whisper brokenly. "Missed you."
“Me, too, baby.”
We lay tangled together, close, and let sleep claim us.