Dear Wife, I Hate You (by Josephine Mbanefo) novel Chapter 72

Killian’s Pov

As Lilith came with my fingers buried deep inside her, I stared at her face, stunned, not at her, but at myself. I couldn’t believe what I had just done. I never planned to go this far. The first time I touched her, it was supposed to be control. A test. A way to break her walls down, not… this. Not pleasure. Not softness.

But the moment I felt her surrender under my touch, I couldn’t stop. And now that it’s done, I’m hit with something I hate to admit. Regret. Guilt.

Kate.

I betrayed her. Even if we didn’t go all the way, even if it was just fingers and gasps and heat–I crossed a line. A line I said I’d never cross. And worse, a part of me is… drawn to Lilith. Attracted. Not just physically. That scares me more than anything.

This was never supposed to be about feelings. It was about making Lilith fall, then crushing her. That was the plan. That is still the plan.

I stood up and went into the bathroom, needing to clean myself and clear my head. My heart was pounding, and not just because of what just happened. It was intense. Too intense. And it almost went further than I could handle. I washed my hands, my face, breathing in and out, trying to cool down. I was grateful I managed to stop when I did.

I looked at myself in the mirror and reminded myself, this can’t happen again. I need to start ignoring her. I need to make sure she doesn’t get any ideas. She’s always overthinking, always imagining things that aren’t there. I have to shut it down before it becomes something I can’t undo.

But the worst part?

I still remembered how her lips felt on me, how her mouth moved. And damn it, I got hard all over again.

What the hell,” I muttered, resting my palms on the sink.

I stood there for a few more seconds, until the heat subsided and I softened again. Then I dried off and got essed, shirt, pants, jacket. The usual armor. The usual mask.

When I stepped back out, she had already put her panties back on. Her dress was down again, so she was mostly covered, but she still looked so soft. So… undone.

“Are you going to wash up?” I asked, trying to sound neutral.

She glanced up. “I’ll just wash up at home.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

She sighed. “Okay, fine. I’ll just go wash up here.”

I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t even look at her as she slipped into the bathroom. I only removed her underwear, nothing else, and now she was acting so… gentle. Like we’d shared something tender. She dashed into the bathroom quietly, and when she came out, she sat down beside me on the couch.

She didn’t say anything. Just made herself comfortable like it was her spot. But her face, God, her face, it was flushed with that post–pleasure shyness. It was making me uncomfortable, and worse, I started getting hard again.

No. Hell no.

I stood up immediately. “I have work to do.”

She looked up, confused. “What?”

“You heard me,” I said, sharper than I meant. “I have work to do.”

She frowned a little. “Oh… okay. I just thought-”

“Thought what?” I snapped, turning slightly. “That I’d give you some aftercare or something? We didn’t even have sex.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, lowering her gaze.

I didn’t wait for a reply. I just walked back into my office.

I entered my office and sat down behind the desk, trying to steady my breathing, trying to focus. I opened up my laptop and started reviewing the details from the meeting earlier, performance charts, proposals, a few decisions that needed my attention. I tried to let the numbers drown everything else out. The pressure. The memory of her voice. Her mouth. Her skin. God.

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