CHASING THE UNWANTED WIFE

8 - Satisfy Me

Theron’s words were brutal.

Always.

It didn’t matter whether he was sober or not—he hated her all the same.

“Hah,” she let out a resigned sigh. Despite the trembling in her body, she still forced herself to stand.

Theron also swayed unsteadily, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. The moment his knees buckled, she quickly darted forward and caught him before he could collapse. His drunken weight fell heavily against her, but she didn’t care at all. Didn’t care even if she was weak, too, or if the cut in her hand hurt.

Callista helped her husband lie carefully on the bed.

“Isolde… Isolde…”

Theron had never uttered her name with such longing, as if he wanted to hold on to whatever he could of her and never let go. To him, Isolde was so precious—immensely so. She was the only woman he wanted to cherish.

And Callista had become the sharp blade that tore his happiness apart.

A crushing heaviness clawed at her chest, yet she continued gazing at her husband’s face. She no longer knew how long she had stood motionless beside the bed. When looking at him became too painful to bear, she drew a deep, shaky breath and turned to leave.

But before she could take a single step, he suddenly sat up and shot out a hand to grab her wrist. The force of his grip made her gasp, her heart pounding with sudden alarm.

“Theron? What are you—” Her words were cut short as he pulled her down onto the bed. The soft mattress beneath her sank when her weight pressed hard against it, and before she could even react, his body was already looming over hers.

She tried to push him away, tried to squirm out from beneath him, and tried to escape his cold, accusing gaze. But he was stronger, heavier, and determined to trap her… to keep her pinned beneath him.

When she began to move harder, he caught both her wrists in one hand and restrained them above her head against the mattress, leaving her movements completely restricted. Controlled. His hand was large enough to hold both her wrists. And there was no tenderness in his grip.

He was rough.

Punishing.

Theron’s warm breath, heavy from his labored breathing, fanned across her skin. He smelled so good, but knowing he hated her made taking in his familiar scent feel almost like a sin.

A sin—one she knew he would not forgive.

“This mouth that pressed against mine that night is filthy.” His harsh voice seemed to scrape across her skin. Then, he suddenly pushed two long fingers into her mouth until the tips brushed the inside of her lower lip and the front of her tongue.

One second, his fingers were in her mouth—the next, his lips were pressed violently against hers, harsh and demanding, leaving no room for protest.

“I dislike the taste of your mouth. I dislike the way it clings to my tongue.” He didn’t like her, yet he kissed her again, even more aggressive than before.

He showed no mercy, and she knew he had no intention of slowing down. His kiss was rough and intense, as though he were claiming something that had been offered to him while believing it had no value.

A pained moan slipped from her throat as his teeth caught her lip. She knew that by the time he was done with her, her lips would already be swollen and sore.

“Callista, suck my tongue the way I’m sucking yours. Not soft. Not innocent. I want you eager, like you can’t wait for me to f*ck you hard.”

Her mind raced, and so did her heart.

He said he wanted to divorce her, so why was he still on top of her now?

Forcefully, she turned her head to the side to avoid his kisses. “Theron, sober up. Do you really want to do this now?”

It wasn’t as though they had never had s*x during their five years together. There had been times when they did, but they were always quick, purely physical, and emotionally detached—at least on his side.

For Callista, however, every encounter had been special. Each time he took her, she had willingly given herself to him. No matter how tired she was, the moment he asked her to come to him, she always went—obediently, without hesitation, ready to give him whatever he asked of her.

But Theron never made love to her. He only knew how to f*ck her.

And he had never come inside her—not once. Even when he came outside, he always ruthlessly ordered her to take the pill afterward.

Tonight, Theron was drunk, and she didn’t want him to wake up the next morning beside her, naked beneath the same blanket, only to accuse her of climbing into his bed when he had been too drunk to think straight.

His mind was foggy from the alcohol, and what if he came inside her and she became pregnant?

He would blame her again and maybe even insist that it had been her plan all along.

She was so tired of being accused of something she didn’t do.

“I want this,” he said firmly. “I want you—right now.” His breath was hot against her ear, and the eagerness in his voice sounded like an invitation she couldn’t bring herself to refuse.

Because she wanted him, too.

“But…”

His grip tightened around her wrists. The weight of his body bore down on her, stealing her breath and any chance of escape. She could feel the raw hunger in him. He was hard, grinding his hips against her lower body, a low groan rumbling from his throat.

He bit and nibbled at her neck, and she knew his marks would be left on her skin by morning.

“Theron…”

“Shh. Just close your mouth and open your legs. Serve me well. Satisfy me.”