Chapter 125

I blinked, momentarily stunned by his admission of fault. The great Alpha Noah, admitting he was wrong? Perhaps Hell had frozen over.

“You don’t say,” I said flatly, resorting to sarcasm to mask the softening of my heart. “Forgive me for being a fool, Hannah; I’m sorry. But I only ever wanted to protect you. He told me it would be painful for you, and…”

Noah’s words trailed off as he lowered his gaze. I opened my mouth to retort, but closed it again, unsure what to say besides, “I… see.”

He took a hesitant step closer. Only then did I notice the scent of his cologne and the loosened tie, the undone top button revealing a taut vein beneath.

“That’s why I only had intimacy with you once a month,” he said softly. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you. And…” He paused, clenching his jaw and looking away. “That’s why I always left the house at night.”

I furrowed my brow. “Explain.”

A faint pink tinged Noah’s cheeks. “I know you don’t want to believe me, but I’m attracted to your body,” he muttered. “I get more aroused by you than you realize. Even just being in the same house made me feel feral, so I slept in my office.”

He paused, then laughed wryly. “My own body paid the price for that. Sleeping on a couch for years isn’t good for a man’s back.”

“You couldn’t even manage a spare room?” I scoffed.

Noah shook his head. “I couldn’t. I didn’t want to risk losing control and trying to have sex with you when it hurt you.”

For a moment, I was flattered, even elated. My husband had admitted he could barely control himself around me. But that was it: my body, not me. We were still incompatible—sexually compatible, perhaps, but completely incompatible in every other way. A piece of meat.

“Well then,” I said, standing and crossing the room to put distance between us. I began taking my hair down at the vanity mirror. “I don’t want you to hurt your precious back. So you should stay here.”

Noah’s eyes widened slightly as they flickered to the bed—my bed. “You mean—”

“Not in my bed,” I said flatly, tossing a bobby pin onto the vanity. “Use one of the spare rooms. I’ll lock my door at night.”

For a moment, Noah was silent. I glanced at him in the mirror, seeing him clench his jaw as he stared at the bed canopy. I thought he might refuse, might insist on sleeping in our bed—and, honestly, maybe a part of me wanted that. Maybe a part of me thrived on the fantasy of him finally acting like a husband, putting his foot down and saying, “No, I’m sleeping in our bed… And I’m making love with you, because I’m your husband and I want you.”

But he didn’t. It was only a fantasy. He simply nodded, muttered, “Goodnight,” and left the room.

I watched the door close, finally releasing the breath I’d been holding. Only then did I notice my trembling hands. Huffing, I crossed to the door and locked it. I nodded to myself and turned to finish getting ready for bed.

Then I froze, chewing on my lip. No. Maybe… just maybe…

I unlocked the door again. Just in case.