Who's Crying Now, Ex-Husband? novel Chapter 421

“I don’t see you holding back, either!” Mila hissed through clenched teeth.

“Darling, now, that’s not fair,” the man answered, a few ragged breaths escaping him, his voice rough with laughter. “Of all people, shouldn’t you know best whether I held back or not?”

Mila fell silent.

After so many years together, she couldn’t deny Lysander was right. But she was still furious. She simply shut her eyes and lay still, pretending she’d just been bitten by a stray dog again.

Lysander, of course, knew she wouldn’t rise to the bait.

He was only teasing, anyway.

Over the years, she’d never once been the one to initiate—well, actually, there was that one time she had, but the consequences had been more than she could handle. After that, she never tried again; it was always Lysander, endlessly taking what he wanted.

He knew everything about her.

Every sensitivity, every weakness.

From behind, his breath grew heavier. Suddenly, his teeth grazed her shoulder, making her shudder. He carefully avoided her wound, then pressed a warm, soothing kiss to her skin, gentle as spring rain, blurring her thoughts until she drifted off, lost in the haze of night.

—

*Smack!*

The next morning, Mila woke in the car, a sharp ache radiating from her thighs. Her anger flared all over again, and she slapped Lysander across the face.

He took it with a grin, eyes bright and full of mischief, pretending to wince in pain. He grabbed her hand and blew gently on her palm, putting on a show of concern, warning her that if she kept at it, her hand would swell.

She only grew more furious.

Back on the yacht, he pinned her down and insisted on tending to her injuries, slathering ointment on her legs. It took all her strength to kick him away and slam the door behind him, locking it tight before collapsing into bed for a much-needed nap.

—

In the ship’s dining room,

Francis had just finished his work when he spotted Lysander. He paused, surprised, then noticed the faint red handprint on Lysander’s cheek and burst out laughing, all business forgotten as he hurried over.

“Well, well, what happened to your face?” Francis circled him, eyes gleaming with glee.

“Curious, are you?” Lysander replied, smiling with a maddening air of satisfaction.

Seeing that smug look, Francis immediately raised his hand. “Stop! Not interested. Don’t tell me.”

That was the last thing he wanted to know—Lysander’s happiness only made his own woes worse.

“Unbelievable. I work my fingers to the bone while you’re living the high life,” Francis grumbled. “You really are something else.”

“Correction,” Lysander replied, sipping his coffee with lazy elegance. “Just a taste, that’s all.”