Rejected by my Husband

I was carrying his child when he threw me out. He believed his female best friend’s lies over my tears, called me unfaithful, and left me to raise our baby alone.

Four years later, Only to find him back, time he's my Boss. But the DNA test proved the truth, our son was always his. Now he’s on his knees, begging for forgiveness, begging to have us back. But how do I trust the man who shattered me when I needed him most? Should I forgive me? Or move on?

I woke up sore, every muscle aching, my body still humming with the memory of last night. Heat lingered on my skin, the sweetest kind of ache. My lashes fluttered open and there he was, lying right beside me.

Reid.

My world. My husband.

The steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint stubble shadowing his jaw, the way his arm was already draped across my waist as if he couldn’t let go even in sleep, it all made my heart squeeze.

I shifted closer, snuggling into his warmth, breathing in that intoxicating scent of cedar and skin that was uniquely his. Just as I tilted my face to look at him, his lips brushed the curve of my neck.

A shiver shot through me.

“Mm… Reid…” I whispered, my voice half a moan, half a plea.

His lips curved into a smirk against my skin. “Good morning, my baby,” he murmured, his voice low, rough with sleep, but devastatingly tender. His hand slid over my hip, pulling me closer until not even a breath could fit between us.

I turned in his arms, catching the hunger in his eyes the moment they opened. “You’re insatiable,” I teased, though my voice trembled with want.

“Only with you,” he replied, brushing his thumb over my bottom lip before capturing it with a possessive kiss.

I gasped against his mouth as his weight shifted over me, his body covering mine with protective heat. My hands tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper, needing him closer. His kisses grew urgent, tasting of promises and fire, tracing down my throat as if he couldn’t get enough of me.

“Reid,” I moaned again, my nails raking lightly over his back. “We… we shouldn’t… it’s morning…”

He chuckled, dark and wicked, lips grazing the swell of my chest. “Then let the morning start with you,” he whispered. “Let every day start like this, with my wife in my arms, moaning my name.”

The words melted what little resistance I had left. His touch became bolder, his kisses hotter, until the room blurred around us and the only thing that mattered was him, his hands, his mouth, the way he made me forget the world outside our bed.

Every sigh, every shiver, every whispered endearment became a symphony between us, building again until I was consumed, lost in the love of the man who held me like I was everything he’d ever wanted.

Reid brushed my