My Ruthless Ex Demands by Eva Blackwood Episode 7

Kristopher slipped his hand beneath the folds of Sandra’s bathrobe, his touch tracing the curve of her skin, as smooth and delicate as silk. He encircled her slender waist, drawing her closer with a gentle yet firm grip.
Her face, a captivating canvas of defiance and visible irritation, ignited in him an uncontrollable urge to claim victory over her resistance.
His breathing grew heavy, yet he remained composed, slowly removing his tailored suit.
The fabric of his suit brushed lightly against Sandra’s cheek, releasing a mix of scents: a familiar woody aroma intertwined with an unexpected zesty twist of lemon. It was unmistakably Jo Malone’s Blue Agava and Cacao-Elijah’s signature scent.
A surge of nausea overwhelmed Sandra at the realization.
As Kristopher’s eyes, now shaded with a stormy intensity, drew nearer to hers, the proximity conjured unwelcome visions of him with Elijah. Her stomach churned violently, and with a sudden movement, she pushed him away, propping herself up with a jolt and a dry retch.
“Ugh…”
Her stomach had been empty all day, leaving her with nothing to bring up.
The desire in Kristopher’s gaze flickered out, replaced by a cold, detached expression as he withdrew slightly.
Observing the genuine distress and the reddening of Sandra’s eyes, Kristopher perceived her reaction for outright disgust at their closeness.
He paused, fingers adjusting his shirt cuffs, his voice cold as he confronted her. “Sandra, is this reaction reserved only for me, or is it how you respond to all men?”
The air in the room turned frosty, thick with tension.
Sandra swallowed the sharp sting in her throat, her eyes widening in shock as she stared up at him.
Ever since their marriage, she had cut ties with nearly all her male friends, yet here was Kristopher, casually tossing out comments sharp enough to cut glass.
The years of love she had poured into their relationship now seemed utterly futile.
Heat crept up her neck, coloring her cheeks a bright scarlet as indignation took hold. Without thinking, her hand flew up and delivered a stinging slap across Kristopher’s face.
All her suppressed grievances from the day ignited in that swift motion.
Her bathrobe, loosened in the heat of the moment, slipped from her shoulders. Ignoring the flush of exposure, she swiftly gathered the fabric and draped it around herself, her movements quick and firm.
The impact of her slap had left a light, crimson mark on Kristopher’s cheek, marking him with her outrage.