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Chapter 111
Chapter 111:
“Jocelyn.” His voice came out as a low growl.
She stood up and swayed. He caught her instantly, his hands burning through the silk of her blouse. She didn’t pull away. She leaned into him.
“Gaston… I feel strange,” she whispered.
“Me too,” he admitted. And then it came to him, crystallizing with sudden clarity — what Elbert had done. The tonic. The old man’s meddling.
He should stop. He should take a cold shower. He should go to his room.
But she was right there, smelling of vanilla and warmth.
Jocelyn pressed her hand to his chest, then let it slide slowly up to his neck. “You’re so warm p>
That touch shattered what remained of his control.
𝖫𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝗇
He lifted her onto the marble counter and stepped between her legs. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice ragged. “Tell me to stop, Jocelyn p>
She looked into his eyes. She didn’t see a friend. She didn’t see a business partner. She saw a man who wanted her — only her.
“Don’t stop,” she breathed.
He kissed her. It was nothing like the hospital kiss. This was raw and desperate, the release of something long starved.
They stumbled toward the bedroom, shedding clothes along the way. The purple tie hit the floor. Her blouse followed.
The contract was forgotten. The rumors were forgotten. There was only the heat, and the inevitable collision of two people who had been pretending for too long.
As they fell onto the bed, skin against skin, one thought drifted through Jocelyn’s mind: If this is fake, I don’t want real.
Sunlight hit Jocelyn’s eyelids like a physical blow — harsh, unforgiving, and entirely too bright for the way her head was throbbing. She groaned and tried to roll onto her side to escape the glare, but she couldn’t move.
A heavy weight was pinning her waist to the mattress.
Her eyes snapped open. The first thing she saw was skin. Tan, muscular skin. An arm, thick with corded muscle, was draped over her midsection, a hand resting possessively on her hip.
The memories of last night didn’t trickle in. They crashed.
The soup. The unnatural heat that had started in her belly and radiated out to her fingertips. The way she had clawed at his shirt. The sound of her own voice begging him not to stop.
She froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
I slept with him. I slept with the one man who was supposed to be my safe, platonic shield.
She turned her head slowly, afraid that any sudden movement would shatter the fragile silence of the room. Gaston was asleep. His face, usually so sharp and guarded, looked younger in the morning light. His eyelashes were long, resting against his cheekbones. His lips were slightly parted.
