Chapter 277
“`
– For each row, replace every instance of “Chapter 277” with “Chapter N” (where N is that row’s chapter number). Do not alter any other text, HTML attributes, or formatting.
Chapter 277:
It was not a gentle kiss. It was aggressive, possessive, and completely overwhelming — the kiss of a man staking an absolute claim. Jocelyn’s eyes went wide with shock. She raised her palms and pressed them flat against the hard warmth of his chest, intending to push him away.
But the heat of his mouth and the intoxicating scent of cedar short-circuited her. Her fingers curled slowly, gripping the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt instead of pushing it aside. Her resistance dissolved into the mattress, leaving her entirely breathless.
The blistering heat of the kiss shattered something in her chest — the neat, orderly framework of their arrangement cracking violently down the middle. There was no trace of performance in this. A terrifying thought broke through the dizzy haze of her mind: the safe, clearly defined boundaries she had so carefully constructed between them were no longer holding.
The kiss had ended the previous night only when Jocelyn, gasping and completely overwhelmed, had shoved hard against Gaston’s chest. She had scrambled backward, pulled the duvet entirely over her head, and refused to speak another word.
Poр𝗎l𝗮r 𝗌𝘁о𝗋i𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗻 ѕ.co𝘮
Now, morning sunlight pierced through the glass, painting bright stripes across the tangled grey silk sheets.
Jocelyn was fast asleep — or appeared to be. Her breathing was deep and even, her face turned toward the center of the bed, cheeks flushed a soft, warm pink from the heat of the heavy blankets.
Gaston was already awake. He lay propped on his left elbow, completely still, watching her.
The violent jealousy of the night before had burned out, leaving behind a quiet, aching tenderness. He remembered the exact texture of her lips, the way her initial resistance had softened into a yielding grip on his shirt.
He leaned forward slowly and pressed his lips to the center of her forehead — a feather-light touch, barely a whisper of contact.
Jocelyn made a soft, humming sound in the back of her throat. She shifted in her sleep, rolling instinctively toward the warmth, and threw her right leg casually across Gaston’s waist.
Every muscle in his body locked. He closed his eyes and drew a sharp breath through his nose, fighting the immediate, heavy heat that surged through him. He carefully gripped her calf, lifted her leg free, and set it gently back onto the mattress. Then he threw off the covers, stood, and walked straight into the master bathroom. He turned the shower handle all the way to cold.
The moment the loud hiss of water echoed through the wall, Jocelyn opened her eyes.
They were completely clear. She had not been asleep.
She had been awake the instant his lips touched her forehead. Her heart was a frantic, tangled mess in her chest. She reached up and pressed her fingertips to the spot on her skin where he had kissed her. The tenderness in that brief touch was undeniable — not a performance for security cameras, not a calculated gesture.
Jocelyn stared at the ceiling. The rumors about Gaston Collins preferring men were crumbling to dust in her mind.
Far from the quiet penthouse, the Douglas estate in the Hamptons was suffocating under a cloud of toxic tension.