The Billionaire’s Bride: Our Vows Do Not Matter

Xavier stepped out of the walk-in closet. Every inch of him looked as if he had been carved out of marble by the hands of ancient craftsmen. His presence was commanding, drawing the very air of the room to him as if he were the rightful owner of it. Cathleen’s sharp and discerning gaze remained fixed on him. She could not look away. She took in the tailored lines of his suit that hugged his broad shoulders and the way his dark hair framed a face that could launch a thousand ships or ruin as many lives.

“Enjoying the view?” Xavier’s voice cut through the silence, a smirk on the corner of his lips.

Cathleen’s heart raced. But her face remained impassive, her lawyer’s mask firmly in place. “It’s hard not to,” she admitted, her tone of voice laced with a challenge.

When she had agreed to marry Xavier, it had been Finn’s face she had imagined at the altar. A bait and switch of hearts. But Finn’s betrayal of Avery-a wound that still festered-had changed the game. Marrying Xavier was her checkmate.

“That’s revenge enough for Finn,” was the bitter thought in Cathleen’s mind. The thought twisted inside her like a knife. Satisfaction is mixed with an edge of remorse. No one had dared to cross Xavier, not even Finn’s own father, who had paled visibly at the mention of his name.

But what did Xavier do? The question was a shadow that hung over her head, dark and unspoken. She had her theories, of course; rumors swirled around him like vultures, each one more sinister than the last. But despite her skills in the courtroom, the truth remained elusive. It slipped through her fingers like smoke.

“Already scared?” Xavier asked. His eyes searched hers, looking for a crack in her armor.

“Never,” she shot back, her pulse pounding with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. This was the dance that they were doing, a tango of power, where each step could either bring them closer together or draw blood.

“Good,” he said, the smile of a predator playing on his lips. “I wouldn’t want you to get bored.”

Cathleen’s mind whirled, filing away every move he made and every word he said. He was dangerous-a man whose very nature seemed to be flirting with violence. And though she would never admit it out loud, she was thrilled by it.

Their marriage-a contract signed in the ink of vengeance-was as complex as the cases she unraveled in the courtroom. For now, she has played her part. The dutiful wife to a husband whose touch promised both pleasure and destruction.

The contours of Cathleen’s silhouette ignited a fire he had no business stoking, and Xavier’s gaze lingered a fraction too long. He cursed under his breath, the tension in his gut tightening as his body betrayed his resolve with an unbidden surge of desire. His voice came out in a clipped voice, a sharp command that cut through the electric air. “Time for your bath.”

With purposeful strides, Xavier crossed the room to where Cathleen sat. Her usually sharp eyes were wary yet defiant. He scooped her up, her little form lighter than the burden of his restraint, and carried her to the bathroom. The sound of cloth hitting tile was abrupt as he methodically undressed her, each layer revealing more of what he should not desire. Carefully, he lowered her into the warm embrace of the water, the surface shimmering like the barrier that it was-a pathetic shield against the onslaught of his hunger.

The silence stretched tautly between them as he reached out for the soap. This time he didn’t command her to wash where she could reach; this time his hands roamed over her skin with a precision that was a testament to his inner turmoil. Each stroke of his palms was as much a punishment as it was a caress, and the dichotomy tore at him.

Sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, Xavier was grateful for the angle of the seat that hid his growing excitement from Cathleen’s piercing gaze. The water rippled with every movement, a mockery of the storm raging inside him. His fingers trembled as they traced the delicate lines of her body, each one touching a spark that threatened to catch fire.

“Damn it,” he murmured under his breath, the heat building up deep in his belly as he felt the wetness seep through his trousers. It was a battle; the primal need was clawing at him, demanding that he surrender. But he was not going to surrender. Not to this, not to her.

A jolt of pain shot through him as he squeezed his tail hard, a crude attempt to extinguish the flame. He was in need of release; the pressure was building with an intensity that was a strain on him. But he held himself back; every muscle in his body tensed as he continued with his services, washing away the sins that clung to him far deeper than the skin.

In this sterile light, amidst the steam and scent of soap, the raw truth of their dynamic was laid bare: Cathleen, the fiercely intelligent woman who bowed to no one, and Xavier, the man who craved control but now struggled with the chaos she stirred inside him.

Xavier’s knuckles whitened against the porcelain sink, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He straightened up, the steam from the hot water still clinging to his skin like an unwanted caress, a reminder of what-or who-heated his blood beyond reason. He needed distance, space, or something to sever the thread that pulled taut between him and Cathleen.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, pushing out of the bathroom with more force than necessary. His footsteps were silent, even predatory, as he strode across the hardwood floor of the hallway. The guestroom door loomed ahead, an escape hatch from the burning ship of his composure.

Once inside, he locked the door with a decisive click. The room was dim, with curtains drawn tight against the morning’s prying eyes. He unfurled his clenched fists, trying to shake off the sensation of being dangerously close to the edge. Xavier Knight was not a man who lost control, but Cathleen… she threatened to unravel him with her sharp tongue and calculating stare.

He leaned back against the cool wall, the fabric of his shirt sticking to his skin. With shaking hands, he started to ride solo, each movement a desperate attempt to reclaim mastery over his own body. He wanted to groan, but he couldn’t. He was all too aware of the silence, punctuated only by his labored breathing and the distant sound of water still running in the bathroom he had just abandoned. Xavier has never in his life pleasured himself like this. But today he did it for the first time, and he hated himself for it.

“Fuck, Cathleen!”NôvelDrama.Org © 2024.

As the tension coiled tighter within him, he fought against the images that flashed behind his closed eyelids-Cathleen, her hair slicked back from the bath, droplets cascading down her shoulders, her skin flushed with warmth. He cursed himself for offering her the damn bath and for letting her get under his skin.

When release finally came, it was like a gunshot in the quiet room-violent and abrupt. Xavier slumped forward, his hand braced against the wall to keep himself upright. The aftermath left him feeling hollow, the echoes of his own curse resonating through the stillness.

“Never again,” he vowed, though the promise tasted like ash in his mouth. He knew the battle was far from over; Cathleen wasn’t one to retreat easily. But for now, he’d won this skirmish in the war that raged silently between them.