Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You
Chapter 183: A Phase

Chapter 183: A Phase

Rebecca

For a moment, the only sound in the room is our breathing—his, steady and close; mine, shallow and quick like my heart’s trying to catch up.

I don’t pull away. I don’t laugh it off like I normally would. Instead, I lift my eyes to meet his.

He’s watching me with that look again. The smoldering look that melts me from the inside.

"Rebecca," he says again, quieter this time. Like my name is something he’s trying not to break in his mouth. "I am serious."

"I know," I whisper.

And I want it too. More than anything. I’ve been wanting him all day.

My hands slide up his chest, resting over the steady beat of his heart.

"Take me to bed then?" I ask.

His eyes hold mine. "Yes."

I lean up then and kiss him, slow, like we have all the time in the world. He groans low in his throat and pulls me in deeper, his hands splayed across my back, holding me.

He scoops me up in his arms like I weigh nothing and carries me to his room.

Marcus lays me down like I’m something precious. Like he’s afraid I’ll shatter if he’s not careful.

He hovers for a moment, just looking at me, his fingers brushing my cheek like he’s memorizing the moment.

"You are beautiful, Becca," he says. "I’ve said a lot of stupid things to you before. Said I wasn’t attracted to you. But I was lying through my teeth."

"I know," I whisper. "I know a liar when I see one."

He grins and kisses me again.

He starts undressing me, slowly like it was important for him to take his time.

Marcus’s fingers tremble just slightly as he unbuttons my blouse.

I watch him, my breath hitching as his knuckles graze my collarbone, a fleeting touch that sends heat pooling low in my belly.

We had sex many times already, but this...this time feels different. I don’t know why.

I reach for his shirt, tugging at the hem with unsteady fingers, needing to close the distance to feel his skin against mine.

Marcus’s breath catches as I pull his shirt up, the fabric sliding over his shoulders with a soft rustle. His skin is warm under my fingertips, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with something deeper, more primal, as I trace the hard lines of his chest.

He leans down, his lips brushing my neck, a slow, deliberate trail that makes my toes curl against the cool sheets.

My hands grip his shoulders as he presses closer. His fingers slip under the waistband of my jeans, teasing the skin there with a maddening slowness. I arch into him, a quiet gasp escaping as he growls softly, "Fuck, Becca, you’re driving me crazy."

I want him so badly. I want him to hurry and fill me already.

Marcus’s hands pause at the button of my jeans, his thumb brushing over the denim as he looks at me, eyes dark with a hunger that mirrors my own.

I shift under him, the ache building as his fingers finally pop the button open with a small, deliberate snap. His touch is slow, torturous, sliding the zipper down inch by inch, the sound sharp in the quiet room.

The tension coils tighter as he tugs my jeans down my hips, his hands rough but careful, skimming over my thighs. I kick them off, the fabric pooling on the floor, and suddenly, I’m bare under his gaze, vulnerable in a way that makes my chest tighten. He lets out a shaky breath, his voice raw as he murmurs, "Shit, Becca, you are fucking perfect."

I pull him closer, my nails digging into his back as I urge him on, my voice a breathless plea, "Marcus, please, don’t make me wait."

His jaw clenches, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he sheds the rest of his clothes, the rustle of fabric and the creak of the bed filling the space.

I stare. He is beautiful.

"Tell me you want me inside you, Becca. I want to hear you say it," he growls.

Yes...god, yes.

"I need you inside me, Marcus," I croon.

His grip tightens on my hips, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he presses himself against me, the heat of him making my pulse race even faster.

He doesn’t rush, though, even now. His hands slide down my thighs, parting them with a slow, deliberate touch, his fingers brushing against me in a way that makes me gasp, my body arching toward him instinctively.

He positions himself, the tension between us snapping taut. I feel him, hard and ready, and my breath catches as he eases in just enough to tease, drawing a soft moan from my lips that I can’t hold back.

Every inch of him feels like fire, a slow burn that stretches me, fills me, until I’m clinging to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. His forehead presses against mine, sweat beading there as he moves with a controlled, agonizing rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder, punctuated by his ragged breaths and my stifled whimpers.

"You feel so fucking good," he growls, his lips brushing mine in a messy, hungry kiss. "You always do, like a perfect piece of a damn puzzle. My Rebecca. My love."

His love? He really shouldn’t say stuff like this because I don’t know if I can take it.

He shifts, pinning my wrists above my head, his weight pressing me into the mattress as his hips roll harder, deeper, each movement drawing a sharp cry from my throat.

"Harder, please," I beg, my voice raw, my nails digging into his palms as I arch beneath him, chasing that edge.

His breath comes in ragged pants, sweat dripping from his brow onto my chest, the heat between us unbearable as he fucks me with a relentless pace, the tension coiling tight in my belly.

My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, the friction sending sparks through my nerves as I gasp, I’m so close. And I can tell he is too.

He drives into me with a force that makes the headboard slam against the wall, bang after bang. The room spins with the heat of our need, my body shuddering beneath him, every muscle taut as the wave builds, ready to crash.

Marcus’s mouth crashes into mine as I come undone beneath him, shattering around him with a cry I can’t contain, my body pulsing, trembling. His name escapes me again and again, a mantra on my lips as the wave takes me, drags me under, then leaves me breathless in its wake.

He follows right after with a low, guttural sound torn from deep in his chest. His movements stutter as he buries himself inside me, his hands gripping mine so tightly our fingers ache. I feel the way his whole body tenses, then shakes as he finds his release, pressing his forehead to mine, eyes clenched shut like he’s holding on to something that scares him.

Then there’s silence—only the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven, filling the space between us.

He doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t roll off me or say something to break the moment. He just stays there, our bodies tangled, skin flushed and damp, heartbeats syncing in the quiet.

I run my fingers through the damp hair at the nape of his neck, grounding myself.

Marcus finally speaks, his voice barely audible, rasping against my skin. "I didn’t mean to say it."

My stomach flips. "What?"

"That you’re my love," he murmurs. "I mean...I didn’t plan to say it out loud. I don’t know if I know what love is yet."

I blink up at him, feeling like the ground has tilted just slightly. "Oh."

He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes. "Is that okay?"

I don’t answer right away. I just stare at him. Because he’s Marcus—the complicated, bruised, maddening man I fell for without even realizing it.

"Yes," I whisper. "It’s okay."

His eyes close for a beat, something raw flickering behind them when he opens them again.

He kisses me slow, soft this time. No urgency. Just a kind of reverence that makes my chest ache.

And then, finally, he pulls away and lies beside me, his arm curling around my waist like I belong there. Like maybe I always have.

I rest my head on his chest, listening to the slowing beat of his heart. We don’t say anything else. We don’t need to.

For now, this is enough for me.

"Rebecca," he says quietly as he draws invisible shapes on my back.

"Hmm?" I hum.

"I need to tell you something." His voice is different now. Soft, but with an edge of vulnerability that makes me lift my head to look at him.

He’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers still tracing patterns on my skin like he’s buying time. Finally, he meets my gaze.

"I have to go stay at Germany for a while," he says. "For work. We are opening an office there."

My stomach drops. "How long is a while?"

"A month."

A month. Four weeks.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling because looking at him right now feels impossible. The warmth of his body next to mine suddenly feels temporary.

"That’s a long time," I whisper.

"I know," he says. He reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together.

His hand is still in mine, warm and solid, but it feels like he’s already halfway across the world.

He shifts beside me, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at me. His face is shadowed in the dim light, but I can see the worry etched into the lines around his eyes. "Becca, I don’t want to go," he says, his voice low, almost rough. ’But I don’t have a choice. It’s a big deal for the company, and they need me there to set things up."

He pauses, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in slow, absent circles. ’

"I’ll call every day. We will video chat." There’s panic in his voice.

"It’s okay, Marcus. We already live far away from each other anyway, right? I live in Portland, you live in NY," I try to reassure him, even though I’m not reassured myself.

What if...what if his going overseas makes him realize that I’m just a phase?