I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 206 - 207 Home Run

Chapter 206: Chapter 207 Home Run

My breath caught.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

I had no idea what to do with that.

My chest squeezed. My eyes burned.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

His thumb brushed over my lips.

‘You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.’ He kept his gaze locked on mine. ‘You said you’d go public. Let’s do it now. Post it.’

My throat scratched when I spoke. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Dead serious.’ He didn’t blink. ‘Before you change your mind.’

I let out a small breath. ‘Fine.’

My head felt stuffed with cotton.

I didn’t even think before grabbing my phone off the bedside table.

I opened X, found Ashton’s name and his latest post, hit repost, then hovered over the caption box, biting the inside of my cheek.

‘Should I copy yours? Just “Married.” Or should I write something like, “The other ring’s on my hand”? I don’t know. What the hell am I even supposed to say?’

I kept staring at the screen.

My thumb hovered, twitchy and useless.

Ashton said, ‘Post this: “I’m his wife. We’re happy. It’s been a long time coming. Please send good wishes. We—”’

‘Stop. Jesus. That’s a freaking essay.’

I muttered, ‘I’ll just write “Married.” That’s it. Short. Everyone’ll get the point.’

Typing on my back was ridiculous—Ashton still had his weight half on me.

I had to hold the phone at an awkward angle.

My hand started cramping.

The second I finished typing, he snatched the phone out of my grip.

‘Just reposting it isn’t enough. Needs a picture.’

He opened the camera, grabbed my hand, laced our fingers together, and took a photo.

The lighting was shit—warm and dim.

Our hands looked slightly yellow, but the matching rings caught the light like tiny mirrors.

He hit post.

I squinted at the screen. ‘Give it back. I want to see what people are saying.’

‘No.’ He tossed the phone aside, then leaned in again, mouth hot and deliberate.

I lost the last bit of tension in my spine.

My hips dropped into the mattress.

He dragged me in tighter, kissing harder.

His tie brushed my collarbone, cool silk against skin that suddenly felt too hot.

I felt the press of buttons from his shirt imprinting faintly down my chest as he leaned in.

His palm slid under my pyjama top and dragged up, knuckles skimming over bare skin.

I gasped into his mouth.

He took it as invitation, tipped his head, deepened the kiss until I forgot where I was.

There was nothing polite about it.

It was all tongue and teeth, breath and heat, his hand splayed across my ribs like he owned every inch of me.

I grabbed fistfuls of his jacket, wrinkled the lapels, tried to pull him closer even though there was no space left.

His thigh slotted between mine, pressing up just enough to make my breath stutter.

He moved lower, teeth grazing the corner of my jaw.

Then my neck.

Then down to the line of my shoulder.

Every kiss left a trail of heat that burned under my skin, tingling after he moved on.

His mouth worked thoroughly, like he was trying to memorise me through taste and touch.

‘Ashton,’ I breathed, half a plea, half a warning.

He grinned against my skin, like he knew exactly how close I was to losing the plot.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of my PJ bottoms, but didn’t pull, just rested there, warm and possessive.

I tried to swat him off, weakly, palms tapping against his chest.

He finally pulled back, but everything under my skin kept buzzing.

I stared at him.

His pupils were blown wide, and I could feel the heat coming off him like steam.

His hand curled around mine and started dragging it lower.

He said, rough as hell, ‘Wanna try something?’

‘Try what?’

His mouth curved. ‘Me.’

I blinked.

My brain stalled for a second.

Then it clicked.

My face went up in flames.

I turned away, nearly rolled into the duvet trying to hide how hot my skin was.

We’d already gone public.

We’d been married for months.

So going for the home run didn’t sound so crazy anymore.

Especially with how my whole body felt... like every inch of skin had turned sensitive, flushed, greedy.

He leaned in again. ‘Is it okay?’

I bit down on my lip. Nodded once.

He didn’t wait.

He moved fast, unbuttoned, tugged, hands everywhere.

He yanked my top down, traced the line just under my collarbone.

Then I remembered. ‘Wait—do you have one?’

His hand froze. ‘One what?’

‘Protection.’

It took him a second. Then he groaned under his breath. ‘No.’

He pushed himself up, eyes scanning the room.

Nothing.

He yanked open the bedside drawer.

Empty.

He got off the bed, stalked to the bathroom, slammed cabinet doors, rifled shelves, checked behind every bottle.

Still nothing.

He came back looking like he wanted to punch a hole in the wall.

‘Nothing,’ he said, frustrated.

That hit me with a weird mix of relief and disappointment. ‘Then forget it. We can... try another time.’

‘No fucking way.’ He clenched his fists. ‘I’ll call the front desk. They’ll send something up.’

He stalked to the table, grabbed the phone.

I shot up. ‘Don’t!’

I scrambled across the bed on my knees, nearly slipped off the edge trying to stop him.

I caught his sleeve and yanked. ‘Don’t call. Just—leave it. Seriously.’

The thought of someone knocking on the door with a polite little paper bag made my scalp tingle.

Especially if it was that sweet girl from downstairs, the one who helped me with the Wi-Fi earlier.

She’d smiled like an angel and told me to ring room service if I needed anything.

I’d die.