Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO
Chapter 94: Wedding Night

Chapter 94: Wedding Night

{Spicy Scenes Ahead!}

NATHAN JANG

The moment I stepped into the bedroom, my breath caught.

Vanessa lay across the sheets, bathed in the golden glow of candlelight, wearing nothing but those pink heels I’d teased her about earlier. The sight of her—long legs stretched out, her body a sinuous curve against the silk—made my pulse stutter.

This woman is my wife.

Her fingers traced lazy paths up her stomach, her touch unhurried, as if she were relearning her own skin. When her hands brushed over her breasts, her breath hitched—just slightly—and her dark eyes locked onto mine. Heat, and something deeper than lust. Love. God, my chest ached.

Vanessa Belmont loved me.

I was across the room before the last word left her lips. My hands found her waist, thumbs stroking the dip of her hips as I drank in the sight of her. Every inch of her was perfection—the flutter of her lashes, the way her lips parted when I leaned closer.

"Where do I even start?" I whispered, half to myself.

She answered by tangling her fingers in my hair and pulling me down into a kiss that burned through me. Her mouth was warm, tasting of cinnamon and desire, and I lost myself in it.

"Too many clothes," she breathed against my lips.

We fumbled with buttons, laughing between kisses, until I gave up and shrugged my shirt off. Her hands slid over my chest, tracing scars and muscle like she was memorizing me. Then her lips followed—soft, open-mouthed kisses that left fire in their wake.

When she sank to her knees, my hands tightened in her hair. But she didn’t rush. She took her time, her mouth trailing down my stomach before—

"Vanessa." Her name came out rough, ragged.

She looked up at me, eyes gleaming. "Let me love you."

And she did—slowly, worshipfully—until my knees nearly gave out.

I lifted her then, carrying her to the bed, laying her down like something precious. When I kissed my way up her thighs, her fingers twisted in the sheets.

"Nate—"

I answered without words, my mouth finding the heat between her legs. Her gasp was my reward, her trembling thighs my anchor. I loved her like that—with lips and tongue and whispered praise—until her back arched and she cried out, my name a plea on her lips.

Only then did I rise over her, our bodies aligning like they were made to fit.

"Look at me," I murmured.

She did. And when I finally slid inside her, her eyes never left mine.

***|***|***|***|***

VANESSA BELMONT JANG

Nate’s lips were soft and sure against mine. His hand drifted to my waist, then higher, tracing the lace edge of my bodice with a reverence that made my breath catch. When his thumb brushed over the sensitive peak beneath the fabric, a shiver raced through me—not just from the touch, but from the way his eyes held mine, dark with love and promise.

"Nate..." His name slipped out, half sigh, half plea. My thoughts blurred into warmth, into the scent of his skin and the weight of his body beside me on the bed.

He undid the delicate clasps of my lingerie with slow fingers, his gaze never leaving mine as the cool air kissed my bare skin. But his touch was warmer, his mouth trailing down my neck, then lower, until his lips closed over me with a tenderness that made my back arch. "Oh—" I tangled my hands in his hair, lost in the sweet, aching pull of his devotion.

When he lifted his head, I dragged in a shaky breath. How does he undo me so completely? Even after vows and rings and a thousand kisses, he still left me dizzy.

"Vanessa." My name in his voice was a vow all its own. He gathered me closer, his hands sliding down to the silk of my nightgown, pushing it up just enough to bare my thighs. There was no hurry, no frantic tugging—just his palm skating up my leg, his mouth finding mine again as if we had all the time in the world.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmured against my lips. The reverence in his touch said it louder.

I reached for him, my fingers tracing the hard planes of his chest, then lower, where his need for me was evident. But he caught my wrist, pressing a kiss to my pulse before guiding my hand back to his shoulder.

With slow strokes and whispered words, his body moved over mine. The world narrowed to the glide of his skin against mine, to the way his breath hitched when I clung to him, to the quiet, perfect rhythm we found together.

"Look at me," he breathed, and I did. His eyes held me even closer than his arms.

Pleasure built like dawn—golden and inevitable—until I was trembling with it, until his name was the only word left in me.

He kissed me through the crest, his own release shuddering against my lips, our shared breath a silent I love you. The world narrowed to the feel of his heartbeat against mine, to the warmth of his hands cradling my face as if I were something rare and sacred.

When the last waves of bliss ebbed, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he brushed the damp hair from my forehead, his touch lingering like a promise.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, and I realized it wasn’t just from pleasure—it was from the sheer wonder of him, of this. Of knowing that after all the waiting, all the stolen glances and breathless firsts, he was mine in every way now.

"It’s just..." I swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed. "You feel like home."

His smile was slow, tender. "You are my home." He gathered me closer, our legs entwining beneath the rumpled sheets, and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.

Outside, moonlight spilled through the curtains, painting silver stripes across his shoulders. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean sighed against the shore—a rhythm as old as time, as steady as the way his fingers laced through mine.

After a long silence, he traced idle circles on my bare shoulder. "Happy?"