Please Let Me Go, My Contracted Ex-Husband.-Chapter 39 - - Too late!

Albert had just reached the doorway when his phone rang again. Glancing at the number, a trace of impatience flashed across his refined face. He pressed the decline button, tossed the phone onto the couch, and turned toward the bathroom.

He hadn't intended to stay, but with some things too difficult to face, lingering here seemed like a way to avoid them.

After a quick shower, he felt his frustration ease a bit. Tying a towel around his lean waist, he entered the bedroom. In this tiny place, there wasn't any other bed to sleep on, and he certainly didn't want to cram himself onto that small couch for the night.

Lifting the blanket to get into bed, he realized she was still fully dressed. He frowned in annoyance; if he'd known he'd have to undress her, he might not have stayed. There was no way he was going to sleep next to a fully clothed woman, especially since seeing her in that outfit was already irritating.

Taking a step closer, he extended his hand and swiftly stripped her down to just her black underwear, revealing her alluring, shapely figure before him.

As he gazed at her smooth, fair skin, warmth surged through him, but the thought of those old men touching her tonight darkened his expression. Frustrated, he picked her up and took her back to the bathroom for a thorough shower.

He washed her vigorously, almost rough, yet she barely reacted—just furrowing her brows and muttering a few complaints before curling into his chest, so tightly that he didn't dare push further. Otherwise, he might have taken her right there in the bathroom. But he wasn't that desperate, not enough to touch a woman who was dead drunk.

Once he was finally done, he realized just what he'd been doing. Women usually served him, yet here he was, undressing and bathing a woman himself!

The more Albert thought about it, the more he realized that staying the night was a poor decision. Frustrated, he tossed her onto the bed and slipped under the blanket himself, turning his back to her.

But barely two seconds later, he couldn't resist. He turned around and pulled the deeply asleep woman into his arms. She was so thin—nothing but bones, no softness at all—yet, even so, he didn't want to let go. The emptiness that followed releasing her terrified him.

It was a miserable night of constant turmoil. Without holding something, he couldn't fall asleep, but holding her kept his blood running hot. The entire night, he drifted between sleep and wakefulness, only finally settling down when dawn broke.

The next morning, bright sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the entwined pair on the bed. The man lay flat on his back, deeply asleep, his sharp brows angled dramatically into his temples, lending him a handsome, carefree air. The petite woman lay curled beside him, her expression serene.

After a moment, her delicate brows knitted slightly as she raised a hand to her forehead, slowly opening her eyes. Despite a night of sound sleep, Cynthia's hangover hadn't improved; if anything, her head throbbed even more painfully. Was this what they called "next-day drunkenness"?

She shook her head, trying to get up, only to freeze, her face going pale as paper. She realized she was lying in a man's arms, her chest pressed firmly against his.

This realization hit her like a bolt from the blue, shattering her composure completely. Without a second thought, she sprang up and, with all her might, delivered a fierce slap to the sleeping man beside her.

The slap instantly jolted Albert Wilson awake. Realizing she had struck him, he was immediately furious.

"What are you doing?" he roared, his anger erupting. He had spent the whole night tending to her, only to be rewarded with a hard slap—an absolute insult in his eyes.

"Why is it you?" Cynthia's eyes widened in surprise as she took in his face. She'd assumed she'd been taken advantage of by one of those men from last night. Yet, strangely, seeing it was him brought a subtle sense of relief.

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Albert, however, grabbed her chin with sudden force, his forehead veins pulsing visibly. "Why wouldn't it be me? Who did you think it was? One of those men from last night? Or perhaps that Vincent?"

Cynthia's whole body shook with anger at his words. "What nonsense are you spouting?"

"Oh, I'm the one spouting nonsense? Isn't this your true nature? Otherwise, why would you be flaunting yourself in a place like that? Isn't this exactly what you wanted? Cozying up to those old men, getting the money you're after?"

His gaze traveled over her exposed body with cold disdain, his words dripping with bitterness. Though he knew she wasn't that kind of person, his anger left him unable to hold back, and the sting on his cheek only fueled his lack of restraint.

Following his scornful stare, Cynthia looked down at herself and, overcome with shame and anger, yanked the blanket over her body. "Albert Wilson, you're absolutely shameless! You'd even take advantage of a woman who's passed out drunk!"

Her mind was too overwhelmed to process clearly, and with both of them facing each other like this, she couldn't help but assume the worst.

Suddenly, a twisted smile appeared on his lips, a smile cold and laced with malice. "What did you say? You think I took advantage of you?"

She didn't say a word, afraid that if she opened her mouth, tears would start to fall. She just pressed her lips tightly together, meeting his gaze with anger flashing in her eyes. He leaned in close, his voice low and taunting.

"If that's what you think, then maybe I should show you exactly how it feels... so you'll understand the difference between doing something and not."

With her eyes widening in shock, he swept the blanket off her and pinned her down on the bed. There was nothing between them, and he pressed his solid frame against her, invading her personal space without restraint.

Cynthia was so stunned by his actions that she nearly fainted, her voice trembling as she spoke, "Albert Wilson, what are you doing?"

She pushed against him, struggling beneath his weight. She had thought their wedding was nothing more than a mistake, that after that day, they would lead separate lives. Why was she entangled with him again and again? This was nothing like the life she'd imagined after marriage!

With a swift motion, he pinned her arms above her head, pulling her chest right to his mouth. His pent-up desire from the long night flared stronger than ever in the morning light, fueled by the anger he had just accumulated. He made his intentions clear with a rough kiss that branded her skin.

As his actions grew more intense, Cynthia—stubborn and proud as she was—could only lower her guard and beg him for mercy.

"Albert Wilson, please... please, let me go."

"Too late."

He raised his head, eyes dark with unbridled desire, and coldly threw the two words at her. Then, without warning, he kissed her harshly, denying her any chance to breathe. Seeing the fierce flame burning in his gaze, Cynthia shut her eyes in despair. Who could tell her what to do? How could she escape this terrifying man?

Her indifferent resistance only seemed to fuel his passion further. He had every intention of making her surrender, of breaking down her defenses. The more she resisted, the more he felt the urge to conquer her, to wear down her resolve bit by bit, until her body yielded completely under his touch.

His long, skilled fingers moved deftly, teasing her sensitive petals, feeling the warm nectar flow steadily from her. Her gaze, initially filled with embarrassment and anger, softened and grew hazy, a faint blush spreading over her fair skin.

Sensing she was ready to welcome him, he held back, keeping her on edge with gentle, unhurried touches. His heated lips trailed down from her chest, pressing lingering kisses along her skin. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she arched her back, breathing heavily, and reached up to hook her arms around his neck, slowly pulling him closer to her.