Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 297 - Two Hundred And Ninety Six

Derek swallowed. The sound was loud in the quiet room. His throat bobbed as he tried to process the woman standing behind him, the woman whispering dark, sweet promises into his ear. His hands were gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that the leather creaked.

Marissa didn’t stop. She moved her hands from his chest to his shirt. Her fingers were nimble, working the top button loose.

"Can I make a suggestion?" she whispered.

Her voice was a soft, smoky purr that sent a shiver straight down Derek’s spine. She leaned in closer. She caught the lobe of his ear between her teeth. She bit him, just hard enough to sting, just soft enough to tease.

Derek gasped, his head falling back against her shoulder.

"What if..." Marissa murmured, her lips brushing against his jawline, "what if you eat me first?"

She kissed his cheek, a slow, wet press of her lips.

"I can assure you," she whispered, "I am much more tasty than that tray of cold soup."

Derek groaned. His resolve was crumbling like a sandcastle in a tidal wave. He tried to turn, to grab her, but she moved.

She stepped around the chair. She didn’t walk away. She stepped between his spread knees. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

She sat on his lap.

She settled herself down, the thin, transparent silk of her nightgown offering no barrier between them. She felt the heat of his thighs, the hardness of his desire pressing against her.

She lifted her hands and placed them on his chest. She began to trace the muscles there, her fingers light and exploring. She pouted slightly, her lower lip trembling.

"You know," Marissa said, her voice dropping to a sad, vulnerable register. "You haven’t touched me. Not really. Not since we started our ruse."

She looked into his eyes. Her gaze was deep and searching.

"Since the night we staged that fight," she whispered. "Since we screamed at each other in the bedroom so Ashlyn would hear. Since I pretended to run to Liam."

She circled her fingers around his nipple through the thin fabric of his shirt. She felt it harden under her touch.

"I long for your touch, Derek," she confessed. "I miss your presence in bed. I miss the weight of your arm over me when I sleep. I miss you."

Her voice became sad, filled with a genuine ache that tugged at Derek’s heart. The politics, the schemes, the danger—it had all kept them apart, even when they were in the same house.

"Now that the ruse is over," Marissa whispered, leaning her forehead against his. "Now that we have won... I feel empty. I want to be filled. I am starving for you."

She reached for the remaining buttons of his shirt. She undid them quickly, her patience gone. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, baring his chest to the cool air and her warm hands.

She ran her palms over his skin, feeling the scars, the beating heart.

"Say something," Marissa demanded softly. "You have been silent for a while. Are you not happy to see me?"

Derek looked at her. He looked at her face, framed by the wild dark curls. He looked at her body, revealed and celebrated by the scandalous nightwear. He felt like he was in a fever dream.

He reached out. His large hands gripped her waist.

"Where..." Derek rasped, his voice rough and deep. "Where did you get that nightwear?"

Marissa blinked, surprised by the question. She looked down at herself. The lace was delicate, the silk sheer.

"Do you like it?" she asked, a playful glint returning to her eyes.

Derek didn’t answer with a simple yes. His hands moved. He pushed the material away from her thighs, bunching the fabric up at her hips. His fingers dug deep into her soft flesh, possessive and hungry.

"It is maddening," Derek growled. "It takes my senses away. I look at you, and I forget my own name. I forget where I am. I forget everything but this."

Marissa smiled. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I bought it at the pleasure district," Marissa admitted.

"The pleasure district?"

"Yes," she said. "I went there two days ago. I met the owner. She told me... she told me that if my husband sees it, he won’t be able to control himself."

She looked down. She could feel his erection pressing against her. She could feel the way his hands were shaking on her skin. She rocked her hips forward, grinding against him slowly, deliberately.

"Mari..." Derek moaned. It was a sound of pure, tortured pleasure. His head fell back, the cords of his neck standing out.

Marissa spoke against his throat.

"Seems she was right," Marissa whispered. "I will have to buy more from her in the future. If this is the result."

Derek couldn’t talk anymore. The friction, the scent of her, the sight of her in his lap—it was too much.

He moved his hands. He grabbed the hem of the sheer gown. He raised it. He pulled it up to her waist, bunching the fabric.

His hands roamed her body. He touched her stomach, her ribs, her back. He was searching. He was mapping her.

He found her breast.

He cupped the weight of it in his hand. He brushed his thumb over the peak.

Marissa moaned. It was a loud, sharp sound that echoed in the high-ceilinged study.

Derek froze for a split second.

"You are loud," Derek said, his voice breathy.

He pushed the gown down from her shoulders, exposing her chest completely to the lamplight.

"They will hear you," he warned. "The guards outside. Mrs. Alma, Grandmother...."

Marissa looked at him. Her eyes were glazed with lust. She didn’t look like she cared about the guards. She didn’t care about the housekeeper. She only wanted pleasure. She only wanted satisfaction.

She arched her back, offering herself to him.

Derek accepted the offer.

He leaned forward. He took one of her nipples into his mouth.

He didn’t start gently. He was hungry. He licked, he sucked, he bit down lightly.

"Derek..." Marissa moaned, her head falling back, her fingers tightening in his hair.

It was music to his ears. It was a song of victory. It was a sound that was meant for him and him alone.

He switched to the other breast, giving it the same worshipful, demanding attention. Marissa writhed in his lap, the friction becoming unbearable for both of them.

Derek pulled back. He was breathing hard, his chest heaving. He looked at her flushed face.

He stood up, lifting her with him for a moment before setting her feet on the floor.

He turned to his desk.

With a sweep of his arm, he cleared the remaining papers, the quills, the ledgers. They fell to the floor in a heap. He didn’t care.

He grabbed Marissa by the waist. He lifted her. He sat her on the edge of the heavy oak desk.

He stepped between her legs.

Marissa reached out. She dragged his head down. She bunched his hair in her fist and pushed his face down, guiding him.

"Please," she whispered.

Derek knelt. He positioned himself between her thighs. He held her hips, keeping her steady on the edge of the desk.

He buried his face in her center.

He kissed her there. He tasted her sweetness.

Marissa gasped. Her head fell back. Her hands gripped the edge of the desk so hard her knuckles turned white.

Derek worked with a single-minded focus. He used his tongue, his lips. He sucked her dry, drinking in her pleasure.

Marissa’s legs began to shake. The sensation was intense, overwhelming.

"D... Derek..." she stammered. "Mmmm... please..."

She couldn’t form coherent sentences. Her mind was shattering into white light. She was close. She was so close.

Derek felt her trembling. He felt the way her muscles tightened. He knew she was on the edge.

He stopped.

Marissa whined, a sound of frustration. She opened her eyes, looking down at him dizzily.

Derek stood up. His face was wet. His eyes were dark holes of desire.

"I want it too," he rasped.

He fumbled with the button. He freed himself from his trousers. He was fully hard, aching for release.

He leaned over her. He pushed her shoulders back until she was lying flat on the desk, her hair spreading out over the wood like a dark halo.

He pulled her hips to the edge. He stepped in.

He looked into her eyes one last time.

"Mine," he whispered.

He thrust forward.

He buried himself deep inside her.

Marissa let out a gasp that turned into a long, shuddering sigh of relief. He filled her completely. It was the feeling of coming home.

Derek groaned, his forehead resting against hers. He held still for a moment, savoring the connection, the heat, the tightness.

Then, he began to move.

He pulled back and thrust again. And again.

The desk creaked rhythmically. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.

Marissa wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. She matched his rhythm. She met his thrusts.

They moved together, a perfect unity of need and love.

Derek thrust harder, faster. He was losing control. He buried his face in her neck, biting down on the soft skin to stifle his own shouts.

Marissa arched off the desk. The pressure built. The tension coiled tight in her belly.

"Derek!" she cried out.

She shattered. Her climax hit her like a storm, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her body. She clamped down on him, pulsing around him.

Derek felt it. It pushed him over the edge.

He roared her name. He thrust one last time, deep and hard, and poured himself into her.

He collapsed on top of her, his weight supported by his arms. He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing heavily, his heart hammering against hers.

They lay there on the desk, tangled and sweaty, in the quiet of the study.

Marissa ran her hand down his back, soothing him.

"I love you," she whispered into the silence.

Derek lifted his head. He kissed her gently.

"I love you," he replied.