Forced to Wed: A Billionaire's Demand

Chapter 42

Sarah

Vincent laughs and slowly lifts himself off of me while maintaining eye contact the entire time.

My heartbeat quickens as he towers over me, his gaze lingering on my flushed features and heaving chest. I kept my eyes locked on his.

Slowly, he extends a hand to help me up, but at the last moment, he takes it away.

Instead, Vincent used that hand to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "I don't want to get off," he admits.

My breath hitched at his husky admission, my eyes widening ever so slightly. "Why not?" I whisper.

"I want to fuck you... right now," he whispers against my ear, his voice low and rough with need.

I shiver as goosebumps prickle my skin, and despite my better judgment, I feel myself arching towards him slightly.

"I won't let you. Not when you have a mistress," I force myself to say.

"I didn't sleep with her." Vincent almost sounds annoyed.

"But you will, right?" I ask.

He grins. "Maybe."

I narrow my eyes at Vincent, refusing to let him get the best of me. "Don't play games with me," I hiss. "I don't like sharing."

Vincent's grin only widens. "Is that jealousy I detect?" He traces a finger down my collarbone. "You can't refuse me. You are practically melting at my touch."

I slap his hand away, sitting up abruptly. "Save it. I am not listening to you anymore."

I make to get off the bed, but Vincent grabs my wrist, his grip firm. Our eyes lock in a silent battle of wills before he pulls me towards him roughly. His mouth crashes onto mine and despite myself, I melt into his kiss. Vincent maneuvers me until I'm straddling him, his hands gripping my hips possessively.

"You're mine," he growls against my lips. "I will do what I want to you."

My resolve threatens to crumble, but I push against his chest, breaking our kiss.

"I hate you," I hiss.

Vincent's face hardens. "I would take that as a compliment, but you don't seem to mean it."

"How would you know that?" I snap.

"I don't. Alright. If you don't give me what I want, I guess I will go back to Helen's house after all," he says, getting up.

Oh, so he wants to play hardball?

"Fine. You do that," I spit out, watching him walk out of the room.

I fling myself back on the bed, seething with rage and frustration. Of course, he would resort to such low blows.

As if I care, anyway. Vincent can go sleep with as many women as he wants for all I care. But as I stare at the empty space where he once lay next to me, an unfamiliar ache settles in my chest.

Also, a familiar ache between my legs...dammit.

My throat feels as dry as a desert, probably from all the heated debate. I shuffle to the kitchen, my trusty water bottle in hand. Hydration is my only hope of survival in this household.

On my way to the kitchen, I hear noises coming from Vincent's study.

My curiosity piqued, I tiptoe down the hallway and press my ear against the door.

Ah, it seems he's still here! A smile tugs at my lips, though I'd never admit out loud how pleased I am that he didn't go running back to Helen's bed.

I debate knocking and confronting him but decide to let him stew a bit longer. Vincent has to be ignored. I'll make him wait, keep him guessing about what I'm up to forever.

I know I should go back to my room, but my feet stay rooted in place. Against my better judgment, I crack open the door again ever so slightly. I am curious to see what he is doing in there.

Probably plotting more for his revenge.

My eyes widen in disbelief when I see the scene inside.

Vincent is sitting in his chair, pants around his ankles. I watch in stunned silence as his hand moves rhythmically along his length.

Oh god. Is he masturbating!?

A swell of heat rushes through me, and I have to clamp my mouth shut to hold back a gasp. I shouldn't be seeing this, but I can't tear my eyes away. Vincent's head is thrown back, his face etched with pleasure. His breath comes in low moans that make my own breathing hitch.

I know I need to leave now. But my limbs are frozen, my mind foggy with unwanted desire. I'm helpless, but I keep watching as Vincent chases his release.

When it comes, it's with a strangled cry that pierces me to my core. I squeeze my thighs together against the throbbing need there.

Face burning, pulse racing, I stare at him. Something about seeing him this turned on is so mesmerizing.

"Enjoyed the show?" he suddenly comments.

"Eeek!" I let out a squeal and ran off. He saw me!

I stumble back to the bedroom and jump in bed. My heart is hammering against my chest. Is he going to come in now? I hope he doesn't make me talk about what I just saw.

I mean, really, what could he say? He was the one caught with his pants down—literally!

Settling onto the bed, I pick up my book, feeling more than a little flustered.

"Well, Sarah," I mutter to myself, "you've officially hit rock bottom. Spying on your husband...and enjoying it." My cheeks burned at the memory.

I thought I hated him, but now, I'm attracted to him again.

Well, I guess I was never NOT attracted to him despite everything.

I try to focus on the words in front of me, but my mind keeps wandering back to the scene I just witnessed. Vincent's strong arm working himself over, the look of pleasure on his face at the peak of his release...it was all so raw and sensual.

A warmth spreads through my core and I squeeze my thighs together. Maybe I should've let him fuck me tonight...

Shaking my head, I try to refocus on my book, but the erotic images continue intruding. The throbbing between my legs intensifies as I picture his muscular body hovering over mine, his skilled fingers tracing my skin. I let out a soft moan before catching myself, face flushing at the realization that I'm getting turned on by thoughts of the man I supposedly despise.

I'm drawn from my conflicted thoughts as the bedroom door opens.

Speak of the devil...