Chapter 114 #114
Chapter 114
~Shailyn’s pov~
I opened the box.
And for a second, I just stared.
Inside was a dress.
Not just any dress, a beautiful one. Soft fabric, deep pink color, elegant without trying too hard. The kind of dress that didn’t scream for attention but still demanded it. The kind of dress I would never buy for myself.
My first thought came quickly.
Dante?
The excitement drained almost immediately.
Of course he would do this now. A gift, perfectly timed. Something expensive meant to distract me. Something meant to remind me who paid for things. Who decided when I deserved them.
I sighed, already annoyed, already tired.
“Typical,” I muttered.
I reached in to lift the dress properly, and that was when I saw the envelope.
Small. Cream-colored. Tucked neatly beneath the fabric.
I paused.
Then I picked it up and opened it.
What’s a party planner doing without considering her dress?
Saw this at the mall and thought it would look good on you.
Love,
Dwayne.
I read it once.
Then again.
My breath caught.
“No way,” I whispered.
The irritation vanished instantly, replaced by something warm and electric that spread through my chest. My fingers tightened slightly around the note as a laugh escaped me, soft and disbelieving.
Dwayne.
He bought this.
Not because he had to. Not because it was expected. Just because he thought of me.
I sank down onto the bed, dress still in the box, note clutched in my hand.
I loved every word of it.
Every careless, thoughtful, dangerous word.
And the strangest part? I didn’t feel that familiar guilt creeping in. That heavy voice that used to remind me of vows and duty and lines I wasn’t allowed to cross.
That voice was gone.
Because in my heart, I didn’t have a husband.
Not really.
I stood up quickly, senses snapping back into place. This wasn’t something Dante could see. Not now. Not ever.
I folded the dress carefully back into the box, slid the note inside, and tucked the entire thing into the wardrobe behind coats I never wore.
Just in time.
The door opened moments later.
Dante walked in, phone in hand, mid-conversation, before ending the call and looking at me.
“There you are,” he said. “I was looking for you.”
“I was resting,” I replied lightly.
He glanced around the room. “You look fine.”
“I am.”
He sat down, already slipping into work mode. “We need to talk about the project.”
I crossed my arms. “What project?”
“The party,” he said. “You’re still handling logistics, right? I want you overseeing vendor coordination and—”
I raised a hand. “Dante.”
He frowned slightly. “What?”
“I think I need rest,” I said. “Not meetings.”
His expression shifted instantly.
Concern bloomed on his face like a rehearsed expression. “Shailyn, you know stress isn’t good for the baby.”
“I do.”
“And you pushing yourself—”
“I said I need rest,” I repeated.
He sighed, standing. “I’m just worried about you.”
There it was.
The concern that always came right after pressure. The care that felt more like control.
“I’m fine,” I said calmly. “I know my limits.”
He studied me, clearly annoyed that it wasn’t working.
“Alright,” he said eventually. “But we’ll revisit this.”
I smiled faintly. “Sure.”
He left shortly after.
The moment the door closed, I pulled out my phone.
Thank you, I typed. It means so much. Truly.
The reply came almost instantly.
I’m glad you like it.
I smiled at the screen longer than I should have.
\---
Later that night, the house quieted.
Not asleep, just subdued.
I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the dress hidden safely away but somehow still present in my mind. The note replayed in my head, word for word.
Thought it would look good on you.
I let out a slow breath.
“This is ridiculous,” I murmured.
But my thoughts didn’t listen.
Dwayne’s voice crept in. His presence. The way he looked at me, not like I was fragile or inconvenient or owned. Just… seen.
My body felt restless. Tense. Awake in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
I shifted against the pillows, pulling the blanket closer, trying to shake it off.
It didn’t work. I knew what my body wanted.
I readjusted, and laid back against the pillows, the bedroom dim and quiet except for my quickening breaths.
Shailyn lay back against the pillows, the bedroom dim and quiet except for her quickening breaths. The pregnancy had turned every sensation into fire my breasts heavy and sensitive under the thin tank top, skin flushed and hot all over. I slid one hand down over the gentle swell of my belly, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my soft cotton shorts.
I pictured Dwayne. The way he used to pin my wrists above my head, that low growl in his throat when he’d thrust deep and slow, claiming every inch of me like I belonged to him. My other hand slipped between my thighs, finding myself already slick, swollen. I circled my clit with two fingers, slow at first, then faster, imagining his mouth there instead hot, insistent, licking me until I begged.
“Fuck, Dwayne,” I whispered to the empty room, hips rolling up into my hand. I pushed two fingers inside, curling them, stroking that perfect spot that made my toes curl. My thumb kept working my clit in tight, frantic circles. The pressure built fast, too fast my thighs trembling, breath hitching.
Ever since I remembered that night so clearly it still made my body clench just thinking about it.
I imagine Dwayne here, like we were at it and we were talking.
No words at first. He crossed the room, hands framing my face, thumbs brushing my lips before he kissed me like he’d been starving for it. Deep, hungry, tongue sliding against mine while he backed me toward the couch.
“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he murmured against my mouth, voice low and rough. “Every time I see you, I imagine this.”
He lifted me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the bedroom. Clothes hit the floor in seconds, his shirt, my robe, his jeans shoved down just enough. He laid me out on the bed, eyes raking over me like he was memorizing every curve.
“Spread for me,” he said, voice thick. “Let me see how wet you are.”
I did, thighs parting wide, already glistening. He groaned, palming himself through his boxers before freeing his cock, thick, hard, the tip leaking. He stroked himself once, twice, eyes locked on my pussy.
“Tell me you want it deep,” he rasped.
“I want it deep,” I breathed. “All the way inside me. Don’t hold back.”
He notched at my entrance, rubbed the head through my folds, coating himself in my wetness. Then he pushed in, slow at first, letting me feel every thick inch stretching me open, filling me until he bottomed out completely. I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, feeling him so deep it pressed right against my cervix.
“Fuck,” he groaned, hips grinding in a slow circle. “Feel that? How deep I am? That’s all of me buried in you.”
He started thrusting, long, powerful strokes that pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in, going deeper each time, the head kissing that spot inside me over and over. My walls fluttered around him, trying to grip him tighter, slick sounds filling the room with every wet plunge.
“Take it,” he growled, one hand sliding under my ass to lift me higher, changing the angle so he hit even deeper. “Every fucking inch. You’re so tight, squeezing me like you never want me to leave.”
I moaned his name, legs locked around him, pulling him closer, deeper. He fucked me like that, hard, relentless, bottoming out with every snap of his hips, balls slapping against me, the pressure building until I was trembling, sobbing softly.
“Gonna come so deep inside you,” he promised, voice wrecked, thrusts turning erratic. “Fill this perfect pussy until it’s dripping out of you.”
He drove in one last time, hard, deep, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a low groan, pulsing hot and thick inside me, flooding me completely while I clenched around him, coming undone beneath him, shaking as wave after wave rolled through me.
We stayed locked together after, breathing ragged, his cock still twitching deep inside, my body humming with the feel of him claiming every part of me so thoroughly.
I came back to reality. I was pressing myself so hard. I was right there, teetering on the edge, muscles clenching around my fingers, a low moan building in my throat—
My phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand.
The vibration sliced through everything. My eyes snapped open, hand freezing mid-stroke, heart slamming against my ribs.
The screen lit up with a name.
I groaned, frustrated, dragging a hand over my face.
“What the hell?”