Chapter 161 161
Her first orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave.
It was overwhelming sharp, blinding, toe-curling in its intensity. Her back arched instead of stiffening, every muscle surrendering as her eyes rolled back and then squeezed shut. Behind her lids, bursts of light flared like fireworks against a dark sky while she soared on the crest of pleasure.
She must have looked utterly wrecked flushed, breathless, undone and something wild flickered in his eyes, his wolf rising to admire the sight before he forced it back under control.
It took her a few long seconds to return to herself.
Her lashes fluttered open sluggishly as she felt him tug her jeans up, the quiet rasp of the zipper filling the space between them. He fastened the button with deliberate calm, as though he hadn’t just reduced her to trembling pieces.
She leaned against the tree for support, legs quaking, barely able to hold her own weight. Heat scorched her skin; she swore she could feel warmth radiating from her ears. Every inch of her felt flushed and oversensitive. Tiny sparks still skittered along her nerves.
When her eyes lifted to his, he was staring down at her, face carved from stone. No emotion. No softness.
But she remembered the way he’d looked at her moments ago.
She wanted to give him what he had given her. To make him unravel the way she had.
Without speaking, she dropped to her knees in front of him, fingers reaching for the waistband of his sweats. Just as her hands neared him, his grip snapped around her wrist. He hauled her back to her feet in one swift motion.
She stumbled, barely catching her balance, staring up at him wide-eyed like a startled dove.
Had she misread everything?
“What are you doing?” he hissed, eyes dark and sharp.
She blinked, confused. Didn’t he understand? Or did he simply not want her to?
“R-returning the favor,” she murmured, voice barely audible.
His throat worked as he swallowed. After a beat, he released her wrist. “It’s not needed,” he muttered, tension thick in his tone.
She glanced downward despite herself. He looked painfully aroused rigid restraint carved into every line of him yet he refused her.
She nodded quietly.
The charged moment dissolved into something awkward and fragile.
“Let’s go,” he said abruptly, turning away and striding out of the woods.
She followed, steps slightly unsteady as they made their way along the pavement toward the house. She lingered a pace behind him, drinking in the sight of his broad, bare back. Muscles shifted and flexed with each movement. It felt surreal that they had just shared something so heated, so intimate, beneath the trees.
At the door, he opened it for her. She slipped inside quietly. He shut it behind them.
She bent to place her shoes beneath the bench, then paused, brows knitting together.
“Wait a minute… What were you doing out there without a shirt?” she asked, confusion threading her voice.
His expression remained impassive. “Went for a run,” he grumbled.
Her eyebrows shot up. “Without shoes?”
He glanced down at his bare feet, irritation flashing across his features. “Yeah,” he muttered, then headed straight to his room.
She watched his door close.
A slow smile curved her lips.
The memory of what had happened in the woods made her feel light almost buoyant. It had been breathtaking. Unreal. She checked on Mathieu before retreating to her own room, collapsing onto her bed with a dreamy sigh.
It still felt like a fantasy.
She could almost feel his body pressed against hers, the firm glide of his hand, the dizzying way his mouth had claimed her.
That man would ruin her.
Yet that night, for the first time in a long while, no nightmares haunted her sleep.
—
Morning found Jacqueline bright and radiant, like a sliver of sunshine breaking through winter frost.
She hummed softly as she prepared breakfast, hips swaying in an absent rhythm.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Mathieu teased, sliding onto a barstool with a knowing smirk.
She grinned back at him.
Suddenly, he hopped off the stool, dashed into the hall, and cranked the music up to full volume. By the time he returned, she was already laughing.
He wiggled his eyebrows; she burst into giggles.
Within seconds, they were dancing around the kitchen, mouthing lyrics dramatically, spinning and swaying. It was something they used to do back at the mansion whenever Julien left for business trips.
Upstairs, Damien paused as loud music drifted through the house. He had just stepped out of the shower.
After dressing, he walked through the quiet lounge. The television blared with a song. He inhaled slowly her scent reached him first, warm and familiar, mingled with the smell of food and Mathieu’s presence.
He moved toward the kitchen but stopped at the doorway.
They were dancing.
Jacqueline wore an ankle-length dress fitted at the waist. The neckline cleverly concealed the mark he had left on her skin. Her hair was braided, though a few stray strands framed her face. A wide smile lit her lips. Her cheeks glowed pink; there was a lightness about her that felt almost ethereal.
He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the frame, watching in silence.
They looked happy.
They deserved that.
The song ended. The siblings bowed dramatically to each other.
Damien clapped.
They both jumped, heads snapping toward him. Color flooded their faces wide eyes, parted lips, flushed cheeks. The sight amused him.
“Great performance,” he drawled.
Mathieu wasted no time retreating from the scene, leaving Jacqueline behind.
She refused to look at Damien, turning back to the counter and focusing intently on slicing fruit.
Her breath caught.
He was smiling.
Actually smiling.
He stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, observing her. She lifted a slice of apple, placed it between her lips, then bit into it.
His gaze followed the motion.
A stray, dangerous thought crossed his mind would it taste sweeter if he took it from her mouth instead?
Damn it.
“I’m hungry,” he grumbled, hopping onto a barstool.
“The food’s ready,” she replied softly, serving him before calling Mathieu back.
They ate in silence.
Still, she couldn’t stop herself from stealing small glances at him.
She had expected him to wake brooding, distant maybe even regretful. She had braced herself for him to call what happened a mistake, to draw a cold line between them.
But he didn’t.
He said nothing at all.
And somehow, that silence meant everything.