Chapter 138 Seed of Doubt
June
His breath touch my skin before his lips does.
I can feel him hesitate — an inch between us — his warmth ghosting against my mouth like a question he was too afraid to ask. My chest rise and fall in uneven rhythm, the air between us too fragile to disturb.
"Breathe," he whispered, almost to himself.
And I do.
Then he move slow, careful, as if he is learning how to exist in this moment. The first brush of his lips is hesitant, barely a touch. My heart thud painfully in my chest. His lips is cold. The good kind of cold.
He pulls back a fraction, his forehead resting against mine, his breath unsteady. "I—" His voice cracks softly. "I don’t know how to do this."
I smile — small, trembling — and whisper, "Then don’t think about it. Just feel."
That is all it took.
His mouth finds mine again, this time with a quiet hunger. His hand cups the back of my neck, drawing me closer, deepening the kiss inch by inch. The restraint in him melt — slow but sure — until it isn't hesitation anymore, it is need.
I let him in.
My fingers slipped into his hair, pulling him down to me as his lips moves with more confidence, more desperation. He taste like coffee and something darker, something that is him.
The kiss grow fiercer — not wild, but consuming. His other hand presses against the small of my back, pinning me softly to him. The sound that leaves my throat is small, involuntary, and it made him groan, and that groan draws something in between my legs.
I tilt my head and meet him halfway, fingers curling into his shirt. His hand slid up to the back of my neck, anchoring me there, like he doesn’t trust himself to let go.
He kiss me like he’d been starving, like he’d been holding this in for too long. His mouth moves against mine with quiet desperation, all heat and control and chaos at once.
I gasp again against him, and he catches the sound — swallowing it — his tongue tracing the edge of my lower lip before he seemed to realize what he was doing.
Then suddenly, he freezes.
His hand is still in my hair, his breath uneven against my cheek. I feel him fighting it — the instinct, the hunger, the fear.
My eyes flutter open. His forehead is still pressed to mine, his chest rising and falling fast.
"See?" I whisper, voice shaking. "You didn’t die."
That draw the smallest, broken laugh from him. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, swollen now from the kiss.
"I almost did," he murmur, and I can see it in his eyes — not just desire, but the quiet terror of what he’d just allowed himself to feel.
I halt for a second when I see the drop of a tear fall from his eyes. My hands instinctively cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin, his gaze locks on me, so full of something I can't name.
I try to break the tension, joking, "Well… you certainly kissed me longer in my dreams."
He coughs a laugh, lips curving into a smile, and whispered, "Well, let me fix that."
Then he pulls me closer. My chest press against his upper abdomen, and I can feel his bulge. His hands frames my face, gentle, reverent, before his lips trails down my jaw and the hollow of my neck. I shiver, part surprise, part want, as my mind scramble—Is this the right place? Should we be doing this?—but the warmth of him, the way he made me feel, made the questions fade.
A soft whimper escape me when he bit my lower lip. My lips part on instinct, and he took it, claiming me, slow at first, giving me space to respond, to let him in. I did. I let him. My fingers thread into his hair, holding him as close as I can, needing every inch of him.
His kisses becomes bolder, fiercer, his hot tongue exploring the curve of my jaw, the side of my neck, and I moaned softly, helpless, dizzy from the heat pooling inside me. My body moved instinctively against him, leaning into his touch, needing more.
When he pulls back just slightly, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling. I can see the storm behind his eyes, the longing he’d kept buried, and it make my own heart ache.
Then he goes again, fiercer this time, and I lose all restraint. My hands roam his back, clutching, memorizing him, as he kissed me with a hunger that mirrored my own. Every hesitation, every fear melted away.
I let myself fall into it, into him, into the fire between us, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Just Hermes… and me.
Or so I thought.
My phone sharply ring, slicing through the haze between us. I freeze, heart hammering, and glance down at the screen. Natalya. My chest sink. Reasoning completely deserted me, and I instinctively step back, holding the phone up for Hermes to see.
He sucks in a breath, his fingers reluctantly letting go of mine, his gaze sharp but conflicted.
"Shit— we’ve been here too long," I mutter, panic bubbling up. My mind race, imagining all the worst-case scenarios.
Hermes, calm despite the tension, shakes his head. "Just clean yourself up. I’ll handle it," he says, his voice low but firm.
I blink, noticing the faint stains on his shirt—milkshake, the same one I’d cleaned from myself before we got… carried away. My hands hover over the mark, hesitation tightening my chest. "What about this?" I ask softly, unsure.
He shakes his head again. "Don’t worry about it. Just clean yourself. I’ll handle it."
Before I can argue, he turns and leaves, leaving the door closed behind him.
I sink onto the edge of the sink, letting out a shaky sigh. My fingers linger on the water tap as I mutter to myself, "What the fuck am I doing?"
I stand frozen near Natalya’s desk, my fingers brushing the seam of my skirt as I watch her type away on her tab. Each tap of the keys feels like a drumbeat echoing in my chest. I had been told to wait, and wait I did, though my thoughts was anything but still.
Biting my lips, I try to calm the storm in my mind. She knows. She knows everything. Hermes had just kissed me barely an hour ago, and now here I am, standing in front of the woman he is supposed to marry, and she is fully aware of it all.
Will he fix things? Will he protect me? He’d told me I didn’t have to quit, but how could he handle her? My mind whirl with questions, scenarios, warnings, and hopes that I couldn’t even sort out.
I imagine her asking me the one question I dread. Do you love him? What would I say? I didn’t want to lie, not to her. Not after everything. And the truth is searing and simple—I did love him. I would say it even if it meant punishment, humiliation, or worse. Because I didn’t regret a single moment I’d spent with him.
"Why are you still standing there?" Natalya’s voice cut sharply through my thoughts, like a blade.
I jump slightly. My gaze flick to her, flustered, and I realized I’d been holding my breath. "Doesn’t… doesn’t your feet hurt? Have a seat," she says, gesturing to the chair in front of her.
I exhale slowly, forcing myself to step forward and lower into the chair. My palms are clammy, my stomach twisting, but I try to seem composed.
I watch her hands move with ease over the tab, her expression neutral, betraying nothing. That is worse than anger, worse than scolding. The calm, the mask… it unsettle me more than anything.
I want her to be nasty, to yell, to make this confrontation straightforward. At least then I’d know what I am facing. But this… this silence, this poised control—it is a predator watching, and it terrified me.
And as I sat there, heart hammering, I couldn’t help but wonder what she had planned next.
I bit my lips, trying to find the courage to speak. "Um… is there something you want me to do?" I ask, my voice thin and small.
Natalya doesn't look up or answer.
A minute pass like a year, then finally, she drops the tab on her desk and turns to me with a warm, unsettling smile. My chest tighten—this calm felt like a trap.
"June," she says, tilting her head, "are you in love with my husband?"
I freeze. My throat goes dry. Words fail me. "Uh—W-what’re—" My voice crack, my earlier confidence evaporating.
But then Hermes’ voice echo in my mind: I’ll fix this. My fists clench, and my heart swell with a new determination. I can trust him. I had to trust him. I would tell the truth.
I open my mouth to speak, ready to answer, ready to own my feelings.
And then Natalya’s next words hit me like a bomb.
"Has Hermes ever taken you to the train station along the deserted road—the one near the resort people rent for retreats and activities?" she asks, her tone casual, and nostalgic.
My stomach drop. That train station. The same one.
Her smile widen, dreamily. "I brought him there once, and guess what he did— he made me run on the tracks from a fast-approaching train… It was... so fun and then after—."
"Stop…" I whisper fiercely, my hands clenching in my lap.
My mind spin. What the hell? Hermes had made me do the exact same thing. Was it a coincidence? Or was he hiding something from me? Did he take other girls to that same place? My chest tighten as confusion, betrayal, and fear warred with the memory of that thrill.
Everything feel like it is unraveling—and I don't know which version of Hermes is real anymore.