Adam's POV
My hand moved downward, my fingers slipping into her panties, rubbing against her cunt.
At the same time, my fingers delved deeper, mischievously stirring inside her. The tighter her body tensed, the deeper my fingers went, and soon I felt her wetness.
Her reaction made me even more aroused. No matter how many times we made love, Stella's shy yet enchanting demeanor always stirred my heart.
Though my erection was painfully hard, I didn't enter her immediately. Instead, I continued to tease her sensitive spot with my fingers, torturing her and myself in the process.
"Do you want it? Beg me." I nibbled on her ear, deliberately teasing her.
At this moment, she was already very aroused, her eyes moist with a hint of tears. She raised her hand to hit me a few times, but it was as if a cat was scratching.
"Say it. Say you want it."
"I... I want you," she said, and then buried her face in my chest.
I couldn't hold back any longer. Retracting my fingers, I thrust my hips, my erection fully entering her body.
"It hurts!" she cried out, her voice tinged with pain.
My size was indeed too large, and she had to adjust each time we made love.
I moved gently, kissing her chest tenderly, probing cautiously. Feeling the increase in lubrication, I finally let go and moved more freely.
My breathing grew heavy, and soft moans escaped her lips.
She opened her body completely, matching my movements, but my fierce thrusts were still too much for her.
I looked down at her, seeing her still holding back, and I increased my pace.
"Relax."
Encouraged, her voice grew louder, and she was soon swept into a wave of climax.
\---
Later, as we lay there catching our breath, Stella threw the tie to the floor with all her might. She turned her back to me, her body language clearly expressing her indignation, despite her evident satisfaction.
"Not taking a bath?" I asked, feeling unusually gentle, more patient than usual after our intimacy. My fingers unconsciously played with her long hair.
I could sense her internal conflict, wanting to bathe but too exhausted to walk to the bathroom. The thought amused me—I had indeed worn her out.
Moving to her side of the bed, I looked down at her. "Bath?"
Stella stared at me for a moment, then silently raised her arms—wordlessly asking to be carried. Despite the gesture, her expression remained reluctant, almost petulant.
"Mrs. Lancaster seems rather unwilling," I observed, unable to resist teasing her.
The look of disbelief on her face was priceless. I could almost hear her thoughts: *I've raised my arms! How much more willing do you want me to be?*
Just as she seemed ready to snap at me, I bent down and effortlessly scooped her up, holding her close to my chest.
"Such a delicate flower," I whispered against her hair, enjoying her glare as I carried her to the bathroom.
Once we crossed the bathroom threshold, her attitude changed. She firmly pushed against my chest, using surprising strength to shoo me out—for someone who claimed she couldn't walk. I retreated, perhaps fearing another round in the bathroom.
While she bathed, I had the staff change the sheets and then stepped out onto the balcony for a smoke. The cool night air brushed against my skin as I gazed at the city lights, contemplating how Stella had quickly become an indispensable part of my life.
When had that happened? When had I started feeling such a strong sense of possessiveness over a woman who was supposed to be just a marriage of convenience?
Ensuring the smoke had completely dissipated, I returned inside to find Stella already in bed, scrolling through her phone. Her hair was still damp from the bath, and the slight blush on her cheeks made her look younger, more vulnerable.
"Still have energy?" I asked, my tone carrying a hint of challenge.
She immediately looked up at me, her eyes filled with suspicion. Her wary expression made me chuckle. Her defensive posture had a strange allure, like a small animal ready to flee at any moment.
"Going to sleep soon," she quickly assured, her voice even raspier than before.
Before she could turn off the screen, I noticed the content displayed. The words "find a lawyer" were clearly visible.
"Looking for a lawyer?" I asked, deliberately keeping my tone neutral, though a cold feeling settled in my stomach. Was she already planning to end our arrangement?
When she nodded without further explanation, I retrieved a black credit card I had prepared for her from the bedside table. "Pocket money for Mrs. Lancaster," I said, handing her the card.
She froze, looking from the card to my face, her expression shifting from surprise to something akin to amusement.
"Mr. Lancaster," she said slowly, "this feels like you're paying me for services rendered."
Her words caught me completely off guard. For a moment, I was genuinely speechless—unexpectedly, I found myself laughing.
"Is that what you think?" I asked, still amused. "That I'm trying to compensate you?"
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger. "Handing me a credit card right after—after what we just did, what else am I supposed to think?" She gestured vaguely at the bed, unable to explicitly state what had transpired between us.
My laughter subsided, but I couldn't entirely erase the smile from my face. "You're my wife. That's all."
"And the lawyer?" she asked, watching me closely. "Aren't you going to ask about that?"
"Should I?" I countered, sliding into bed beside her. "Are you planning to divorce me already?"
I kept my tone light, but I found myself genuinely curious about her answer. The thought of her ending our arrangement so soon... unsettled me more than it should.
"No," she finally admitted. "The lawyer is to sue Lucy for spreading rumors about me."
A sense of relief washed over me, though I carefully concealed it. "Smart."
I reached out, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. The simple gesture felt strangely intimate. Pulling her into my embrace, I murmured, "If your throat hurts, talk less. Sleep."
She hummed softly in response.
\---
Stella's POV
I smoothed my skirt and glanced at my watch—fifteen minutes until the interview with *Splendor*'s production team. Just enough time to mentally review my portfolio highlights without starting to second-guess my design choices.
"Mrs. Lancaster?" An assistant appeared before me. "They're ready for you now."
I followed her through the hotel corridor, clutching my portfolio. Getting an interview for Deputy Styling Director at *Splendor* was already a small victory. This production was this year's most anticipated drama, with a budget that made even veteran producers nervous.
Three people sat at the conference table, my preliminary designs displayed on screens beside them.
"Ms. Winston, please—"
The interview proceeded quickly, with technical questions about period-appropriate fabrics, aging makeup techniques, and emergency costume repairs. I answered confidently.
When I finished my analysis, the Director nodded with approval. "We'll be in touch within two business days, Mrs. Lancaster."