Chapter 4: I Love My Husband
Roxanne’s brows knitted together as she looked up at him, confusion flickering through the haze clouding her thoughts. "What do you mean?" she asked softly, genuine curiosity slipping into her voice.
The man’s gaze held hers steadily. "I can’t tell you," he murmured, his tone low and gentle, so different from the cold sharpness she had grown used to hearing from Christian. "But I can show you."
Roxanne stared at him for a single, breath-stealing heartbeat. Every protective instinct she had left was screaming at her to back away, to run, but her body had already made a different choice.
She swallowed hard, her head dipping in a slow, almost unconscious nod. "Yes," the word practically fell from her lips, barely more than a breath. "Show me."
The moment the words left her mouth, he turned her around swiftly, pulling her flush against him. A startled gasp escaped her. Heat radiated from his body, solid and overwhelming against her back, and suddenly her breathing turned uneven. Her heart pounded wildly beneath her ribs.
Then, the searing heat of his lips pressed against the vulnerable curve of her neck. Roxanne froze, her eyes flying wide in absolute shock. A frantic, internal alarm blared, urging her to yank herself away, but just as her muscles tightened to recoil, his mouth shifted, moving up to graze her ear.
"Relax," he whispered, his deep voice sliding through her. "I just want to make you feel alive." The words sent a dangerous shiver down her spine.
What the hell are you doing, Roxanne? Her mind screamed the question at her, but her body betrayed her completely. Because it felt good. No, far better than good.
His hand settled firmly around her waist, drawing her closer until she could feel the hard outline of him pressed against her lower back.
Every instinct she ever had about monogamy and safety screamed for her to stop this right now, but before her brain could send the command to her body, his hand slid upward, his fingers brushing lightly along her throat before settling there gently.
The touch stole the breath from her lungs. A soft gasp escaped her as her eyes fluttered shut.
Slowly, his hand moved lower, gliding between her breasts. Her body arched instinctively at the contact, her head falling back against his shoulder.
He didn’t stop. His large fingers captured her left breast through the thin silk of her dress and squeezed it hard enough to make her gasp. A sharp, searing pleasure-pain shot through her when his fingers pinched the hardened nipple.
Roxanne pressed her thighs together helplessly, trying to calm her throbbing pussy, a liquid warmth spreading through her as the deep ache grew stronger with every touch, every slow breath against her skin.
"Don’t," he murmured huskily.
Before she realized what he meant, his hand slid lower, easing her thighs apart slightly. The movement left her feeling exposed and aching.
Then his hand settled against the inside of her thigh. Roxanne trembled beneath the touch, a shaky breath leaving her parted lips. When his fingers finally brushed over her clit through the fabric of her dress, her body jolted.
A soft moan slipped free before she could stop it.
He moved slowly, every circle of his fingers sent warmth flooding through her body, until her knees felt weak beneath her. Her nipples tightened painfully against the fabric of her dress as another breathless sound escaped her lips.
Then, suddenly, Roxanne’s eyes fluttered open with pleasure and her gaze landed on the mirror across the room. She went completely still.
The reflection staring back at her wasn’t her and Christian. It was her wrapped in another man’s arms. A stranger.
Horror crashed into her chest and she jerked away from him instantly, stumbling back as her breathing turned ragged.
"Damn," she whispered shakily, dragging trembling fingers through her hair. "Damn it, Roxanne." Her chest heaved violently as guilt and shock slammed into her all at once. "What have you done?" she murmured under her breath.
"What’s wrong?" the man asked, his baritone voice smooth, entirely unbothered by her sudden panic.
"Everything!" Roxanne snapped, her voice cracking as she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, trying to cover the skin he had just made burn with desire. She threw one last, terrified glance at his masked silhouette before turning on her heel. "I can’t do this. No. I love my husband."
And then she turned and hurried off before he could say another word.
The masked man stood entirely still, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched her frantic retreat. A second later, his personal security detail stepped out from the shadows, standing right beside him.
"Should we bring her back?" the guard asked quietly.
The masked man shook his head once. "No need," he replied calmly. But his gaze lingered in the direction she had gone, his brows faintly furrowed, as though she genuinely intrigued him.
"She’s trying to hold onto a marriage that already died." His gaze lingered toward the door. "Eventually, she’ll realize that."
—
Roxanne exhaled a shaky sigh of relief the moment she stepped into the penthouse and realized Christian wasn’t home yet.
Moving like a thief in her own house, she quietly slipped off her heels and rushed straight into the master bedroom. The moment she cleared the threshold, she pressed her back flat against the heavy wood of the door, closing her eyes as she tried to catch her breath.
But the second darkness hit her vision, the memory of the stranger’s hands, the heavy weight of his palm squeezing her breast, the friction of his thumb against her clit, flashed violently behind her eyelids.
Her eyes snapped open instantly, her chest heaving. "You can’t be having those thoughts," she whispered into the empty room, her voice trembling. "You are a married woman. Christian is your first love."
The words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
Suddenly, the en-suite bathroom door clicked open. Roxanne jolted upright so fast her shoulder hit the wall behind her. Christian stepped out casually, drying his hands with a towel. His brows furrowed immediately when he saw her pale face.
"What’s wrong with you?" he asked, his tone laced with his usual irritation.
"Nothing," she answered far too quickly. She scrambled for composure, walking past him to place her shoes neatly on the rack.
Christian stared at her for a long moment, but then he simply shrugged and walked out of the bedroom. The second he disappeared, a buzzing sound broke the silence.
Roxanne frowned, her gaze shifting toward the nightstand. Christian’s phone lit up again. For a moment, she told herself not to look, but curiosity dragged her forward anyway. Slowly, she picked up the phone and glanced at the screen.
Tonight was amazing. I can’t wait to have you all to myself again. XOXO.
Roxanne stood frozen, feeling the temperature of her skin skyrocket as her blood boiled to a hundred degrees Celsius. A blinding, white-hot fury consumed her.
So, while she had spent the last hour drowning in a pool of guilt, and running away from a man who actually made her feel alive, Christian had been out doing exactly what he pleased. He hadn’t hesitated for a single second.
Roxanne let out a bitter laugh under her breath, shaking her head slowly. "I should have let him," she murmured before she could stop herself. The words stunned even her.
Quickly, she moved toward her purse, desperate to distract herself from the dangerous thoughts spiraling through her head. But as she opened it, a small card slipped out and fluttered onto the floor.
Roxanne frowned. Slowly, she crouched and picked it up, her brows knitting together as she flipped it over. Written in sleek, commanding handwriting were just eight words.
I’ll be right here when you are ready. ~ Stranger.
Roxanne stared at the card longer than she should have, her fingers tightening around the edges.
The memory of his voice crept back into her mind. I just want to make you feel alive.
Her stomach tightened unexpectedly. Was she actually considering it?
