Goodbye, Mr. Regret novel Chapter 123

Jessica signed with exasperation, her gestures sharp and impatient. "If you want to sleep, do it in the bed."

Timothy's eyes darkened, a sly, almost wicked smile curving at his lips.

"You're right," he replied, his voice smooth. "Let's sleep in the bed."

He stood, scooping Jessica up into his arms despite her resistance, and carried her straight into the bedroom.

He ignored her struggles completely.

With a swift motion, he set her down on the bed and leaned over her, pinning her gently but firmly.

Jessica couldn't sign now—her hands were trapped—so all she could do was twist in protest, her beautiful eyes full of defiance.

Timothy held her tightly, his chiseled lips brushing her ear as he spoke in a low, husky voice. "Don't move. Not another inch."

He nipped lightly at her earlobe. "If you do, I'll make sure you won't be able to move at all."

Jessica knew exactly what he meant. Her body went still in an instant.

Timothy released her, then knelt at the edge of the bed, carefully slipping off her shoes.

Then he reached for her jacket, as if intending to undress her further.

She hurriedly shrugged off her own outer layer and yanked the covers over herself, settling into bed as quickly as she could.

She turned away, facing the wall, not daring to look at him.

She heard the soft rustle of fabric as he changed.

Moments later, the mattress dipped under his weight. He lifted the blanket and slipped in beside her, pulling her into his arms, her head coming to rest on his bicep.

Her back pressed against his solid chest, warmth radiating from him—heat she'd once craved, that had made her feel safe and cherished.

Now she only wished she could shake the feeling, afraid that when the time came to leave, she wouldn't be able to let go.

He held her tightly. She tried to wriggle free, but he wouldn't release her for a second.

He kissed her, his breath growing hot and uneven, but his lips were gentle, almost tender, as if trying to soothe the tension in her body.

She was trapped, unable to do anything but accept his kisses.

How would she manage on her own—a woman who couldn't even speak? How would she survive?

Their peaceful marriage was exactly what he wanted.

She was twenty-seven now. Sweet and innocent as ever, and probably at the peak of her desires. Maybe it was his fault for being away so much.

No matter. He'd make it a point to spend more time at home, to give her what she needed.

He slid off his tie and gently covered her eyes with it, knotting it at the back of her head.

He whispered her name, his lips brushing her skin in a trail of careful kisses—tender, almost reverent.

He always did this: cold and distant by day, but achingly gentle in bed, as if he wanted to drown her with affection.

She melted beneath his touch, almost believing he truly cared.

But she knew better. What happened between them at night meant nothing to him.

Just as their passion threatened to spiral out of control, a familiar voice echoed from outside the room.