Chapter 4

What man could resist such tender, voluptuous curves?

I let instinct take over, reveling in the pliant softness beneath me. Unlike before, when only a towel had separated us, this time her supple flesh swayed like rippling water, filling my palms as I grasped her tightly.

Her breathy moans filled my ears, her skin slick against my touch.

It all felt like a dream—yet not quite.

The feverish heat of her made me curse under my breath. Damn, this dream feels way too fucking real.

Just as I was about to take her, ready to lose myself, I suddenly saw a figure standing by the bed.

Ryan.

He was staring at me with a vicious, murderous glare—like I was already dead.

I jolted upright in terror, my back drenched in sweat.

Sunlight streamed through the beige curtains, casting the room in a hazy glow. It felt like waking from a vivid nightmare.

Was that a dream? It felt so real. I muttered to myself, still in bed.

For some reason, an uneasy feeling settled in my chest—something I couldn’t quite explain, just a nagging sense of dread.

That morning, Vanessa insisted I stay, saying she wanted to cook me a meal as thanks.

I waved her off, telling her it was no trouble at all.

But she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Unable to refuse, I finally agreed.

Honestly, I was curious whether a wealthy woman like her could even cook.

The moment I said yes, she lit up and got to work, telling me to relax on the couch while she prepared the meal.

Soon, rich aromas wafted from the kitchen, making my mouth water.

I’d assumed a pampered socialite like Vanessa wouldn’t know her way around a kitchen, but she turned out to be surprisingly skilled.

"Wash up—dinner’s ready!" she called out.

She stood there in an apron, her eyes crinkling with a smile. For a fleeting moment, it almost felt... domestic.

I hadn’t been home since moving to the city. Even though there wasn’t much waiting for me there, home was still home. I’d mentioned wanting to visit a few times, but Ryan always shut me down, saying I’d be better off practicing my massage techniques instead.

Lost in thought, I snapped back to reality as Vanessa carried the dishes over.

I hurried to help—no way was I letting a pregnant woman do all the work.

Once everything was on the table, I gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "Wow, this looks amazing!"

Vanessa smiled shyly. "I hope it tastes okay. Try it."

I immediately picked up my fork and took a bite, playing it up. "Delicious. Seriously good."

"Then eat as much as you want," she beamed, urging me to help myself.

After the meal, she insisted I rest a while before leaving—the heat outside was brutal.

My head still felt foggy, so I agreed.

As I lay in bed, Vanessa suddenly appeared before me.

Without a word, she slipped under the covers.

Her full, cool body pressed against mine, igniting my desire instantly.

"Please... just once," she begged, her fingers already working at her clothes. "My husband’s never home. I can’t take it anymore."

In seconds, she was naked against me, then started pulling at my clothes.

"No—you’re pregnant," I protested weakly, trying to gently push her away.

But she only pressed closer, her hand sliding down my body. I hissed as her lips brushed my ear. "It’s fine after the first trimester. Just... be gentle."

What man could resist that?

And my body burned like wildfire, as if consumed by flames.

Afterward, Vanessa lay curled against me, fast asleep.

I’d tried to be careful, but it had been too long—I couldn’t hold back.

Once I was sure she was deep asleep, I carried her back to her room, tucked her in, and left.