Chapter 7

The car ride back from the restaurant was quiet. The only sounds were the faint hum of the engine and the occasional whoosh of passing cars. The driver sat rigid in front, both hands gripping the steering wheel and his eyes fixed on the dark road. Meanwhile, I sat pressed against Mr. Scott.

The wine... oh God, the wine.

I’d only had two glasses, but it was my first time drinking, and it was like the red liquid was crawling through every vein in my body. My head spun, my cheeks flushed, and a strange, restless heat pooled low in my belly. I tugged at the neckline of my dress, fanning myself with my hand.

“It’s so hot,” I whispered, leaning closer to him. “Why is it so hot?”

Mr. Scott glanced down at me, his lips tugging into the faintest smirk. “Wine has that effect if you’re not used to it.”

“I’m burning up,” I said, pulling at the strap of my dress, sliding it halfway down my shoulder. “Maybe I should just—”

Before I could tug it down any further, his hand was there. He pulled the strap back into place.

“Careful,” he murmured. His voice was calm and almost fatherly, but it had a thread of command in it that made me shiver. “You’ll regret undressing in the backseat of a car by the time we’re home.”

I pouted, slumping against him. “But I feel like I’m on fire.”

“You’re tipsy, dear. That’s all it is.”

I tilted my head up to look at him, my vision slightly blurred, but my determination clear. “You know,” I said, my words slurring a little. “I’ve never... I’ve never been with an older man before.”

His jaw tightened, and though he kept his gaze steady, I felt his body go still beside me.

“I’ve never been touched by an—”

“That’s enough,” he said, adjusting his arm so I was no longer leaning directly against his chest.

But I pushed closer anyway, fingers brushing against his sleeve. “No, I mean it. You’re different, Mr. Scott. So different. Ace is... Ace is exciting, sure. But you...” My voice dropped into a whisper, my lips dangerously near his ear. “You make me feel... safe. Like I could give myself to you, and you’d know exactly what to do with me.”

His breath hitched, but almost immediately, he exhaled slowly in a controlled manner. His hand caught mine mid-air before I could trail down his chest.

“Sabrina,” he said in a sharper tone now, almost like a warning. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Oh, but I do,” I insisted, clinging to his arm. “I’m not stupid. I know what I want. And right now, I want you.”

For a moment there, I swore I saw something flicker in his eyes. A raw, unguarded hunger that sent a thrill racing through me. But it was gone just as quickly, hidden beneath that same calm restraint.

“You’re drunk,” he said flatly. “And drunk girls don’t get what they want. They get taken advantage of. And that’s something I’ll never do to you.”

I shifted closer, pressing my thigh against his. I gently grabbed his palm, placing it under my dress, on my upper thigh, then I slid it slowly upwards, towards my pussy. I used his fingers to rub on it gently, feeling my pussy through the fabric of my panties.

“What if I want you to take advantage of me?”

The car swerved slightly, and I realized the driver had stiffened at my words. My cheeks burned hotter. Mr. Scott’s hand moved quickly, guiding me back against the seat. His palm pressed firmly against my forehead, easing me down so I was half-reflecting instead of trying to climb all over him.

“That’s enough,” he said again, but this time, he spoke in a deep commanding tone.

I blinked at him, dazed, lips parted.

“Close your eyes, Sabrina,” he said softly. His hand lingered at my temple, stroking lightly. “You need to rest. Let the wine wear off before you embarrass yourself any further.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t hurt, but the overwhelming mix of emotions swirling in me caused me to shed a tear. Slowly but reluctantly, I let my eyes flutter shut.

“That’s it,” he murmured, adjusting me so my head rested against his shoulder. “Just stay like this. You’ll thank me tomorrow.”

The ride got silent after that. His thumb brushed absently against my arm. I drifted in and out of awareness, catching bits of the driver clearing his throat. By the time the car slowed and turned into the estate, I was limp against him, too tired to move, too embarrassed to think.

Mr. Scott didn’t even wake me when the car stopped. Instead, I felt his arms sliding beneath me. My body stirred. He lifted me as though I weighed nothing. I let my cheek rest against his chest as he carried me through the halls of the estate. When he pushed open the door to my room and lowered me gently onto the bed, I let out a little laugh. The soft mattress caught me, but I wasn’t ready to let go of him.

My fingers shot out, clutching the front of his shirt, pulling him down with surprising strength for someone in my state. His face was inches from mine.

“Don’t go,” I whispered, my voice slurred but intent clear. “Make love to me... right here, right now.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes, his breath catching as my hand twisted tighter in his shirt. But then, with a controlled sigh, he pried my fingers away, his touch firm but gentle. “Sabrina,” he said quietly, almost scolding. “You don’t mean that. Not tonight.”

I frowned, blinking up at him. “Why not? We’re married, aren’t we? That means... that means we can do it. So why are you being so stubborn?”

To my surprise, he laughed. Low and genuine. Shaking his head as though amused by my persistence.

“Married or not, I won’t touch you while you’re drunk. That’s not the kind of man I am.”

I pouted, rolling onto my side, burying my face halfway into the pillow. “So, what... you’re some kind of gentleman?” I muttered mockingly, though there was no real bite to it. “How boring.”

He chuckled again. “If refusing to take advantage of my wife makes me boring, then I’ll live with that.”

I groaned dramatically, rolling onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as the room spun lazily. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” he said, tugging the covers over me, “are in no condition to argue.”

I kicked the blanket off with a giggle, still restless, my body burning with leftover heat from the wine. “I don’t need a blanket. I need you.”

He pressed the blanket back down. “What you need is a clear head and a warm bath.”

I blinked at him, tilting my head. “A bath?”

“Yes,” he said, straightening, smoothing his shirt where I’d wrinkled it. “You’ll feel better once you’ve washed off the night.” His tone softened, more coaxing now. “I’ll go warm the water for you.”

He started to turn, but my voice followed him. “So, you won’t touch me...” I trailed a finger lazily over my bare collarbone, knowing he could see me sprawled across the sheets, “...but you don’t mind seeing me naked?”

That finally made him pause. His shoulders lifted slowly, his breath steadied before he turned just enough to glance at me over his shoulder.

A small, amused smile tugged at his lips. “You’re my wife, aren’t you?”

I blinked at him, stunned into silence. The words, so casual and laced with sarcasm, sent a shiver through me. It wasn’t just what he said, it was the way he said it. As if the sight of me naked wasn’t temptation at all, but something he had every right to claim... someday.

He then left the room and went to the bathroom. A few seconds later, he came out. My body felt so light in his arms as he carried me. He pushed the door open with his shoulder and set me gently back on my feet, though his hand remained on my waist.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly, guiding me toward the bathroom.

My dress clung to me uncomfortably, and I tugged at the fabric. “Too hot,” I whispered, pressing my cheek against his chest.

He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

My cheeks warmed as he undid the zipper of my dress. He peeled the fabric from my shoulders, but his gaze never lingered. The dress slipped to the floor, leaving me in nothing but my panties. I swayed, gripping his arm.

“Don’t go,” I murmured.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He lifted me once more and lowered me into the bathtub.

The water was warm. I leaned back, sighing softly, my eyes fluttering shut. I heard the sound of water trickling as he wet a cloth, then felt a gentle stroke against my arm. He washed me slowly. My arms, my shoulders, even my face.

“You’ll feel better after this,” he said, wringing the cloth gently.

I opened one eye to look at him. “Will you wash my pussy?” I whispered slowly, turning to face him, and then I licked his ear slowly.

He didn’t respond. When we were done, he lifted me from the bath, my head lolled against his shoulder, my hair damp against his shirt. He carried me back into the bedroom, laying me down gently on the edge of the bed.

“Let’s get you dressed,” he murmured, reaching for a folded nightdress on the dresser. He slipped it over my head, easing my arms through the sleeves.

Once I was dressed, he pulled the covers back and guided me beneath them. My hand reached instinctively for him before he could pull away.

He sat down close to me and with his other hand, he brushed back strands of my damp hair, his fingers lingering softly at my temple.

“Sleep,” he said quietly.

I stared up at him, even as my eyes grew heavier. His thumb brushed over my knuckles slowly. His fingers combed gently through my hair.

And then, I drifted into sleep.