บททั้งหมดของ Don't Touch The Bride : บทที่ 91 - บทที่ 100

Cheryl I didn’t let him touch me. I let him suffer—his breath ragged, chest heaving, slowly accepting that he could only see and feel what I allowed him to.I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra, letting it fall to the floor. It had barely covered anything anyway. Then I slipped off my thong so it wouldn’t get in the way later, and carefully straddled him in his study chair.Then I kissed him. His lips met mine hungrily, even though his hands were cuffed behind him. I could feel his cock growing harder beneath me as I rolled my hips against it, teasing him.“Hmmn, fuck,” Miles groaned, like he was already on the edge of breaking.I trailed kisses down his neck, and his body melted beneath mine—but he didn’t stop fighting the restraints. He kept tugging, like he might still find a way to break through. Maybe he had before. Maybe with Jenny.But he’s mine now. That’s the past.I reached for the blindfold and tied it over his eyes. He’d seen enough—just what I wanted him to see.

Cheryl Weeks of silence. Weeks of tears. Weeks of waking up with a lump in my throat, of falling asleep with my heart clenched. Weeks of hurting. Of hating. Of resenting. Of drowning in bitterness, frustration, and helplessness. I was living inside a marriage that was withering right in front of me, hanging by a thread I’d been asked to hold together—with my bare hands, bruised and trembling.A decision no one else could make for me. A choice that held the power to save or destroy what Miles and I had built.Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they say.Except this crown feels like a noose. Like something desperate to snap my neck and end this slow-burn agony.I’ve thought. I’ve rethought. Unthought. Tried to look at it from every angle. But every time I arrive at the same place, the same brutal truth: the fate of our marriage has been dumped at my feet, and I don’t even know if I’m standing on solid ground.I get to choose—between children or my husband.There are endless possib

Cheryl The doctor’s appointment was today—about a week after I agreed to start taking the shots. Chris was back, by the way. I had to apologize to him for jumping him like some desperate lunatic. He didn’t say much in return, just gave me that quiet, knowing look of someone who had seen too much. I skipped breakfast—I didn’t have the appetite for it. My stomach was a wreck, tied in anxious knots that made eating feel impossible.But it wasn’t the shots that had me so wound up.It was the pregnancy test. The part that came before. The part that could change everything.If it came back positive, I wouldn’t have to take the shot. I wouldn’t have to keep pretending. I’d have a reason to fight harder. A reason to stay. A reason that would make this pain feel worth something.God, just give me one child. Just one. I don’t care if it’s a girl, a boy, or even twins. Just let me be a mother. Let me have that.Don’t ask me why I agreed to the shots if I wanted it this badly. I can’t even expla

Cheryl “Dear Cheryl,”I blinked hard, trying to fight back the tears that stung my eyes. I inhaled deeply and composed myself, bracing for the words that followed.**“It was never my intention to make you sad. I never wanted to hurt you. After Jenny, I accepted that no woman was going to agree to be with me once they found out I didn’t want to have children. It was something my father and I fought about constantly, a battle that strained our relationship more than anything else ever did. He eventually started trying to find me a wife—without my consent, by the way. When he found you, he basically threatened me into marrying you.I was furious. Furious that I had to go through all of it again. I was terrified that what happened with Jenny would happen again. So I looked into you. I read about your family—your history—and realized you were almost twenty years younger than me. You had a terrible past and I thought maybe… maybe we could help each other.I thought we’d both benefit. You c

Cheryl “Hi, baby,” Miles whispered, brushing a soft kiss across my cheek. His lips were warm, his voice low like we were sharing a secret in the dark. It had to be around 4 a.m.—maybe a little past.“Hi,” I murmured sleepily, blinking the heaviness from my lashes. “Are you ready to leave?”“Yes,” he whispered again, even softer.“What time is it?” I asked, my voice thick and raspy from sleep.“4:30 in the morning.”“You really have to leave this early?” I asked, stretching slowly beneath the duvet.He nodded. “I wish I didn’t.”“But I’ll miss you,” I pouted, reaching for him even though I knew he had to go.“I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just a week,” he murmured, kissing me everywhere—my temple, my jaw, the corner of my lips. “A quick trip. I promise.”It hurt more than I wanted to admit. We’d only just gotten back to good—really good—and now he was disappearing for a whole week. It felt unfair.“Can’t I just come with you?” I asked, my lips forming a slight pout.“You could