All Chapters of Burning Desires (An Open Marriage With The Billionaire): Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

SOPHIA LANCASTER Ethan carried me into the bedroom, I was wrapped in a charcoal towel, my skin still damp and warm from the bath, my arms looped around his neck, my face buried in the crook of his shoulder. I could feel the steady, powerful thrum of his heart against my chest.He lowered me onto the bed. Ethan straightened up, looking down at me. He was still fully dressed in his jeans and the damp t-shirt that clung to his muscular frame. His hair was slightly messy from the steam, falling over his forehead."You're shivering," he murmured."I'm cold," I lied. I wasn't cold, I was burning up from the inside out. I was vibrating with a mixture of anticipation and terrified vulnerability."No," he corrected gently. "You're not cold, you're waiting."He reached out and began to pat me dry with the towel. He didn't rush, he started at my neck, blotting the water droplets with a tenderness that made my throat tight. He moved down to my collarbone, then over the swell of my breasts.It wa

SOPHIA LANCASTER Sunday mornings in the Hawthorne penthouse were usually a study in avoidance. Daniel would retreat to his study to "review quarterly projections" which mostly meant scrolling through Twitter and nursing a hangover while I occupied the living room with an iPad, silently correcting the code his team had butchered during the week.It was a quiet truce.But today, that truce was shattered by the chime of the private elevator. I frowned, looking up from my screen, the doorman hadn't buzzed. Daniel hadn't mentioned guests.The doors slid open, and loud voices and perfume flooded the foyer. "Oh, look at this! Look at the light!" a shrill voice exclaimed. "Danny boy really outdid himself this time, didn't he, Frank?"My stomach dropped.It was Beatrice and Frank Hawthorne. Daniel's parents.They marched in, luggage trailing behind them, looking like they owned the place. Beatrice was wearing a leopard print coat and Frank was already eyeing the liquor cabinet.They weren't b

SOPHIA LANCASTER Monday morning at Lancaster Innovations usually had a specific rhythm. It was the hum of servers, the clicking of keyboards, and the quiet, focused energy of engineers trying to beat deadlines. It was my sanctuary.But today, my sanctuary had been invaded."It's just so... gray, isn't it?" Beatrice Hawthorne's voice cut through the air conditioning, she was standing in the doorway of my office, clutching her purse as if she were afraid the coding manuals on my shelf might jump out and mug her.I looked up from my dual monitors, fighting the urge to close my eyes and count to ten. "It's an office, Beatrice not a boudoir.""Well, I know, dear," she said, stepping inside and running a finger along the edge of my glass desk. She inspected her fingertip for dust. Finding none, she looked disappointed. "But Daniel's office has those lovely shelves and the leather chairs. It feels like a CEO's office, this..." She gestured vaguely at my whiteboard, which was covered in comp

SOPHIA LANCASTER The cab ride from Ethan's apartment felt like a descent from heaven into hell. I was wearing the same clothes I had worn yesterday, my skin still hummed with the memory of his touch but as the elevator doors slid open into the Hawthorne penthouse, that warmth was instantly sucked out of the room.Beatrice was standing right in the center of the foyer, her arms crossed over her chest, tapping her foot like a warden waiting for a runaway prisoner. Her eyes raked over my disheveled appearance, the wrinkled blouse, the smudge of mascara I hadn't quite wiped away, the undeniable glow of a woman who had been thoroughly satisfied."You didn't come home," she stated, her voice accusatory."I stayed at a hotel," I lied, walking past her toward the kitchen. "The dinner ran late, and I was tired.""Liar," she spat.I stopped, my hand tightening on the strap of my purse. I turned slowly to face her. "Excuse me?""I know a walk of shame when I see one," Beatrice sneered, stepping

JULIAN THORNE Victory, in my experience, usually tasted like vintage champagne. Tonight, however, the Dom Pérignon tasted like carbonated water and boredom.I sat in a secluded booth at The Onyx Room, watching the energy of the dance floor with detachment. Four hours ago, the Asian markets had opened, and the massive short position I'd taken against a failing logistics conglomerate in Seoul had finally paid off. Thorne Capital was richer by eighteen million dollars.My phone buzzed on the table. Congratulations texts, invites to after-parties, and women wondering where I was. I ignored them all. The thrill of the kill lasted exactly thirty seconds. Now, I was just a man in a tuxedo, sitting in a room full of people desperate to be seen, wondering why I had bothered to come out at all.I signaled for the check. It was time to go home, review the Q3 projections, and sleep. I stood up, adjusting my cufflinks, and began to navigate the perimeter of the room toward the exit. I moved effic