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Chapter 44 - 44-Cynthia, forget Vincent
Albert's large hand couldn't help but slip under her clothes, tracing along her shapely hips, lingering with gentle strokes. He felt her slender waist, her back so thin that her ribs could be felt, and then her small, rounded chest.
Skillfully, he undid the troublesome clasp, and his warm hand pressed against her softness, not moving much, just gently cupping and kneading it, again and again.
When he felt her softness blossoming in his palm, he released his hand, using his thumb to playfully flick her hardened bud, gently rubbing it, making her gasp and bury herself in his arms, while he grinned triumphantly, leaning down to find her lips and kiss her again.
Cynthia lay softly in his embrace, her face flushed with waves of heat. She felt she would die of embarrassment from his actions, yet her body couldn't help but respond. Tonight, he seemed especially gentle. His defined brows, deep gaze, and large hands that skimmed over every inch of her skin made her heart tremble uncontrollably.
As her awareness gradually blurred, she suddenly felt herself being lifted up. She opened her dazed eyes, filled with desire, and murmured,
"What are you doing?"
"Taking a shower," he replied, his voice hoarse, his gaze dark with desire. She almost fainted, struggling to get down.
"You go first, or let me go first!"
Just being completely exposed to him during each intimate moment was already embarrassing enough for her, and now, taking a bath together would mean he'd see her even more thoroughly. She felt like she couldn't bear it.
"I want to take a lovers' bath with you," he whispered, lowering his head to nibble her rounded earlobe. Then, he tightened his hold on her, and all her resistance became futile as he carried her with determined strides toward the bathroom.
"Albert Wilson, you—you—"
She wanted to scold him for being shameless, but before the words left her mouth, he silenced her with another kiss. He set her down, coaxing her with gentle kisses while he raised a hand to unbutton his shirt. Her clothes had already been stripped away moments before.
With just a few swift motions, he shed his own clothing, revealing his lean yet muscular body, completely uncovered before her eyes. She wasn't in a better state either, already stripped bare by him, standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, nervously at a loss.
Her face flushed deeper seeing him like this again. Just as he adjusted the water, she tried to make a quick escape, only for him to pull her back into his arms from behind. His dark, seductive voice whispered in her ear,
"So... you like this position..."
"W-what?"
Embarrassed, she slapped at his large hand that covered her chest. She didn't know what he was talking about—what did he mean by "liking this position"? She didn't like any position at all! The hard, heated presence pressing against her hips was making her feel uncomfortable; she was on the verge of tears.
He held her tightly from behind, his hands roaming boldly to her chest, teasing her delicate curves again, while his hot lips traveled down her ear to plant kisses all over her smooth back. Her legs went weak, and thankfully, the radiator in front of her gave her something to lean on as she propped herself up with both hands.
"Cynthia, you're so beautiful..."
He murmured passionately in her ear, then guided himself to enter her from behind. She was already so wet that he slid in without resistance.
The warm, snug feeling made him groan lowly, his husky voice resonating in the steamy bathroom, making the atmosphere even more intimate. Cynthia, blushing with shame, slapped at him behind her.
"Albert Wilson, let go of me—I don't want this..."
The ache inside her was unbearable, and the embarrassing position made her want to hate him.
"What do you want, then? Would you rather do it on the bed?"
Albert's lips curved into a smile as he held her slender waist and thrust once, drawing an involuntary moan from her.
Cynthia was too flustered by his shameless words to respond, only writhing to try to escape him. But her movements caused him to go even deeper, making him chuckle softly.
"Be good, don't rush—we'll move to the bed later."
With that, he plunged into her with renewed intensity.
Cynthia was both angry and anxious. She tried to push him away, but each powerful thrust made her lose her balance, forcing her to cling to the radiator. As he took her passionately, he declared possessively into her ear,
"Cynthia, I'm going to show you every pleasure of being my woman!"
The intensity of his movements drained her last bit of resistance, and flashes of white flickered before her eyes. Her legs weakened as a rush of heat flowed through her body. Overwhelmed with pleasure, she waved a hand aimlessly, searching for something to hold onto, until a large hand clasped hers. Finally, she slumped forward, gasping for breath.
She leaned against the radiator, trying to steady her breathing. Before she could recover her strength, he picked her up and pressed her against the wall, lifting her long leg to hook around his waist as he entered her again. She whimpered weakly,
"Albert, I'm tired..."
Her voice, husky with the lingering effects of passion, sounded almost like a soft plea in his ears. He lowered his head to take her nipple into his mouth, murmuring,
"Just hold on a little longer; it'll be over soon."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and nodded wearily, not realizing that his "soon" would last the whole night. After reaching his climax in the bathroom, he washed both of them off, then carried her to the bed to continue.
She cried and begged him to stop, saying she was exhausted, but he relentlessly kept going.
"Even if you're tired, we'll keep going!" he insisted.
Angry, she bit down hard on his neck, sinking her teeth in until he winced in pain and finally let her rest.
That night, though he kept taking her over and over, he was incredibly tender, so tender that she almost believed she had a perfect, happy marriage, so beautiful that she thought the man lying beside her was truly someone she could entrust with her life.
But when the morning came, cold reality set in once again: no matter how deeply they had been entwined just moments before, he still belonged to another woman. Their entanglement existed only because she had traded her body for his seventy thousand.
When she woke up, it was already late morning, and he was long gone. After getting herself together, she called Bonnie, saying she'd be going to school to study and asked her to bring along the notes from class.
It was already July, and the final exams were approaching fast; she needed to start preparing. She had also agreed, under his pressure, to quit her job at the bar last night. She didn't like that place anyway; if it weren't for the money, she'd never have set foot there in her life.
She vaguely remembered how he had pinned her to the soft bed, holding her as he commanded repeatedly in her ear,
"From now on, don't ever let me catch you in a place like that again. If you need money, I don't mind if you ask for it from me this way."
When she wouldn't agree, he used every method to torment her until she finally couldn't bear it and nodded. Only then did he satisfy her, making her melt beneath him over and over.
Underneath him, she felt like she wasn't herself at all. Even when he told her to forget Vincent, she trembled as she agreed. This time, he didn't force her; instead, he kissed her ear, kissed her brow, and whispered softly,
"Cynthia, forget that man."
She shook her head anxiously. Though she resented Vincent and had cut off all hopes related to him, completely forgetting him wasn't something she could easily do.
The most important thing was that, deep down, she didn't want to forget. Vincent's existence represented all the warm memories of her past life. She feared that if she forgot him, she would become nothing more than a cold, empty shell.
To put it dramatically, she was relying on those memories to carry her through the rest of her life. She had never imagined that a man would suddenly barge into her life halfway through, forcing his way in and slowly pushing Vincent out of her heart until he occupied it entirely.
"Cynthia, forget him, okay?"
When she didn't agree, he sighed softly and held her, murmuring his plea like a child, his handsome face filled with tenderness. And just like that, she found herself lost in those dark eyes, murmuring her consent.
As she murmured her consent, a wave of complex emotions flooded her. She felt both relieved and terrified, as if letting go of Vincent meant surrendering a part of herself she'd held onto for so long. Yet, wrapped in his arms, a strange warmth blossomed, whispering that maybe, just maybe, she could start anew.
