Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 156 - Hundred And Fifty Six

Derek didn’t stop. He navigated through the market stalls, moving toward the edge of the square where the trees grew thick and the shadows were deep.

Marissa began to breathe raggedly. It wasn’t just from the dancing anymore. It was anticipation.

She kept up with him. Her hand burned where he held it.

" Where are we going to?" She asked.

The music and voices of the festival participants were fading behind them, turning into a distant hum. The air grew cooler as they entered the shade of the trees.

Derek stopped.

He looked around them urgently. His head turned left, then right. He was scanning the area, looking for privacy. He looked like a predator looking for a den. He was trying to find a secluded spot.

He spotted a large elm tree. Its trunk was wide, and its roots created a small, hidden alcove.

He pulled her toward it.

They reached the tree. Derek didn’t hesitate.

He spun her around. He pressed her back against the rough bark of the tree trunk.

"Ah," Marissa gasped softly.

He didn’t pin her painfully. He blocked her in. He placed his hands on the tree on either side of her head, caging her with his body.

He leaned his body against hers.

Marissa could feel him. He was hard. He was tense. She felt his enthusiasm vibrating through his chest, through his legs. He was trembling slightly, like a bowstring pulled too tight.

They were alone. The market was just a murmur in the distance. Here, it was just the sound of their breathing.

Derek looked down at her. His eyes searched her face, taking in her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the wreath that had gone slightly crooked on her head.

"Mari," he said.

His voice was shaking. It was husky and deep.

Marissa looked up at him. She felt small in his shadow, but she didn’t feel weak. She felt electric.

"Your Grace," Marissa replied, falling back on habit.

Derek flinched. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them. They were fierce.

He lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers. His skin was hot.

"Derek," he corrected her.

He spoke the name like a vow.

"That is my name," he whispered against her skin. "Not Your Grace. Not Grand Duke."

He moved his hands from the tree. He brought them down to her waist. He gripped her hips, pulling her slightly away from the bark and pressing her firmly against his own body.

"You are not under me," Derek said intensely. "You are not my subject. You are not my servant."

He looked into her eyes, making sure she understood.

"You are on equal footing with me," he declared. "You are my partner. You are my wife."

His thumbs rubbed circles on her waist through the silk of her dress.

"So there is no need to address me by my title, Marissa," he said. "Never again. Not when we are alone or in public."

Marissa stared at him. Her heart pounded.

She saw the sincerity in his eyes. She saw the man beneath the title. He wasn’t trying to own her; he was trying to stand beside her. He was rejecting the power dynamic that governed their world.

"Derek," she whispered, testing the name on her tongue.

A shudder ran through him at the sound of his name.

He looked at her lips. They were red from the wine and the snacks. They looked soft.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt. He wanted to taste the sugar on her tongue. He wanted to claim her right here, under the tree, while the festival played on.

He leaned in closer. His breath mingled with hers.

Marissa tilted her head back. She didn’t pull away. She waited. She wanted it too.

But Derek stopped.

He froze, his lips just a fraction of an inch from hers.

He closed his eyes tight. He took a deep, shuddering breath through his nose.

His mind was screaming at him. Take her. Kiss her.

But another voice, a quieter, more protective voice, whispered in his ear.

"Don’t rush it, Derek," he thought to himself. "She is just starting to trust you. She is just starting to smile at you. If you push her now... if you let your hunger take over like it did in the bath... you will scare her away."

He remembered her fear in the bathroom. He remembered how she had fought him when he lost control. He couldn’t do that again. He respected her too much.

He had to be patient. He had to be gentle.

He fought for control. He forced his breathing to slow. He forced his muscles to relax.

He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with her scent—roses and cream.

He opened his eyes. They were still dark, but the wild, frantic edge was gone.

He moved his head slightly.

He didn’t kiss her lips. He kissed her forehead.

It was a long, firm press of his lips against her skin, right below the wreath of flowers. It was a kiss of promise. It was a kiss of restraint.

He held it there for a long moment, savoring the contact.

Then, he pulled back.

He smiled at her. It was a strained smile, but it was genuine. He reached up and straightened the wreath on her head.

"The sun is going down," He said softly. His voice was still a little rough. "It is getting late."

He stepped back, giving her space. He held out his hand to her.

"Let’s head home," he said.

Marissa looked at him. She looked at his hand. She felt a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t kissed her, but an even greater wave of warmth.

He had stopped. He had put her comfort above his desire.

She smiled.

"Okay," Marissa said.

She placed her hand in his.

"Let’s go home, Derek."

Derek squeezed her hand.

They walked out from under the tree, leaving the shadows behind. They walked back toward the carriage, hand in hand, the golden light of the setting sun illuminating the path ahead of them.