Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 274 - Two Hundred And Seventy Three

Derek walked to the bed, but he didn’t put her down. He sat on the edge of the mattress, settling her on his lap.

The room was warm now. The sun was fully up.

Marissa looked at him. She touched his face, tracing his cheekbone. She needed to ground herself in the present.

"Have you taken your bath?" she asked, noticing his damp hair and the fresh scent of soap on his skin.

Derek nodded. "Yes. I woke up early. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I used the guest bath down the hall. I met the Shadow on the way back."

Marissa looked at his chest. His shirt was open at the collar. She could see the edge of the bandage she had applied two days ago.

"I will have to dress your wounds," Marissa said, her voice returning to its practical tone. "It has been two days since the last dressing. We need to check them. It is close to healing, but we must be careful."

Derek smiled. "As you wish, Doctor."

Marissa slid off his lap. She went to the small cabinet where she kept her supplies. She brought out the fresh bandages, the ointment, and the small scissors.

Derek took off his shirt. He sat patiently while she worked.

Marissa unwrapped the old bandage. She inspected the wound. The redness had gone down. The skin was knitting together nicely. The ugly holes where the arrow had passed through were now just pink scars.

"It looks good," she murmured, applying the cool ointment. " Better than the last time."

She wrapped the fresh cotton strip around his chest, passing it under his arm and over his shoulder. Her hands were gentle, efficient. She tied it off securely.

"There," she said.

She picked up his shirt from the bed. She held it out to him.

"Wear your shirt," she said. "You shouldn’t catch a cold."

Derek stood up. He took the shirt, but he didn’t put it on immediately. He tossed it onto the chair.

Marissa turned away. She began to pack up the medical supplies.

"I need to go and check on the kitchen," she said, her back to him. "Mrs. Alma will be waiting for the menu."

She took a step toward the door.

Derek moved. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. He spun her around.

"Derek?" she asked.

He sat down back on the bed and pulled her.

Marissa stumbled. She landed on his lap again.

He held her waist firmly with both hands, keeping her from running away. His grip was possessive.

Marissa put her hands on his bare chest to steady herself. Her palms rested on his warm skin, right over his heart. She could feel it beating, strong and steady.

"Mari," Derek said.

His voice was low. He looked up at her. His eyes were dark. A small, wicked smile played on his lips.

"I’m hungry," he said.

She sat frozen on Derek’s lap. The thin, translucent silk of her nightgown was the only barrier between her skin and the rough fabric of his trousers, and it was a barrier that failed completely. She could feel him. She could feel the hard, unyielding ridge of his desire pressing eagerly against her thigh, a physical demand that made her breath catch in her throat.

"Derek," she spoke, but her voice was a broken whisper. She tried to form other words, words of logic, words of medical caution. She wanted to tell him that his stitches were just beginning to heal, that the thread holding his skin together was fragile, that he needed rest, not exertion.

But the words died on her tongue, dissolved by the overwhelming sensory overload of his presence.

Derek’s hands left her waist. They moved with a slow, deliberate, and searing heat, sliding up the curve of her sides. His palms were rough, calloused from the sword and the reins, and the friction of his skin against the smooth silk of her gown sent shivers racing down her spine. He caressed her back, his fingers tracing the line of her vertebrae, mapping her, claiming her.

"You... your injuries..." Marissa stammered, her mind fighting a losing battle against the treacherous, liquid heat pooling in her belly. "The stitches... if you move too much..."

She couldn’t form coherent sentences. Her brain was foggy, clouded by the scent of him—a heady mix of lye soap, masculine musk, and the faint, herbal scent of the dressing that had had been completed minutes ago.

Derek didn’t answer with words. He didn’t care about the stitches. He didn’t care about the pain in his chest. The only pain he felt was the ache in his groin, a desperate, hollow hunger that only she could fill.

He looked down at her chest. The sunlight shone through the thin, damp silk of her nightgown. It clung to her like a second skin, revealing more than it hid. He could see the dark, pebbled peak of her hardened nipple pressing urgently against the fabric, betraying her arousal to him.

He lowered his head.

He didn’t remove the cloth. He didn’t have the patience. He simply opened his mouth and captured her breast through the silk.

"Mmmm!"

Marissa moaned. It was a low, guttural sound, a sound of pure, unadulterated surrender that Derek had missed more than he realized. He gave the sensitive nub a small, sharp bite through the cloth, testing her, teasing her.

Marissa’s head fell back, her hands instinctively clutching his shoulders to steady herself as a jolt of pleasure shot straight to her core.

He pulled back slightly, looking up into her eyes. His gaze was dark, heavy with an intent that bordered on worship. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated until his eyes were almost entirely black.

"I am fine," he assured her, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her chest. "You don’t need to worry about anything. The wound is closed. The pain is gone. I cannot feel it."

He moved his hips, a subtle, upward buck that pressed his erection firmly against her center, letting her feel the full weight, the full reality of his arousal.

"I am not in any pain now," he whispered, his voice rough with need, "except for my manhood. It hurts so bad, Mari. It aches for you. It feels like I am dying of thirst and you are the only water in the world."

His breath feathered across her bare shoulder as he planted gentle, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. Each kiss was a brand. Each touch was a plea.

"Be selfish for once," Derek urged, his lips moving against the sensitive skin of her neck, making her shudder. "Don’t think about anything. Don’t think about my wellbeing. For once, Marissa, just take. Let me have you. Please."

Marissa tried to fight it. She tried to summon the cold, rational Grand Duchess who ruled the estate with an iron fist. She tried to think of infection rates and recovery times.

But her body resisted her mind. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding slightly against his lap in a slow, circular rhythm that drew a groan from his throat. Her hands clenched on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. It was clear she needed it inside her just as much as he needed to be there. The emptiness of the last months, the terror of his death, it had hollowed her out. She needed to be filled.

"If he calls me Mari again," she thought desperately, feeling her resolve crumbling like a sandcastle in the tide, "I won’t be able to take it anymore. I will break. I will ruin him."

As if he heard her thoughts, as if he could read the desire written in the dilation of her pupils and the flush of her chest, he spoke.

"Mari."

The name was a prayer and a command. His voice was too seductive for a man, deep and resonant, vibrating through her bones. His eyes were clouded by desire, dark pools that promised to drown her in pleasure if she just let go.

Marissa gave in. The dam broke.

She pulled him into a fierce kiss.