Substitute Bride: Utterly Pampered by Her Billionaire Husband-Chapter 1170: I Missed You So Much It Made Me Cry
Dianna Hollis took a taxi to the mansion Mort Thorne had specified, and the maid opened the mansion’s door, "Hello, Miss Hollis."
Dianna Hollis glanced at the mansion but didn’t see the person she wanted to meet, "Has Cain Shaw returned?"
"Mr. Shaw hasn’t returned yet, but he’ll be back soon. Miss Hollis, you can wait upstairs for a moment."
"Alright."
Dianna Hollis went upstairs and entered the master bedroom, now certain that Mort Thorne was really coming back—it wasn’t a dream, but reality.
She was utterly unprepared.
"Can I take a bath?"
"Certainly, Miss Hollis. We’ll prepare a rose petal bath for you immediately," the maid replied respectfully.
The maid quickly prepared the rose petal bath, and Dianna Hollis soaked for an hour, drying the water droplets off her delicate skin with a towel, then slipped into a cream-colored nightgown.
Standing before the mirror, she looked at her small oval face. After the bath, her pale cheeks had a healthy blush, youthful with plump, bouncy collagen and dewy skin, with large moist eyes embedded like gems, enough to captivate any man.
Just then, a voice was heard outside the door, "Mr. Shaw, you’re back?"
Mort Thorne returned?
Mort Thorne returned!
He had texted her, yet she wasn’t sure because he had been in prison; but now she was certain—he really returned.
Dianna Hollis opened the room door and looked downwards; a tall, sturdy figure stood by the mansion’s door.
He was so tall, like a guardian deity, with the dim light at the entryway casting a captivating halo over his broad shoulders.
Dianna Hollis glanced at him and quickly turned back to her room, picked out a long knitted cardigan to wear, and hurriedly headed downstairs.
Upon hearing footsteps, Mort Thorne, standing in the entryway, looked up. A small, youthful silhouette in soft yellow came running down the vintage-carved stairs.
With his hands in his pockets, Mort Thorne’s dark eyes carefully examined her from top to bottom—a soft yellow knit cardigan, seemingly wrapped over a cream-colored dress, with the hem peeking out slightly under the cardigan’s edge, revealing two slim, fair legs at the bottom, and pink slippers on her feet. At twenty-one, her vibrant youth was mesmerizing.
Mort Thorne lifted a well-shaped brow and subtly rubbed his large palms clasped in his pockets.
He watched her as she ran all the way down, never tiring of the sight.
A maid had crouched down to change Mort Thorne’s shoes. The maid was young and attractive, with a great figure clad in an apron dress that fit snugly at the waist, with a wide neckline showing her ample bosom, forming a deep cleavage.
Dianna Hollis noticed this maid’s ample bosom as she sprinted over and said, "You can leave now, I’ll do it."
The maid was startled, and immediately looked up at the man standing beside her, only to find that Mort Thorne wasn’t even looking at her; his gaze was fixed on Dianna Hollis.
"Yes, Miss Hollis." The maid hesitantly stepped aside.
Dianna Hollis walked over, crouched her slender body down, and reached her small hands out to change Mort Thorne’s shoes.
Mort Thorne lowered his handsome eyelids to watch her; she bowed her head to change his shoes, looking ever so gentle and tender, almost like a newborn kitten nestled at his feet.
With the slippers changed, he nudged her shin gently with the tip of his shoe.
As she crouched down, her slender legs were neatly together, very prim and proper, but it made him itch.
He nudged her with the tip of his shoe.
Dianna Hollis lifted her head and looked at him with big black-and-white eyes, while he also stared at her, a touch of mischief in his gaze.
He was teasing her.
Like teasing his little cat.
Dianna Hollis got up to leave.
But as soon as she stepped forward, a rough large hand reached out and grabbed her slender alabaster wrist forcibly, pulling her back.
Dianna Hollis’s delicate body fell into his robust chest.
Her head hurt; his chest was like steel, cold and aching, and she collided with him so hard that tears welled up.
"What are you doing?" she reached out to push him.
At that moment, his long fingers pinched her delicate chin, forcing her to look up, and a teasing, low laughter sounded from above, "What am I doing, didn’t you miss me? I’ve come back, where do you think you’re going? Let me take a good look."
He playfully examined her small face, this man was all about teasing.
Even though Dianna Hollis was already his woman, and they had done intimate things together, she was still innocent; she hadn’t dealt with many men besides him. His teasing made her blushing red, wanting to push him away.
Mort Thorne didn’t budge, watching her squirm in his arms, inhaling her fragrance, a scent he never knew women could possess.
His powerful hand gripped her slender waist tightly, lifting her lightly and pinning her against the corner of the wall.
Her soft back pressed against the wall as Dianna Hollis tried to move, but then there was a "thud," as Mort Thorne’s large palm rested on the wall beside her, trapping her completely.
"What’s wrong, all shy like this?"
His low, slightly husky voice echoed in Dianna Hollis’s ear, causing her legs to weaken.
Heart racing, she gazed at him, all watery and eager.
In this expansive mansion, he had her cornered in the wall’s edge, this tiny space infused with his clean, masculine heat. This was the world she longed for.
"Why didn’t you answer my call last night?" he asked softly.
Dianna Hollis shifted her lips, lying, "I fell asleep and didn’t hear it."
"Bullshit!" he cursed at her.
Dianna Hollis shivered slightly, "Mort Thorne, don’t use foul language!"
Mort Thorne squeezed her soft waist with his rough hand, it was so supple it seemed it could snap with a gentle bend, he pinched it a couple more times.
Dianna Hollis squirmed, "Mort Thorne, it tickles."
Mort Thorne’s eyes darkened, "I know you’re ticklish."
"..."
This rogue!
"You won’t behave, making me rush over to accompany you, aren’t you ticklish?" He teased her flushed face.
He was still wearing the prison uniform, though layered with a gray shirt over the black undershirt, untucked from the pants, appearing tall and strong. Women would like this.
Dianna Hollis slowly extended her small arms and hugged his robust waist, her head hanging low, "Mort Thorne, I missed you so much."
Her height reached just below his chest; speaking with her head down, she sounded a bit pitiful and a bit coquettish. Mort Thorne squeezed his hand in his pocket, "You missed me but didn’t take my call?"
"Even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to see you, it’d just make me miss you more."
"Why do you miss me?"
"Lots of things, like you praising me, kissing me, holding me..."
"Enough! Not weaned yet?"
"..." Dianna Hollis nestled her face against his chest, listening to the strong, steady heartbeats from beneath, thumping powerfully. She softly whispered, "Mort Thorne, I missed you so much, I almost cried..."
