The Illegitimate Flame: Bride of Ashes-Chapter 116- sweetheart

Janet was pinned beneath him, her back arching slightly against the firm, creaky bed. The rough texture made her wince in pain as it scraped against her spine. Charles, seemingly unaware, wasn’t exactly gentle in his urgency.

"A-Ah... easy, that hurts..."

She bit her lip and placed a trembling palm against his chest, brows drawn tightly together.

Charles paused, her soft cry like a thread tugging at his heart. "Shh... I’ll be gentle," he promised, his voice husky as he adjusted his posture, letting his body roll with hers across the thin white sheet.

The towel wrapped around her was gone—when, she wasn’t even sure—and before she could react, they were already laid bare before each other.

Flustered, Janet turned her face away, her cheeks burning. Her eyes flickered downward for just a second, catching a glimpse of something that made her heart race. But before her mind could catch up, Charles had already moved again.

"Charles..."

His kisses landed softly yet fervently on her skin, which was now flushed a delicate red. Every inch he touched seemed to ripple with sensation, and the way her lips trembled while whispering his name almost drove him mad.

"Baby... I’ve missed you so much. Let me show you."

One of his hands cupped her tender curves with practiced care, while the other trailed slowly along the curve of her back. Each touch made her tremble, the kind of trembling that wasn’t fear—but aching anticipation. He knew every sensitive spot, and he took his time.

They had been apart for over a month. This flame, once lit, devoured them both without hesitation.

In the dim, cramped room, their shadows danced across the pale walls. The simplicity of their surroundings only made their closeness feel more raw, more real.

When their bodies pressed even closer—when the heat of him met the warmth of her—Janet bit down on his shoulder in surprise, her breath shaky, her body arching instinctively.

But just as they were about to be completely lost in each other, a strange sound echoed faintly through the room.

"Wait—did you hear that?"

Janet pulled back slightly, wide-eyed.

Charles groaned in frustration, his brow twitching. "Babe... can we not have this conversation now?"

And just like that—thrust—he buried himself deeper, desperate and aching.

"Ch-Charles..."

Janet bit down on her lower lip, trying to suppress the sounds building in her throat, but her trembling gave her away. Her silence only stirred his mischievous side.

"Are you trying to hold back on me, sweetheart?" he teased with a wicked smile. "That’s not allowed."

With one more deep motion, he made her gasp aloud.

She whimpered softly, breath hitching with every movement. But just as the tension reached a peak again, she suddenly froze.

"No, seriously! Listen—there’s someone yelling!"

"I don’t hear anything. The only sound I want to hear is your moan," he replied, already swooping in to claim her lips once again, silencing any protest.

But as she bit his shoulder again and strained her ears, a woman’s voice—loud, gasping, and far too enthusiastic—filtered in through the thin motel walls.

Charles stopped.

It wasn’t Janet.

Now he heard it too—a series of moans and cries from the room next door, each one more dramatic than the last.

There was only a thin wall between them and... whoever was having the time of their life next door.

Charles blinked. Then sighed.

Janet looked up at him, trying not to laugh. "Told you."

In that moment, he realized—his little wife was ridiculously pure. And that only made him fall for her more.

"Baby," Charles whispered, his lips brushing against her ear as his warm breath teased her skin. "Hear how loud the woman next door is? If you want to moan... then moan. Don’t hold it in."

"I-I won’t!"

Janet turned her head away, cheeks flushed crimson. Her ears, already damp from his kisses, burned as he coaxed her further. Yet her body—traitorous and tender—welcomed him deeper with every movement.

"Oh... mm... Charles, you’re terrible...!"

She bit her lower lip, trying desperately not to let the sounds escape. But as the other woman’s voice from the next room grew louder and more... colorful, Janet wanted nothing more than to bury herself under the sheets and disappear.

That woman’s moaning was outrageously unfiltered. Charles raised an eyebrow at the "performance" next door, his male ego quietly stirred.

If his sweet wife still had the energy to eavesdrop... then clearly, he wasn’t working hard enough.

"Don’t hold it in, sweetheart. You’re making it... difficult to move."

Her tension made her body tighten around him, a sensation both delicious and maddening. But Charles didn’t want just sensation—he wanted her to let go, to lose herself with him.

"No! What if someone hears us?!"

Janet’s voice trembled. She was still far too shy, constantly worrying about who might overhear.

"No one’s listening," he whispered, wickedly. "They’re all too busy... doing their own thing."

He smirked as he saw her slowly start to relax, just a bit. Then, taking advantage of her momentary lapse, he held her waist tighter and drove himself deep within her, stealing her startled gasp with a kiss.

He wouldn’t even let her voice escape. It belonged to him—and only him.

What followed was a night filled with tangled limbs and quiet gasps, soft murmurs and desperate kisses. The rhythm between them built into a crescendo, echoing through the tiny room until it finally surrendered to dawn.

Charles didn’t just say he loved her—he proved it with every breath, every touch, every hour that passed. And those hours... were many.

By the time morning came, Janet was too exhausted to recall when she’d fallen asleep. All she knew was that Charles’s stamina was ridiculous—almost inhuman. His passion had devoured her whole, again and again, until her body felt like it had been taken apart and put back together.

When she woke again, a dull ache throbbed through her lower half.

"Ah... it hurts..."

Her voice was barely a whisper. She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings.

Wait—this wasn’t the motel.

Gone was the peeling wallpaper and rickety furniture. In its place were polished wood floors, modern furniture, and warm ambient lighting.

It was a hotel room.

A real hotel room.

Charles must’ve carried her here while she slept.

Outside, storm clouds loomed in the sky, casting a gray hue through the window. Janet rubbed her sore temples and sank back into the plush pillows, unwilling to move even an inch. She was dressed in clean sleepwear now, but Charles was nowhere to be seen.

Just as she was about to drift back into sleep, she heard the soft click of the door unlocking—and a familiar scent drifted in.

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