Accidental Marriage with the CEO: Unwanted Bride
Chapter 42: About kissing

Chapter 42: About kissing

"O...kay," she replied, swallowing hard, her throat suddenly dry.

Trying to steady herself, she told her mind to treat it like a teacher guiding a student. She inhaled deeply and gave a small nod, a silent signal for him to begin.

Gently, Roman took her hand and guided it over the carrot. The first slice was jagged, uneven, and disappointing. Her shoulders slumped slightly as discouragement crept in.

"Imagine you are in an operating room," he said softly, leaning in behind her, "and you have to cut open a stomach without spilling a single drop of blood. Treat this carrot like that, controlled, careful."

His words were meant to encourage her, but they only confused her more. She had never even come close to slicing a stomach open herself, much less doing it without spilling blood. How was that supposed to help?

"But... I haven’t done that before," she murmured, a faint pout in her tone.

"It’s an imagination, Patricia. It doesn’t have to be real. You just have to feel it. Own it. Desire it..." he said, his voice dipping into a low, coaxing register that felt like a whisper caressing her spine. She hadn’t realized before how deep and rich his voice truly was, hearing it so close made her chest flutter unexpectedly.

Was she... ovulating? It was the only explanation she could cling to for this sudden, uninvited attraction. This man had once tried to kill her, how could she possibly feel drawn to him? Still, her body wasn’t listening to reason.

"Slowly," his voice instructed, and it anchored her just in time. She followed his guidance. Another slice, this one near perfect. A small, proud smile curved her lips. She did it!

But just as she managed to shake off her inappropriate thoughts, something pressed firmly against her backside, hard, deliberate. Her entire body went rigid.

At first, she thought it was her imagination. But then it shifted, pressing again, and the realization dawned, hot and unmistakable. Her heart slammed in her chest. She wasn’t exactly experienced, but even she couldn’t mistake that.

That was his manhood...hard and unmistakably there, and she couldn’t stop herself from wondering why it felt that hard. Wouldn’t that hurt?

"Are... are you okay down there? It’s... hard," she blurted out, unable to hold it in.

Roman’s hands stilled.

"Down where?" He asked, even though he knew exactly what she meant. But he wanted her to say it.

"There..." she said hesitantly, flustered, "it’s... very hard."

She was about to gesture toward it when her hand slipped, just slightly but enough for the edge of the knife to graze her pinky finger.

"Ah!" She cried out, a sharp jolt of pain flashing across her face as she cradled her bleeding finger.

Roman dropped the knife into the sink without a second thought. Without speaking, he lifted her effortlessly and sat her down on the counter. His eyes scanned her finger, lifting it gently to inspect the cut.

"I am fine. I can treat it myself," she said quickly, trying to pull her hand away. But what he did next shattered her composure.

"You..." she began, voice trembling.

Her words dissolved into nothing as she felt the warmth of his mouth close around her finger. He began sucking the blood, slow, deliberate as though it didn’t bother him one bit. As if it tasted sweet. The sensation sent a strange shiver through her. She couldn’t look away. It was intimate in a way she hadn’t prepared for, so gentle, yet consuming.

"That’s... dirty," she whispered, frowning, more at herself than him. Why did it feel so good?

"It makes it easier to clean off the dirt on you," he said after letting her finger slip from his mouth. His tone was casual, almost dismissive but there was a layer beneath it. Something darker. Something hungry.

And she heard it.

That quiet edge of desire buried in his voice.

Was he trying to say more? Was he... hinting? Licking her? Zara had told her stories, about what it meant to be licked by a man.

And for the first time, Patricia wasn’t just thinking about it. She was imagining it.

Patricia watched him suck the blood from her finger, her heartbeat thudding faster with every slow pull of his lips. There was something dangerously sensual about the way he held her hand, like he wasn’t just tending to a wound but claiming her. She exhaled shakily, unable to hold it in anymore. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, softening under his touch. She wanted to feel that breath, his warmth, trailing across her skin, down to places she had only dared to dream of in the dark. What would it feel like... to be tasted by him? No, what would it feel like to be under him?

If Zara’s endless stories were anything to go by, the pleasure might be so intense it would break her.

When Roman finally released her finger from his mouth, he noticed her paling face. His brows furrowed and, without hesitation, he pressed his palm to her forehead, testing her temperature. Her skin was warm.

"Are you okay?" He asked, voice low with concern. He thought it might be the cold symptoms returning. The doctors had warned she might fluctuate between hot and cold until she stabilized.

But that wasn’t it. This heat came from somewhere much deeper.

"No..." she blurted, then quickly corrected herself. "Yes. I mean, yes, I will go back now," she said and started to slide off the counter. But Roman wasn’t ready to let her go.

His hand shot out, fingers wrapping firmly around her wrist, gently halting her. In the next moment, he shifted his body, trapping her between himself and the edge of the counter.

"I can’t let you go," he murmured, his eyes unreadable.

She looked up, breath hitching as her mind betrayed her again. Was he going to kiss her?

"No. I don’t want to kiss you," she said too quickly, shaking her head. "I shouldn’t."

He raised a brow, amused. "Who said anything about kissing?"

Her cheeks flushed instantly. God, she looked foolish.

"Ah! Then why won’t you let me go?" She asked, heart pounding in her throat.

"Not unless I am sure you are okay," he said evenly.

She let out a soft, relieved sigh, but it was short-lived.

Roman leaned in, his breath grazing her cheek. "But... now that you mention it," he whispered, "it does sound like a good idea."

Her eyes widened in alarm.

Before she could gather a protest, his hands slid to her waist, pulling her gently, yet firmly, toward him. Their bodies now stood only a breath apart. She should have screamed. Should have stepped back. But the moment her gaze flicked to his lips, soft, not too pink, curved just slightly with mischief, her resolve began to crumble.

Maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

She had nearly died. If fate had tipped a little differently, she wouldn’t even be here right now. Maybe Zara had been right all along, live like today’s your last. And if this was her last moment, maybe a kiss from Roman wasn’t the worst way to go.

He moved in closer. Closer. And her lips parted, almost instinctively, ready to meet his.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

Then something pressed into her mouth but it wasn’t soft, and it definitely wasn’t lips. A sharp bitterness exploded on her tongue, and her eyes flew open.

"Ouuu!" She groaned, scrunching her face as she swallowed whatever bitter thing he had slipped between her lips.

"We are leaving for a vacation soon. You can’t afford to fall sick there," Roman said coolly, stepping back and returning to the carrots like nothing happened.

Patricia stared at him, stunned, still tasting the herbal bitterness on her tongue.

Seriously? That entire scene, and all he wanted was to get her to swallow medicine?

She huffed, glaring at his back as she sulked her way to a seat. Watching him cook, she tried not to stare too hard but it was impossible not to. Every slice of the knife, every flex of his wrist, he made it hard to look away.

And worse, now her heart couldn’t seem to settle.

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