DECEPTION AND DESIRE

Chapter 13: She Died In Here

VANESSA

"Are you a virgin?" Richard's voice is low, almost hesitant.

The question stuns me. My heart pounds in my chest, and warmth rushes to my cheeks. I feel completely exposed under his intense gaze.

"Yes," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

His eyes widen, shock flickering across his face. "Oh, my God!, I can't believe this."

Before I can say anything, his lips find my skin, trailing soft, urgent kisses across my body. Each touch sends a shiver through me, clouding my thoughts. I had come here with a mission, to tell him the truth, to confess who I am.

But right now? Right now, I can't think about that.

Right now, my body aches for him. My soul craves his touch.

"Do you want this, Jane?" His voice is thick with emotion.

Guilt slams into me like a wave. I'm not Jane. I'm Vanessa. I should tell him. I should stop this.

But I don't.

Instead, I pull him down, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. His hands explore me, igniting a fire I never knew existed. I gasp as his fingers slip between my thighs, teasing, exploring. My body trembles, surrendering to his touch.

A moan escapes me, raw and unfiltered.

Richard hovers over me, his eyes dark with need. He parts my legs, his strong hands guiding me, positioning me.

"This might hurt a little," he warns, his voice tender.

Then I feel him pressing against me, slowly pushing in. A sharp sting shoots through me, making me gasp.

"I'm sorry, baby," he murmurs, his lips brushing against my skin, soothing me.

He moves gently at first, giving me time to adjust, but soon, the pain melts into something else. Something intoxicating. He starts thrusting, his movements slow, controlled, filling me. Then he picks up the pace, his hips rolling, his body pressing deeper.

A wave of pleasure crashes over me, and I cry out his name.

"f**k me, baby," I moan shamelessly, my fingers digging into his back.

Richard groans, his grip on me tightening. "I will, my love."

Without warning, he moves faster, deeper. The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, mixing with our moans. He shifts me, angling my legs differently, hitting a spot inside me that makes my vision blur.

Ecstasy explodes within me.

I feel myself teetering on the edge, my body coiling tight like a spring.

"Don't hold back," Richard urges, his voice raw and desperate. "Come for me, baby."

And I do.

I let go, surrendering to the pleasure as waves of euphoria ripple through me. My nails rake down his back as my body trembles uncontrollably. A cry of release tears from my lips, and at the same moment, Richard groans, his body shuddering as he finds his release.

He collapses onto me, our bodies still entwined, his breath warm against my skin.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. We just hold each other, lost in the aftermath.

Then, he presses a soft kiss to my forehead, full of tenderness. "Thank you, my love," he whispers.

A sleepy smile tugs at my lips, but exhaustion pulls me under before I can reply.

"I love you," I manage to whisper before darkness claims me.

---

My eyes flutter open, blinking against the soft evening glow

For a moment, I'm disoriented. Then, memories of hours ago flood back, sending a rush of warmth through me.

A strong arm is wrapped around my waist, holding me possessively.

Richard.

I smile softly, trying to move, but a dull ache between my thighs makes me wince.

Instantly, Richard stirs. His eyes open, filled with concern. "Jane?" His voice is groggy yet alert. "Are you okay?"

Guilt twists in my chest at the name.

"Everything's fine," I reassure him with a smile.

But he doesn't look convinced.

"Are you sure?" He reaches out, brushing his fingers against my cheek. His touch is warm and comforting.

I nod, sitting up slowly. Now that the haze of passion has lifted, I notice something else.

Richard looks relaxed. But I will not ignore the worried look on his face earlier today.

The cut on his hand, the distant sadness in his eyes since Vivian's party. Since that b***h Stacy open her gutter mouth and mentioned Eva.

I hesitate, then finally ask, "Richard, how did your wife die?"

His entire body goes still.

His jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists. For a moment, I think he won't answer.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, "I don't want to talk about it."

But his eyes tell a different story.

They are filled with pain. Deep, unresolved pain.

And I realize something at that moment.

Richard is not just a man who took me to bed last night. He is a man with secrets. A man haunted by his past.

And I?

I might be falling for him.

Even though I'm lying to him.

Richard stirs awake and swings his legs off the bed. His movements are smooth and effortless—like a man who’s always in control. He walks over to my side and stretches out his hand. His touch is warm and strong. Without a second thought, I slip my slender fingers into his broad, calloused palm.

In one swift motion, he scoops me up—bridal style—like I weigh nothing at all. My breath catches in my throat. Dang, this feels good. Safe. Cherished. Like I matter.

I steal a glance at his face—calm, handsome, unreadable. And just like that, my heart does this weird little flip. When was the last time I felt this way? Adored. Cared for. Treated like I was something fragile and precious instead of... whatever life had made me.

Richard strides toward the bathroom, still holding me close. It’s a good thing too—my legs feel like jelly. If I’d tried to walk, I probably would’ve face-planted on the floor.

The scent of chamomile and frankincense hits me before I even see the tub. The jacuzzi is already filled with steaming water, tendrils of mist curling into the air. My brows knit together. When did he do this? Did he get up while I was still knocked out?

He lowers me into the warm water, and a deep sigh escapes my lips before I can stop it. The heat seeps into my muscles, melting away whatever tension I had left. I lean back, eyelids heavy, already feeling like I could fall asleep all over again.

And just when I think this moment can’t get any better, Richard steps in behind me.

His hands—big, firm, and steady—glide over my back, working soap into a soft, foamy lather. My skin tingles at his touch. He’s not just washing me—he’s taking his time. Like this is something to be savoured, not rushed.

Oh, Lord. No man has ever treated me like this. So gentle. So careful. Like I’m royalty or something.

Then his strong fingers work their way up my neck, kneading away the stiffness. A soft sigh slips from my lips. Damn, he’s good at this. Good at so many things.

And then, just as my mind starts wandering to the future—imagining what life with this man might be like waking up to this kind of tenderness every day.

I feel his breath on my neck. Like he's about to say something. Then he drops a bombshell.

"She died in here."