He Took My Vengeance to Covet Me

Chapter 4

"Oh god... Ethan, I—I can't..."

Ethan withdrew his fingers with a dark chuckle.

"Still untouched, I see."

His belt clinked as he freed his raging hardness, pressing it against my trembling thighs.

"Since my little Winnie remains pure," he murmured, tracing my jawline, "I'll save breaking you for my wedding night."

"The commander's orders—I'm to marry Chloe Miller on the fifteenth next month."

Ice flooded my veins. The words made no sense, yet his cruel grip on my hips confirmed their reality.

"Don't fret," he purred, grinding against me. "You'll have everything but the wedding ring. This c**k?" A savage thrust. "Yours alone."

"Clamp down," he ordered, voice rough as gravel. "Unless you want me inside."

I squeezed my thighs shut, choking back whimpers as his calloused palms abraded my sensitive flesh. When that didn't satisfy him, he mauled my breasts like dough, shaping them to his whim.

Before I could process his betrayal, pleasure detonated through me—turning me to liquid fire beneath him.

Feeding on my wetness, he slammed my hips down, friction burning me raw. I bit my lip bloody, terrified to move—knowing one wrong twitch might shatter his fragile control.

His fingers dug brutal crescents into my skin as heat erupted between us. With a feral groan, he collapsed beside me, reeking of sweat and s*x.

Suddenly gentle, he carded through my tangled hair, smug at my silence.

"I'll spoil you rotten, Winnie."

When he'd caught his breath, silk hissed as he wrapped me in his still-warm coat, carrying me to the car like stolen treasure.

For thirty nights, treasures piled high in my gilded cage—French lace dresses, swallow's nest soups, glowing pearls as big as grapes...

Every luxury known to man.

By day, a prisoner. By night, his teeth on my throat—always pulling back at that last damnable inch.

"Winnie, marrying the Huang girl is just for show. On our wedding night, I'll claim you fully as mine." Every time he murmured those words, I answered with silence—which only fed his perverse pleasure. Soon, he insisted I accompany him during evening duties, where I'd drift asleep against his thigh. That night, his cousin Ryan Wilson entered the study. They'd been raised like brothers, their loyalty forged when Ryan's father died saving Ethan. "Has Anthony stopped his madness yet?" Ethan didn't glance up, fingers tracing my collarbone as he scanned reports. Ryan's expression darkened slightly. "Still running wild. But he secured thirteen Gatlings by strong-arming the Soviet envoy with splintered armored glass." Ethan's fingers froze against my skin. His gaze snapped up. "Those outposts I ordered destroyed—done?" "Eliminated as commanded." The tension in his shoulders eased. "Then let him bark unchecked a while longer." "You won't act against him?" Ethan's lips curved. "Patience, cousin." And with good reason. Thirteen Gatlings were nothing against the Miller family's armies. Anthony held the title of military governor, but his power was a facade propped up by the Bennett family's influence and his birthright. Yet that very arrogance had turned every faction from infantry to cavalry against him. Like a boar in a tea shop, his bluster only fueled their hatred. Let the ranks seethe until they couldn't sit still—then he'd need only a whispered rumor to redirect their fury. The spoils would be his. But the hour had not yet come. Ryan grasped his intent and swallowed further questions. His eyes lingered on me—a drowsing pawn in their game of power."Ethan, just a heads-up—Anthony still has his eye on her." Ethan gathered me into his arms, my drowsy gaze meeting his through half-lidded eyes. Without breaking eye contact, he reached past Ryan and palmed my breast with a rough, claiming touch. "Let him try. I'd like to see him take her from me." The bedroom was lit only by the faint glow of a nightlight as Ethan laid me down, his fingers already tracing slow, deliberate circles.

The winter chill hung in the air, but it couldn't compete with the fire coursing through me—my skin burned with an unstoppable flush. "Mmm..." Pleasure blurred my thoughts into haze as I clung to his wrist, my body trembling with want. Ethan leaned close, his breath scorching my ear. "Winnie's needy tonight, isn't she?" Dazed, I could only whimper in reply. "Yes... Ethan, I—I need..." With a dark chuckle, he shoved my skirt aside, fingers skimming the silk, taunting me with slow, maddening strokes. Just as I sighed into his touch, he struck—plunging deep where I ached most. "Ah...!" Pleasure detonated—my back arched, waves of ecstasy swamping me. The sheets soaked beneath me, his fingers slick with proof of my surrender. His gaze turned predatory as his fingers resumed their torture—now featherlight, now brutal—twisting until I shattered, a quivering wreck. "Ah! N-no more... I'll break—Ethan, mercy!" My screams echoed, shameless and broken, as I came apart—liquid fire spilling into his palm.

My body lay utterly spent after the waves of pleasure, pliant as clay in Ethan's hands as he shaped me against his chest. His voice thickened with satisfaction. "Winnie, I do love you."

Though my limbs felt leaden, my mind burned with razor-sharp clarity. Three years of his possessive attention proved he meant those words. Yet his love remained shallow—a cage gilded with silks. I wanted none of it.

His steady breaths filled the dark. For one weak moment, temptation whispered. Staying might serve my purpose. His inevitable showdown with Anthony would come regardless. When he won, my vengeance would too.

These feverish thoughts dragged me under—into dreams of Mother's steaming dishes turning to crimson nightmares. I woke gasping, sheets soaked, clutching my shaking body in the empty bed.

The dream's terror poisoned me. For seven days, I couldn't keep down even broth. My reflection hollowed daily while Tingye played the eager groom. By his return, I'd become a living skeleton.

"Fools!" His kick sent a vase exploding against the wall. "Who allowed this?"

Servants trembled. "We summoned physicians, Ethan, but none could help..."

The c***k! of splintering wood drowned their voices as he toppled the bookshelf. "Get Western doctors! Her death means yours!"

They scattered like leaves before a storm, fleeing his wrath.

I lay weakly on the bed, watching his violent tantrum.

Truth be told, I didn't want to get better. Dying like this would be a mercy.

"Commander! We've found one! A foreign physician!"

A servant yanked a white-coated man into the room, and Ethan all but dragged him to my bedside. My bleary eyes lifted, then widened in shock when I recognized the face.

Lucas? What the hell was he doing here?

My blood turned to ice, but Lucas's piercing glare held a silent warning. He produced a stethoscope from his bag and addressed Ethan with professional calm. "Commander, I must examine Miss Carter for proper diagnosis."

Ethan gave a terse nod. As Lucas moved to place the cold metal disc against my chest, Ethan suddenly seized his wrist.

Unfazed, Lucas explained, "This diagnostic tool checks for cardiac abnormalities." His voice remained steady even as Ethan dismissed the servants with a sharp gesture.

"Your presence may cloud my assessment," Lucas insisted. "In our practice, we see only patients - not men or women."

Ethan's jaw twitched, but Ryan's timely entrance and whispered message made him snap to his feet. At the door, he growled over his shoulder, "No tricks. Fail to cure her, and I'll blow your brains out."

He vanished before I could even gasp.

The stethoscope's metal felt suddenly freezing as Lucas leaned close. "You don't really want to die," his whisper wasn't a question, "do you?"