Chapter Fourteen: A Man’s Touch

Marissa felt the graze of Daniel’s teeth over her nipple, a sensation sharp enough to make her gasp. It wasn’t painful, just precise. Focused. A flicker of heat blooming from a place she hadn’t expected to respond.

That was the feeling she needed: passion, but without the ****. Intensity that didn’t cross into aggression. His touch wasn’t possessive, wasn’t demanding. It was attentive. Intentional.

Her dark skin flushed warmer beneath his mouth, her back arching instinctively as his lips continued their journey kissing, then tasting, always pausing just long enough to listen to her breath. Her body. Her choices.

Marissa touched him too. One hand pressed lightly to his chest, steadying herself more than anything else. The other tangled in his hair, those soft curls slick with heat and effort. He looked up at her then, not for approval, not for permission, but for connection.

And she gave it.

Daniel shifted then, carefully moving her from his lap onto the sofa. He guided her onto her back, laying her gently across the cushions. Her bra lay forgotten beside them, her blouse somewhere near the armchair, but she didn’t feel exposed. Not really. Not with the way he looked at her.

Not like a conquest.

Like a moment.

He hovered above her, breath shallow, eyes roaming not with lust, but reverence. The gentle slope of her collarbone, the strength in her thighs, the firmness of her abdomen, the roundness of her breasts, he took all of her in as if she were something sacred.

His hands found her again, slower this time, less exploratory, more knowing. He caressed the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, and down—down to where her body warmed and pulsed, already anticipating.

Marissa drew in a breath, sharp but steady. And when his fingers brushed over the waistband of her pants, he paused. Waiting. Listening.

She nodded.

He undid the button with care, not fumbling, not hungry, just there. He peeled her pants down her legs inch by inch, kissing the skin as he revealed it her thighs, thick and toned from years of yoga, her calves strong and elegant, her hips wide, unapologetic.

Her underwear was simple, black, high-waisted, no lace, no frill. They didn’t match her bra. They weren’t chosen for seduction. And somehow, that made it more intimate. More hers. Not a costume, not performance. Just Marissa.

It suited her.

Daniel swallowed hard. For a woman who gave so much of herself to the world, this act—being seen, being unguarded—was something extraordinary.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“What?” she asked, her voice low but steady.

He met her eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

And then he reached for the waistband again, slowly, reverently, easing the cotton down the curve of her thighs. The last layer between them fell away, and he saw her, really saw her.

The dark of her skin giving way to the soft, **** pink at the center of her. Something secret. Something sacred.

He started at her foot, kissing it with a quiet tenderness. Then her ankle. Her calf. The inside of her thigh. Each kiss a little slower, a little hotter. She felt her breath hitch as his lips moved closer to where she burned for him.

By the time he reached the place between her thighs, she was already wet. Her legs fell open for him naturally, unconsciously, an offering, a command.

And Daniel didn’t hesitate.

His mouth found her, slow at first. A gentle flick of his tongue, exploratory, tasting her like she was something rich, something decadent. She gasped, hips twitching at the contact. He groaned softly in return—pleasure at her response, not his own.

He licked again, slower this time, letting the flat of his tongue drag across her, then circle her clit. One hand came up to rest on her thigh, anchoring her. The other slid beneath her, tilting her hips toward him.

“Jesus,” she breathed, eyes fluttering closed. Her fingers found his hair, gripping just tight enough to keep herself from floating off.

A man between her legs—a man. Not just any man, but Daniel Reyes. Samantha’s husband. Her wife’s friend. A man she had never looked at twice in that way, never once imagined in this position.

If that wasn’t convoluted, she didn’t know what was.

And yet.

And yet. right now, none of that mattered. Not the web of betrayal. Not the quiet war that had detonated in her marriage. Not the fact that she hadn’t ever dreamed of a man. She just felt her legs press around Daniel’s face.