Chapter 126 I'm Not As Gentle As Him, Right?
Grace glanced down, noticing her messy appearance.
They were pressed close together.
Her legs straddled Henry's body, her pale skin contrasting with his dark trousers, making her look even more delicate.
Grace's lashes fluttered. "I'm not in the mood. Can we do this another time?" she pleaded softly.
Henry leaned back, his Adam's apple moving as he looked at her indifferently. Grace shrank back, and Henry touched her face, asking, "Scared?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled her closer. Grace thought he wanted a kiss and parted her lips.
But Henry's grip tightened, and she froze, looking up at him.
His blue eyes were intense and dominant. Seriously, this side of Henry was super hot. Grace knew many women would do anything for him if he showed interest.
Her head was pressed against his neck, her lips near his Adam's apple, which moved sensually.
Grace guessed what he wanted. He had troubled the Cavendish family to make her his, not just a trophy. Pleasing him was her value.
She had never done this before. She moved closer, her lips touching his Adam's apple, trying to please him.
Feeling humiliated, she didn't look at him.
Henry grabbed her hair, tilting her head up. His hot lips covered hers, kissing her deeply.
He held her head and waist, making her feel his strength.
Grace couldn't take it. "Henry, don't," she whispered.
Henry stopped, resting his forehead against hers, breathing lightly. After a while, he said hoarsely, "I have work to do. Wait for me in the lounge."
Grace understood. It didn't matter if she had needs. He wanted to possess her, leaving her no way out.
If she was with him again, she couldn't be with Lucas.
Grace didn't resist. She lay on his shoulder as he gently fixed her clothes. He pulled up her stockings and whispered, "Feeling it?"
Despite her shame, Grace pretended not to care. "I'm not frigid!"
Henry sneered. "Weren't you frigid before? How'd you suddenly get better? Did Lucas cure you?"
Grace looked ahead, her tone indifferent. "Henry, if you want to make yourself unhappy, go ahead."
Henry said nothing, lightly pressing the gas pedal.
During the 20-minute drive, Henry was clearly in a bad mood. As soon as they reached the top-floor office of the Montague Group, he carried Grace to the lounge.
With a nudge of his foot, the door closed softly.
He stripped her and pressed her onto the soft bed, looking down at her while still impeccably dressed.
Grace's nose turned red, her voice trembling. "Henry, you bastard!"
Henry stared at her for a long time before softly saying, "I'm not as gentle as him, right?"
Grace bit her lip.
Unexpectedly, Henry let her go. He stood up, grabbed a dark gray shirt from the wardrobe, and handed it to her. "Change and sleep. The Cavendish family is handling things at the hospital; Juniper will be fine."
Grace held the shirt, covering herself.
Henry's gaze was intense, his Adam's apple moving slightly. After a moment, he walked out.
The door opened and closed softly.
Grace was exhausted. Since Juniper's accident, she hadn't slept more than three hours a day. This time, she slept for six hours straight.
When she woke up, it was already dusk.
The lounge was dimly lit, with city neon lights casting colorful reflections through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Henry stood by the window, his suit jacket off, wearing just a shirt and trousers.
His tall, straight back looked perfect for a woman to lean on. Grace remembered how, during their honeymoon, she often hugged him from behind, but Henry always refused.
He only wanted sex, not love.
Thinking of those memories still made Grace sad. She sat up, leaning against the headboard, her voice hoarse. "I should go back."
Henry turned to look at her, his back to the light, making it hard for Grace to see his expression.
After a long look, Henry walked towards her. He leaned over, pressing one hand on the headboard and the other on her shoulder, kissing her. Grace resisted slightly, but he reached under the blanket. His blue eyes were filled with aggression, staring at her as if he wanted to melt her.
They stayed like this, silently.
He kept watching her face, not missing any changes in her expressions.
The night became hot and humid with thin sweat.
Moonlight shone on his handsome face. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead, showing his restraint. He gently caressed her face, whispering hoarsely, "Grace, I'm afraid you'll regret it."
He fused with her deeply and passionately.
At the most intense moment, he leaned close to her ear, his voice trembling, "Grace, do you hate me? Hate me for forcing you back? If you don't hate me, why won't you make a sound? You clearly feel it, why do you suppress yourself?"
Grace buried her face in the pillow.
Saying she hated him felt too pretentious because she had received benefits.
But saying she had no regrets or unwillingness would be self-deception.
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