Sweet Flash Marriage with the Restrained Tycoon (Isabelle and Damien) novel Chapter 156

His Adam's apple bobbed sharply.

She could even hear the faint sound of it moving.

They say a man's most vulnerable spot is his throat, that it sets him off instantly.

I wonder if it's true.

"Damian..." she called his name softly.

No response—she called again, biting her lip.

Convinced he was asleep, she leaned down and kissed his throat.

Damian's eyes opened a slit. His free hands suddenly wrapped around her waist.

Isabelle jolted, propping herself up to look at him.

Wasn't he asleep?

She didn't know it, but his throat really was his trigger switch.

And just like that, any pretense of being drunk was gone.

Damian opened his eyes, gazing up at Isabelle through half-lidded lashes.

His voice was low and rough. His hands kneaded her sides with deliberate slowness.

"What's wrong?" He seemed to be questioning her reaction.

Isabelle tried to get up, but he held her tight.

"Going somewhere?" His eyes were clouded with intent.

Trying to run now is a bit late, isn't it?

You can't start something and just leave.

"I..." Isabelle said.

"You'd better think of a good reason. I'm not that easy to fool." As he spoke, he tightened his grip.

Isabelle's face flushed. Her heart began to race erratically.

"You... you're not drunk?" she asked.

"No."

"But you were asleep."

"I was. You woke me up." A lazy smile touched his lips. He emphasized the word "woke."

Well, this feels good.

"Then... go back to sleep?" She felt her ears burning.

Damian swallowed. "Not the best idea, sweetheart."

Lately, he'd taken to calling her "sweetheart."

The other day, when her hands were sore, and she stopped, he'd murmured, "Sweetheart, bear with it. Almost there."

Isabelle hesitated, unsure what to do.

He whispered, "Mrs. Cross, show me some mercy."

His voice was ragged, tinged with a pleading note.

His hungry eyes fixed on her slightly parted lips. A vein pulsed on his forehead. The sheer effort of holding back made him swallow hard.

This man wants me to take the lead. That's asking too much.

"I... I'm not very good at this," Isabelle stammered.

Damian smiled.

She didn't say no. She just said she wasn't good at it.

So that's a yes.

Just then, fireworks lit up outside the window.

Oh no...

This is going to be so embarrassing.

Her face flamed instantly.

Last night, when she was face-down on the couch, she kept saying it hurt, but he didn't stop.

"Almost there." He'd said that so many times.

It was all a lie.

Isabelle shot a glare at the door, as if her look could cut through it to the man on the other side.

"You keep it for yourself..." she muttered under her breath, annoyed.

Damian chuckled softly.

She's mad. I've been relentless last night.

He had wanted to stop, but her sounds... they were too enticing. It only made him more excited.

Later, he'd lost all restraint.

When Isabelle came out of the bathroom, he was leaning against the wall outside, a tube of ointment in his hand.

He tilted his head, observing her flushed face.

Is that blush still there from last night, or is it back again?

Feeling pleased, he followed her into the walk-in closet.

"What are you doing?" The moment she spoke, her voice came out hoarse. She quickly covered her mouth, looking at him in embarrassment.

Damian reached out and pulled her into his arms. "Good girl, you did well last night."

His tone was coaxing, as if he were always this clever when it came to these matters.

Last night, he was happy, very happy.

Isabelle's ears turned bright red. Her body felt weak and sore all over. She had no strength to push him away and couldn't be bothered anyway.

If I'd known taking the lead was this exhausting, I never would have done it.