The Officer's Runaway Wife and Secret Son novel Chapter 479

It took Rhys several seconds to process her words.

Felix had already given him a perfect score.

That little boy, with his sharp tongue, deducting points and making him reflect on his mistakes, had secretly written the highest possible number on the back of his report card.

Just like his mother.

She claimed she wouldn't forgive him, but she had stayed by his side the entire time.

But Clara didn't give him much time to savor the thought.

Buoyed by the gentle warmth of the alcohol, she turned her head. As their breaths mingled, her lips softly met his.

As their lips touched, the faint aroma of liquor passed between them.

It was dark in the room. Rhys froze, unable to believe the sensation on his lips was real.

After countless moments of self-exile on the edge of life and death, he had thought he would spend the rest of his life watching her from a distance, begging for just one look that wasn't filled with hatred.

This time, it was a conscious, willing acceptance from Clara.

She had chosen him again.

He straightened up, cupping her face and kissing her back, taking the lead.

The initial kiss was tentative, but once he felt her response, the feelings he had suppressed to the point of madness could no longer be contained.

He guided her back, and she fell onto the bed.

In the darkness, the rustle of clothes was magnified.

He was urgent, and Clara could feel his kisses on her neck and collarbone, hot enough to leave a mark.

She wrapped her arms around his back.

Through the thin fabric of his shirt, she could feel the rough, uneven landscape of his scars.

Rhys's movements paused.

He was still self-conscious about these ugly marks, afraid they would scare her.

But Clara held him even tighter, her hands sliding down his back and under the hem of his shirt, her skin meeting his without any barrier.

She traced the scars, again and again.

"Don't hide," she whispered in his ear.

Rhys buried his face in the crook of her neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He used all his strength to force back the heat welling up in his eyes.

"Can I?"

His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible. Clara didn't speak, only pulled him closer.

Beside her ear was the steady, strong beat of a heart.

Clara tilted her head up slightly and met Rhys's deep, clear eyes.

He had woken up at some point, or perhaps, he had barely slept at all.

He was lying on his side, staring at her intently, his gaze filled with a desperate, possessive adoration, as if afraid she might disappear.

"You're awake?" Rhys's voice was still a little hoarse.

Clara blinked, her senses returning.

Remembering what had happened last night in the bed she had slept in since childhood, she felt a little embarrassed.

"When did you wake up? Why didn't you wake me?"

Rhys looked at her rare, docile expression, his heart warm and burning. He felt he could spend a lifetime looking at this face and never grow tired of it.

He tightened the arm around her waist and whispered, "Just now. You were sleeping so soundly, I wanted to let you rest. Are you sore?"

As he spoke, he gently massaged her lower back.

Clara shook her head.

"My parents are up. We should get up too."