BILLIONAIRE'S UNINTENDED BRIDE

Chapter 42: Seaweed Wrap

Chapter 42: Seaweed Wrap

Since settling into Luke's penthouse, my days had morphed into a sequence of moments that felt plucked from a luxurious romance novel. Our mornings became intimate rituals; we lounged in the kitchen, sharing knowing smiles and indulging in slow, deliberate kisses over our coffee, each a silent promise of the passion that simmered just beneath the surface.

This morning, as we glided into his sleek black Tesla, the cool leather of the seats pressed provocatively against my skin. The world outside melted into a blur, the soundtrack of Luke's impeccably chosen playlist setting a sultry mood.

Sinatra's "Strangers in the Night" enveloped us, and I found myself singing along with a flirtatious lilt, "...and ever since that night, we've been together, lovers at first sight."

Flashing Luke a teasing grin, I nudged him. "Is that how it was for you, Luke? Love at first fucking sight?"

He fought back a chuckle, his piercing blue eyes glinting with a mix of affection and lust. "Babe, you might not be the next pop sensation, but the sounds you make in our bed," he paused, a devilish smile playing on his lips, "they're the kind of music that gets me fucking high."

Heat flushed my cheeks as his voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Honestly, I'm addicted to every moan, every gasp you let out... in my office, your office, this car, the goddamn hallway... especially when you're screaming my name."

My blush deepened, a cocktail of embarrassment and desire coursing through me. "Luke Walton, you're absolutely wicked!"

His laughter, deep and resonant, vibrated through me, stirring a familiar, insatiable hunger as he refocused on the road.

---

Weeks into our cohabitation, life with Luke was an exploration in desire and depth that I hadn't known I craved. Our weekdays were laced with longing glances and whispered intimacies across office partitions, building a delicious tension that Fridays eagerly unraveled. As the sun set, marking the end of the workweek, our exchanged looks sparked with the unspoken promise of uninhibited nights ahead.

Our weekends were a thrilling concoction of romance and adventure, passion infused into every moment. Whether it was mastering the art of French pastries or swaying to the sultry rhythm of salsa, Luke, initially a reluctant participant, added a raw edge to our romance.

"You do remember we have a top-notch kitchen back at the penthouse, right?" he'd quip, eyeing the cooking instructor with a hint of playful skepticism.

Yet, as he expertly rolled the dough and adorned our pastries, there was an undeniable gleam of pleasure in his eyes.

"Don't think I'm enjoying this," he'd tease, his voice laced with a playful challenge.

We'd recount these moments later, entwined in each other's arms on Sunday nights, reliving the weekend's escapades. These evenings were a blend of his so-called 'compromises' – whether it was sitting through my favorite rom-coms or reluctantly indulging in spa treatments he mockingly labeled as 'feminine extravagances'

"Do I look like the kind of guy who enjoys a fucking seaweed wrap?" he'd grumble, though sliding into the plush robe with a smirk.

"Just wait, you'll come around," I'd retort, my laughter mingling with his feigned protests.

Inevitably, he'd emerge later, the picture of relaxation, though he'd claim, "I endured that for you," his tone heavy with mock suffering, but the serene look in his eyes revealing the truth.

It was in these unplanned, raw moments, like when he surprised me with an impromptu bouquet of roses – "Thought you'd like these," he'd say casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world – that I saw the layers of his persona peel away. In those instances, his usual façade dissolved, unveiling a tenderness and vulnerability that he reserved only for me. It was then I knew, even without the words, Luke was wholly and deeply mine.