Chapter 182
Isabella arched into his touch, her breath hitching as his fingers explored, slipping beneath the fabric to caress her breasts. She didn’t correct him; the name was a shield, allowing her to surrender without vulnerability. Her own hands roamed lower, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, the metallic clink echoing in the room. “Shh, Henry. Just feel this. Let it take the pain away.” Her voice was a husky whisper, laced with empathy and her own rising need. The physicality was a lifeline, pulling her from the abyss of Logan’s betrayal—his whispered plans to kill her post-vows, to claim her empire as his own.
Henry’s pants joined the growing pile, his arousal evident, straining against his boxers. He pushed her gently onto the bed, the mattress dipping under their weight. “Eliana, please… say you want me. Say I’m worth it.” His words slurred, but the emotion was raw, his warm eyes pleading even in the dim light.
“I want this,” Isabella replied, pulling him down, her legs wrapping around his waist. She guided his hand between her thighs, where heat pooled, her body responding despite—or because of—the emotional storm. “Show me, Henry. Make me forget everything p>
With a guttural moan, he obliged, his fingers delving into her warmth, stroking with clumsy but earnest intent. Isabella gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, the sensation a spark that ignited forgotten fires. “Yes… like that,” she encouraged, her pity for him blending into genuine pleasure. He was kind, this man, unlike the monster she’d nearly married. This was healing, in its twisted way.
Henry’s mouth trailed down her body, kissing her collarbone, her breasts, suckling with a hunger that made her writhe. “Eliana… taste so good. Better than any dream. Rafael doesn’t deserve you—I do. I’d cherish you, build a life without the chains.” His words tumbled out between kisses, his breath hot against her skin.
Isabella threaded her fingers through his hair, guiding him lower. “Don’t stop talking… it helps.” And it did—the delusion added a layer of detachment, allowing her to chase release without strings. When his tongue found her core, lapping with fervent, if imprecise, strokes, she cried out, her body arching off the bed. The room spun for her too, the whiskey amplifying every sensation, turning pain into ecstasy.
Minutes blurred into a haze as they shifted, Henry positioning himself above her, shedding the last barriers. “Eliana… I love you. Let me in—let me prove it.” He entered her slowly at first, the stretch and fullness drawing a shared moan. Then, with building rhythm, he thrust deeper, his movements erratic from the alcohol but driven by passion.
“Oh, Henry… yes,” Isabella murmured, her hips meeting his, the friction building like a storm. She clung to him, her own climax coiling tight, a release from the terror of Logan’s plot. Pity for Henry’s heartbreak fueled her tenderness; she kissed his neck, whispering encouragements that blurred the lines.
“Eliana… fuck, Eliana… you’re mine tonight. Better than him—I’ll make you see.” Henry’s pace quickened, sweat slicking their bodies, the bed creaking in protest. He gripped her thighs, pulling her closer, each thrust punctuated by pleas. “Say it… say I’m worth your love. Not Rafael, with his fake disabilities and his enemies. Me—Henry, who’s always been there p>
Isabella’s breath came in pants, her nails raking his back as pleasure crested. “You’re worth it… you’re good, Henry.” The words were for him, for her, a mantra against the darkness. She shattered first, waves crashing through her, crying out into the night. Henry followed, spilling into her with a final, desperate groan of “Eliana p>
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, breaths ragged, the room heavy with the scent of sex and satisfaction. Sleep claimed them quickly, the alcohol a merciful blanket over their regrets.
Morning light filtered through the drapes, harsh and unforgiving, stabbing at Henry’s eyelids like accusations. He groaned, his head pounding like a drumline, mouth cotton-dry. Blinking against the brightness, he registered the unfamiliar suite, the rumpled sheets—and the woman beside him. Auburn hair, not black curls. Green eyes, not honey-brown. Isabella Voss, not Eliana Bennett.
Horror flooded him, memories crashing back in vivid, mortifying waves. The kiss in the car, the stumble to the room, the sex—oh God, the sex, where he’d called her Eliana over and over, begging like a fool. His face burned, stomach churning with nausea and shame. “Oh shit,” he muttered, sitting up abruptly, the sheet pooling around his waist. “Isabella… I… what the hell did I do p>
Isabella stirred, her eyes opening with a calm that contrasted his panic. She stretched languidly, the sheet slipping to reveal curves he’d explored in drunken fervor. A faint smile tugged at her lips, wry and understanding. “Morning, doctor. Rough night p>
Henry buried his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. “Isabella, I’m so sorry. I was out of my mind—drunk, stupid. I thought you were… I called you her name. God, that’s mortifying. I took advantage p>
“Stop,” she interrupted gently, sitting up and pulling the sheet around her. Her voice was firm, executive-sharp. “You didn’t take advantage. We were both drunk, both hurting. I needed it too—something to cope with Logan and his murder plot. Pity? Maybe a little, but it was mutual. Don’t read too much into it p>
He peeked through his fingers, his handsome features twisted in regret. “But I… I said all those things. About Eliana, about being better than Rafael. It wasn’t you I was p>
“Seeing? Yeah, I got that.” Isabella chuckled softly, the sound light and unexpectedly funny in the heavy air. “Honestly, it was kind of flattering, in a weird way. Like starring in someone else’s romance novel. But Henry, let’s pretend it never happened. No strings, no awkwardness. We’re adults—ships passing in the night, or whatever cliché fits p>
Henry lowered his hands, meeting her gaze. Relief flickered amid the embarrassment, a small smile cracking his mortified expression. “You’re too kind. I don’t deserve it p>
She shrugged, swinging her legs over the bed’s edge. “Kind? Practical. Now, how about coffee? Or are you going to philosophize with the pillows next p>
He laughed then, a genuine, if sheepish, sound that eased the tension. “Coffee sounds good. And… thanks, Isabella. For everything p>
As she padded to the phone for room service, the Chapter of their night closed—not with fireworks, but with quiet understanding, two souls brushing past each other in the grand drama of love and betrayal.