CHAPTER 74: BLIND TEASE AND DESIRE

–Livana–

How cute. Now that I’m pulling him in—ready to give him a handjob or something more—he’s actually trying to push my hands away. He’s sulking. I can tell by the way he’s pouting, probably not even aware he’s doing it.

Since he still thinks I’m blind, I’ve learned to savor each of his little expressions, even if I can’t meet his eyes directly.

"What now?" I asked, impatiently.

"How about tomorrow?" he said. "Can we make love tomorrow?"

I laughed and shook my head. Seriously? Is he this desperate?

"I’m thinking of flying to Japan," I teased, smirking. "I heard they make perfect sex dolls."

"I was kidding about that!" he hissed, defensive.

"Then get your ass over here. I’ll help you with that boner."

"No, never mind. I’ll just go lift weights... or run on the treadmill." He is still damn sulking. Not too cute for a bulky sexy~hot and dangerous looking guy.

"Really?" I propped myself up on my elbows and let one hand rest teasingly on the bed. Slowly, I pulled my dress higher, revealing the skin above my knee, just enough to drive him mad.

"Fuck," he muttered, clearly frustrated. His eyes darkened as they focused on my leg, his breathing heavier. "Livana..."

He moved closer. I raised my hand toward him, and he took it, brushing his lips against my wrist. I let my hand trail down to his abdomen, still pretending to be blind, and reached the heat beneath the fabric.

Damn. Hard as steel. He’s been holding back for hours, hasn’t he?

"It must be painful, holding it in that long," I said softly, my voice dripping with playful sympathy.

"I’m really hard, obviously." He ran his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp as my hand slid lower to stroke him. "I’m begging you," he whispered.

"Mmm," I purred, my fingers teasing his waistband. "You know I don’t do oral, husband. That’s just not my style."

He let out a shaky breath, his voice thick with desire. "I know... I know. But fuck, the thought of those lips wrapped around my cock..." His hand slid to my jaw, tilting it as he leaned in, eyes dark. "That might be the death of me."

He kissed me—hot, deep, desperate. The kind of kiss that made my spine arch and my thighs part on instinct. His tongue tasted like want. Like obsession.

"I love you," he groaned against my mouth. "I fucking love you... but if you ever did that to me—God—I don’t think I’d survive it."

I smirked against his lips. "So... what else is in this room?"

His voice softened, "Are you finally letting me? To make babies and all?"

I tilted my head slightly, still pretending not to see, my eyes trailing to his lips. "Hmm," I shrugged. "Make me too tired to work. Keep me in bed for days."

"I’ve got just the thing." He scooped me into his arms, just as I expected. He brought me to that S-shaped sofa—the one with the perfect incline.

He placed me at the highest curve, my ass resting at the top, then gently told me to lie back. I did as he said, my body nearly upside down, legs already draped over his shoulders.

I knew what was coming next. And God, I loved it every single time he made me cum like a fountain.

I know too much sex—like it’s a routine job—is bad for your health. But is it so wrong to be this horny when your husband is always this desperate for you? I swear, I only get horny when he is. Maybe it’s contagious.

He’s plowing my field again... I hope I’m fertile enough to bear fruits—our babies.

We both need heirs, after all.

"Fuck!" I screamed as he filled me again, just as I came.

I could only hope all these horny days and lust-drunk nights of fucking would bear something more... something fruitful.

–Sophia–

Caine... that asshole. Why the hell did he have to send Francis along with me and Kai? As if I need distractions—especially him, my ex, of all people. I sighed. Livana was probably having the time of her life with her husband right now. I’m her best friend—aside from her sister—and she once told me that man was useful. Very useful. I know exactly what she meant. Those two were definitely fucking right now, rain and all.

"Sophia," Kai murmured as he sat beside me in the first-class coach. I cast a glance across the aisle where Francis sat silently, nose buried in some bland magazine, pretending to be invisible.

"How about we take a detour?" Kai suggested with a subtle smile. "A little vacation in the Bahamas—or wherever you desire."

"Mmm, sounds tempting." I tilted my head. "Didn’t you guys already go to the Bahamas?"

"That was Hawaii," he corrected, brushing a stray lock from his face. "I have a place there. Small, close to the beach."

"Ohh, Hawaii..." I smiled. "That sounds like fun."

"He rented the whole island for the wedding, you know. It was stunning... mostly because I planned the entire thing."

I chuckled under my breath. "I can already imagine how bossy that little bastard was."

My eyes flicked back to Francis. Still pretending to be a bodyguard. Still trying not to look at me. Useless man.

I reclined my seat slightly when I noticed a suspicious man three rows down glancing too often in our direction.

"I haven’t had a decent sleep," I murmured to Kai.

"Don’t worry about it," he said. "I had plenty. You can relax now. You’re safe."

I slid a slender pen from my bag and held it loosely at my side. I closed my eyes—but only half-heartedly. My ears were trained on the rhythm of footsteps and scattered chatter from the economy class. A slight tension bloomed in the air.

I peeked to my left—Kai’s profile calm, his fingers now resting lightly over mine. Affectionate, but strategic. Across the aisle, Francis remained still. His gaze flicked subtly to the newcomers settling around us. Familiar faces. His people.

Was this Damon’s doing? Or Caine’s? Did they think I needed guarding?

I sighed, bored and slightly irritated. I turned to Francis. "Really?"

"Rest well, Princess," he murmured without looking up.

I rolled my eyes. "You need more sleep than we do," Kai added. "We sleep like babies."

I gave a lazy nod but didn’t respond. I wasn’t tired, not really—but I let my body melt into the seat, fingers still curled around the pen. Somewhere between vigilance and fatigue, I dozed.

Until turbulence rocked the cabin.

I stirred, my instincts immediately awake—and froze.

A man was above me. Reaching. Moving fast.

But he stopped—his body seized mid-action.

Collapsed.

I sat upright just as Francis stepped into view, his hand steady, holding a syringe. Across from him, Kai had already drawn a gun, safety now clicking back into place.

"That worked fast," Kai muttered, tucking the weapon away.

I exhaled and reached for my head. Kai handed me a bottle of water without a word. I twisted the cap, tilted it back, and drank deep.

"Are you hungry?" Francis asked calmly.

"Mmm."

"I brought food. Chef Wally prepared it himself."

"Wow," I blinked at him. "Seriously?"

"Yes. He even baked."

I eyed the man on the floor. Paralyzed. Breathing, but unmoving. We couldn’t risk a body in plain sight—dead or not. I watched in silence as the attendants discreetly scooped him up, buckled him into a seat, and tucked a blanket over him like he was a sleeping passenger.

I yawned, covering my mouth with the back of my hand.

"Maybe later," I said. "I’ll sleep a little more."

I turned to my side, pulled the blanket to my chin, and let my eyes drift shut again. "Make sure he doesn’t get anywhere near me."

"Yes, boss," Kai chuckled softly beside me.

We landed in Delhi safely. I hoped the hotel transfer would go just as smoothly.

By the time we arrived, the others had dispersed into shadows like good little pawns. We had booked the Presidential Suite—with three rooms, of course.

Once inside, I moved straight to mine and got to work—sweeping the room for hidden cameras, bugging devices, and anything suspicious. I didn’t trust luxurious spaces without peeling back every layer. I even checked the walls for secret doors.

Because no matter how soft the sheets are, I always sleep with one eye open.

After a long day, I took a hot bath, letting the steam melt the tension from my muscles. I slipped into the softest pair of pajama pants and a matching top—silky, breathable, and perfect against my skin. The air conditioner hummed in the background, blasting cold, just how I liked it. I yawned and climbed onto the bed, sinking into the plush mattress. The moment my head hit the pillows and my eyes fluttered shut—I was out.

But not for long.

Something shifted.

The air changed. A subtle movement—too quiet to be casual.

Someone was in my room.

A whisper of a presence. Like a shadow flickering just beyond sight.

Instinct took over.

I tossed the sheets aside, sprang up, and in one swift motion grabbed the lamp on the nightstand. With a snap of adrenaline, I hurled it straight toward the dark figure. The ceramic exploded on impact, shards scattering like glass rain.

Then—bang! The door behind him was being kicked.

"Sophia!" Francis shouted from the other side.

The intruder stood—slender and taller than I expected. Dangerous. Controlled.

But so was I.

Without hesitation, I leapt to the side, my bare feet whispering over the marble floor. In a single movement, I pulled up the left side of my pajama top, revealing the sheath tied against my waist. I slid the dagger free, its weight familiar in my grip.

I shifted my stance—right foot forward, left grounded behind me, body low and ready to strike. Eyes narrowed, breath steady.

He moved, and I followed.