Forced To Marry My Cousin's Fiancé

Chapter 38: Chapter 38

The digital clock on the mahogany bedside table glowed a faint, ambient blue, reading exactly two-thirty in the morning.

Lane woke up to a sharp, persistent ache in her abdomen—not of pain, but a sudden, hollow rumble that made her stomach twist uncomfortably. She sat up carefully on her side of the massive mattress, shifting her weight inch by inch so she wouldn’t wake Ethan, who was sleeping soundly beside her. The intense, unyielding beast from the night before was completely gone, replaced by the quiet, heavy rhythm of his deep breathing in the dark.

As Lane swung her legs over the edge of the bed, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder. The heavy duvet had slipped down past Ethan’s broad chest, leaving his bare shoulders exposed to the chilly night air of the master suite.

Moving on pure instinct, Lane leaned over and gently pulled the blanket back up, tucking it securely around his shoulder. Ethan shifted a little at the sudden warmth, a low, unintelligible murmur vibrating in his throat, but he didn’t wake.

Lane slipped out of the room, closing the door with a quiet click. She turned on the soft, low hallway lights, the dim amber illumination casting long shadows against the walls as she descended the grand, winding staircase. The mansion was entirely dead at this hour, a silent maze of marble and stone.

When she reached the dark kitchen, she padded across the cool tile floor and pulled open the massive stainless-steel refrigerator. The bright internal light flooded her face. Her stomach rumbled again, a fierce, specific craving for something sweet and rich taking over her senses. She began sifting through the shelves—past organic juices, neatly packaged meal preps, and fresh produce—but she couldn’t find a single thing that satisfied the sudden urge.

"What are you looking for?"

Ethan’s deep, gravelly voice shattered the silence, startling Lane so violently she nearly dropped the carton of milk she was holding. She turned around quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Ethan was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, his dark hair disheveled from sleep, wearing nothing but a pair of dark grey sweatpants. His chest was bare, his skin looking pale and imposing under the kitchen lights.

"I’m looking for something to eat," Lane answered softly, her voice barely a whisper as she closed the refrigerator door to block out the light. "I suddenly felt hungry."

Ethan’s expression remained masked in his usual cold, unreadable detachment. He didn’t offer a warm smile or a comforting word. "Eat something quickly and go back to bed," he instructed, his voice clipped as he turned on his heel to head back toward the stairs.

"I can’t find anything," Lane murmured behind him, her shoulders slumping.

She assumed he would simply ignore her, continuing up to his room without a second thought. That was the Ethan she knew. But to her utter surprise, his footsteps stopped. He paused in the dim doorway, his broad back tensing before he slowly turned back to face her.

"What do you want to eat?" he asked, his dark eyes locking onto hers.

Lane blinked, taken aback by the question. "What?"

"What do you want to eat, Lane?" he repeated, his tone laced with a quiet, impatient edge, yet he didn’t move to leave.

"I... I was craving a cake," Lane admitted, her fingers curling nervously around the edge of the marble countertop. "But it’s fine. I can just have some tomorrow. It’s too late right now."

"There’s a twenty-four-hour cafe in the commercial district," Ethan interrupted smoothly, cutting off her excuses.

"Ethan, really, it’s fine. I can just wait until morning," Lane insisted, not wanting to burden him or face the icy silence that would undoubtedly accompany a car ride.

Without another word, Ethan walked past her toward the key hook near the garage entrance. He snatched his car keys, the metal clinking sharply in the quiet room.

"Wait for me here," he commanded, his deep voice leaving absolutely no room for argument as he stepped out putting a coat over his bare chest ,the heavy door shutting behind him.

Left alone in the vast kitchen, Lane pulled out one of the heavy barstools and sat down at the island. She placed both of her hands over her stomach, her palms resting gently against the soft curve where their baby was growing. A small, tearful smile touched her lips.

"Did you hear that?" she whispered into the empty kitchen, her voice trembling with a sudden, fragile emotion. "Daddy said we should wait. He’s bringing us some food... he does love you."

For months, the crushing weight of their contract and his cold glares had convinced Lane that he didn’t want them—that he resented the very existence of the child binding them together.

But tonight, a tiny flicker of dangerous hope flared in her chest. She stood up, carefully setting out a porcelain plate and a silver fork on the island, her stomach fluttering with anticipation.

Exactly twenty minutes later, the garage door clicked open. Ethan walked back into the kitchen, a brown paper pastry bag held firmly in his large hand. He walked straight up to the island and handed it to her, his expression still entirely stoic and detached, as if he hadn’t just driven across the city in the middle of the night for her.

Lane’s eyes lit up instantly. She opened the bag and peered inside, a soft gasp escaping her lips. Inside were two generous slices of cake—one a rich blueberry crumble, and the other a decadent, dark chocolate fudge.

She eagerly pulled them out, placing them on her plate. Using her fork, she took a large bite of the chocolate cake, closing her eyes as she savored the sweet, velvety taste. The craving was instantly satisfied, a soft sigh of pure contentment leaving her lips.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed Ethan hadn’t left. He was standing on the opposite side of the marble island, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his dark eyes staring at her with an intense, unblinking concentration as she ate.

Lane swallowed, suddenly self-conscious. "Do you want some?" she asked, holding the fork out slightly.

"Just eat," he replied flatly, his jaw flexing.

"Okay," Lane said softly, turning her attention back to the plate.

She shifted to the blueberry cake, completely losing herself in the flavor. As she took another bite, a small smudge of white cream caught at the corner of her soft lips.

Ethan’s gaze dropped instantly to the cream, his eyes darkening to a dangerous, predatory shade of midnight. "I want a taste," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, rough gravel that sent a violent shiver straight down Lane’s spine.

Thinking he finally wanted a bite of the dessert, Lane carefully sliced off a piece of the blueberry cake with her fork. She held it out across the marble island toward him, her hand trembling slightly under his intense stare. Ethan didn’t lean forward to take it from the utensil. Instead, his large hand shot out, his fingers wrapping securely around her wrist. He guided her hand back toward her own face, pushing the fork gently but firmly between her lips.

Lane froze, entirely confused by the gesture, but her mouth opened instinctively. She took the bite, her dark eyes wide and searching his face for an explanation.

Before she could even swallow, Ethan stood up from his spot across the island. He moved around the perimeter of the counter with predatory strides, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. He stepped directly into her personal space, his massive shadow completely enveloping her as he reached down, his long fingers tangling fiercely into the waves of her hair to tilt her head back.

He leaned down, his lips crashing against hers in a sudden, consuming collision.

Lane gasped against his mouth, and Ethan immediately seized the opportunity, plunging his tongue deep into her mouth. He took the sweet, residual taste of the blueberry cake directly from her lips, deepening the kiss with a wild, insatiable intensity.

Lane couldn’t hold back a moan into Ethan’s mouth as she felt the sheer depth of his kiss. His movements became rough with passion, leaving her breathless. He wasn’t satisfied with just a kiss. She felt him guiding her until she was sitting firmly on his lap right there on the kitchen barstool.

Ethan’s tongue grew more insistent the moment she settled against him. He explored her mouth deeply until she was completely lost in the sensation. Her hands rose to grip his arms, and she began to return the kiss with equal fervor. She tried to mimic his rhythm, but Ethan pressed his lips firmly against hers, taking absolute control once again.

She felt him squeeze her waist, sending a sharp thrill through her entire body. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her flush against his chest. As he ground his body into hers, shivers of pleasure raced down her spine.

The intensity was overwhelming. She could hardly keep up with him. She felt hot and lightheaded. That was the effect Ethan always had on her. Whenever he kissed her, it felt as though he were stealing not just her breath but her very strength.

The world outside the kitchen completely ceased to exist. The cool marble countertops, the stainless-steel appliances, the quiet hum of the refrigerator—everything faded into a background blur as the fire between them burned away the lingering coldness of the past few months.

Lane clung to his bare shoulders, her fingers digging into his warm skin as if he were the only stable thing in a world that was spinning wildly out of control. She could feel the hard, frantic pounding of his chest against her own, a chaotic rhythm that perfectly mirrored the storm raging inside her.

He was kissing her as if he wanted to consume her entirely, leaving no room for doubts, no room for contracts, and no room for the ghosts that usually haunted the hallways of this mansion.

Every press of his lips was a dominant, unyielding demand, and Lane found herself answering it with a desperate hunger of her own. She knew that when the sun rose, the icy walls might go right back up. He might return to being the distant, unapproachable executive who barely looked her way. But right now, in the dark safety of the middle of the night, he was entirely hers. He was an insatiable beast, and she was completely, willingly caught in his grasp.

His large hands were still clamped tightly around her waist, anchoring her firmly to his lap as if he had no intention of ever letting her go.

Lane looked up at him, her lips swollen, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light.

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