novelraw Chapter 331 --331
Chapter 331 --331
"The oil needs to be spread evenly for maximum effectiveness," Samuel explained, his voice dropping slightly lower.
"Mmm," Heena agreed absently, too relaxed to question the statement.
His hands slid higher up her back, fingers tracing along her shoulder blades.
Then back down, but this time the descent continued past her lower back to her hips.
"The tension extends down here too," Samuel said quietly. "Connected muscle groups."
"Makes sense," Heena mumbled, her body warm and pliant under his ministrations.
She still hadn’t realized the shift in intent.
Samuel’s hands became bolder, moving to her sides, his thumbs brushing along the curves of her waist.
"You’re still very tense here," he murmured, his breath now noticeably closer to her ear.
Heena made a soft sound of agreement, leaning into his touch.
His hands slid forward slightly, no longer staying strictly on her back.
"Samuel..." she said, but it came out more as a sigh than a protest.
"Yes?" he replied innocently, though his hands were doing increasingly non-innocent things.
"What are you..." Heena started to ask, finally beginning to register that this was no longer purely therapeutic.
But Samuel leaned down, his lips brushing against the nape of her neck, and whatever question she’d been forming dissolved into another soft sound.
"Still just helping with your soreness," he murmured against her skin.
His hands slid around to her front, and Heena’s eyes finally opened fully.
"This is NOT—" she began.
But Samuel turned her gently to face him, and the look in his eyes made her forget what she’d been about to say.
"Tell me to stop," he said quietly, "and I will."
It was a genuine offer. Despite his obvious desire, despite how far things had already progressed, he would stop if she asked.
Heena looked at him—at his dark eyes, his slightly disheveled hair, his hands still resting on her waist.
She knew she should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should preserve her energy for more important things.
But her body was already responding, already leaning toward him, already making the decision her mind was still trying to resist.
"I’m still sore," she said, which was true but also completely beside the point.
"I’ll be gentle," Samuel promised, his hands moving to untie her outer robe.
"That’s what you said last time," Heena pointed out, even as she made no move to stop him.
"This time I mean it," he replied, though the heat in his eyes suggested his definition of "gentle" might be negotiable.
The outer robe fell open. His hands found bare skin beneath.
"Samuel..." Heena breathed, and this time it definitely wasn’t a protest.
"Wife," he replied, leaning in to capture her lips.
The kiss was slow, deep, nothing rushed about it—a promise that this time would indeed be different from their previous marathon.
His hands roamed her body with reverent care, relearning every curve, every sensitive spot that made her gasp.
Heena found her own hands moving to his clothes, untying, pushing fabric aside, wanting skin against skin.
"I thought we were just doing massage," she murmured against his mouth, a last weak attempt at maintaining the fiction of separation.
"We are," Samuel agreed, laying her back against the pillows. "Just a very... thorough massage."
His hands slid down her body with exquisite slowness.
"Very thorough," he repeated, his touch making his meaning abundantly clear.
Heena arched into his touch, strategic planning completely forgotten, pain completely forgotten, everything forgotten except the sensation of his hands, his mouth, his body moving against hers.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice noted that this was becoming dangerously habitual.
That she was developing a concerning dependency on these intimate moments.
That emotional detachment was becoming increasingly impossible.
But that voice was very small and very far away.
And easily drowned out by the much louder voice saying ’yes, more, don’t stop.’
Samuel shifted his weight, settling between her legs, his hands cradling her face as he kissed her deeply.
"Still want me to stop?" he asked, though he knew the answer.
Heena pulled him closer in response, her legs wrapping around his waist.
"Don’t you dare," she breathed.
And with a low sound of satisfaction, Samuel obliged.
---
’’[Some Time Later]’’
Heena lay sprawled across the bed, completely boneless, staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes.
"I hate you," she announced to the universe at large.
Beside her, Samuel was breathing heavily but looking remarkably pleased with himself.
"You said that last time too," he pointed out.
"Because it keeps being TRUE," Heena replied. "How do you keep doing this to me? I had PLANS. Important things to think about. Strategies to develop."
"You can think about strategy after," Samuel said reasonably.
"I can’t THINK at all after," Heena corrected. "My brain has turned to soup."
Samuel propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. "But at least you’re not sore anymore?"
Heena considered this. Her back actually DID feel better. The massage had genuinely helped, even if it had led to... other activities.
"I’ll be sore again in different places soon enough," she predicted darkly.
"But not RIGHT now," Samuel pointed out with a grin.
Heena threw a pillow at his face. "You’re entirely too pleased with yourself."
"Can you blame me?" Samuel caught the pillow and set it aside. "My beautiful, brilliant, terrifying wife just—"
"Don’t," Heena interrupted. "Dont try to act smart and escape this you damn horny male"
Samuel let out a deep, chest-rumbling laugh that vibrated against the mattress. He didn’t even have the decency to look offended.
"I believe the culturally appropriate term is ’devoted husband,’ actually," he corrected smoothly, shifting his weight to rest his chin on his hand, looking down at her with entirely too much affection.
Heena rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, though she made absolutely no effort to push away the heavy arm he casually draped over her waist. "Devoted to ruining my schedule, maybe. I had a timeline, Samuel. A very specific, heavily calculated timeline."
Samuel’s grin only widened at her insult. He shifted, pulling her closer against his side, entirely unbothered by her glare.
"Sweetheart," he began, his voice taking on a teasing, conversational lilt. "With the way you keep tossing around ’Samuel’ again and again... do you know the old superstition? They say that a wife calling her husband by his given name shortens his lifespan."
Heena tilted her head, a wicked gleam cutting through her post-coital haze. "Is that so? Better test that theory. Samuel. *Samuel.* If that’s true, then I should definitely call you by your name more often."
His brow furrowed in a mask of mock betrayal. "Do you really want me to die early?"
Reaching up, Heena pinched his nose without an ounce of hesitation. "So, you mean to tell me that you idiot men can call us by our names whenever you please, but we can’t do the same? Why did your parents even bother giving you a name, then? Shut the nonsense."
She released his nose with a final, gentle tug. "And if you really don’t want me to call you by your name, then just say it. I can always go back to calling you ’My Lordship’ or ’My Lord.’"