Chapter 620

“Don’t worry. I’ll manage. If the bed proves too small, I’ll purchase a larger one tomorrow. I’m willing to

give it a shot tonight,” he assured.

Millie found herself at a loss for words.

Marcus had fully embraced his audacious side, transforming into a mischievous rogue.

“Then it’s the sofa for you.” Millie’s words hung in the air as she retreated into the bedroom, securing

the door behind her.

As Millie’s eyelids grew heavy with slumber, a presence found its place beside her on the bed, proving

that Marcus’ earlier words held true—no door could thwart his intentions.

Unbeknownst to Millie, she drifted into sleep while sharing the bed with him.

Upon settling in, the aroma of the red wine on Millie clung to Marcus, a subtle reminder of the evening’s

indulgence.

Starting with her waist, Marcus’ hand embarked on a joumey upwards, drawn by an impulse he couldn’t

contain, his fingers brushing against the softness of her breast through the thin fabric that separated

them.

Despite the modest barrier of fabric between them, her soft skin was palpable beneath his touch. The

intensity of his reaction was undeniable; his restraint was slipping away, almost involuntarily.

Curiously, this touch was not unpleasant; rather, it held a captivating allure, akin to an addiction.

Succumbing to the impulse, he repeated the gentle contact, surrendering to a sensation that

overpowered his self-control.

Frequently, other women intentionally flaunted their décolletage, aiming to entice him with their

exposed allure. However, these gestures only invoked a sense of distaste within him.

Why did his desire intensify so profoundly in Millie’s presence? Every touch ignited a feverish surge

within him, his blood racing to a boiling point, a sensation nearing eruption. He longed to seize her with

a heightened fervor, to grasp her tenderly yet firmly. Yielding to his impulse, he pinched the softness

gently.

In her slumber, Millie experienced a jolt of pain and a pinch that startled her awake.

As anticipated, a familiar figure lay by her side. An unbidden expletive escaped her lips, directed

squarely at him.

Marcus sensed he had ventured into precarious territory. Hadn’t he exercised caution in his actions?

Yet, why did her slumber break, revealing his discreet touch?

Masking his unease with a facade of composure, Marcus remarked, “It was an inadvertent touch.”

Millie’s anger surged, a metaphorical explosion imminent. A lingering ache gnawed at her chest, a

result of his unintentional yet painful actions.

“You should be sleeping on the sofa!” Millie’s words rang with an edge of frustration. “Didn’t I lock the

door?”

“The sofa is too cramped, hardly conducive for a peaceful slumber. As I’ve mentioned, a mere door

won’t deter me,” he retorted, his determination evident.

Millie’s wariness of his intentions intensified; she sensed a rising danger in his behavior.

Millie was moving to illuminate the room, but was interrupted by Marcus, his hand halting her. “Hold on.

I’ll restrain myself as I rest. If you’re unwilling, 1 won’t impose,” he assured her.

His declaration held no ambiguity; he would honor her wishes. He hoped for her willingness, yearning

for a connection that transcended the physical.