Chapter304 – No… no more
His eyes darkened instantly as he leaned in to kiss her—but she dodged him lightly. She didn’t say a word, just looked at him, her gaze trapping him completely, making his pulse thunder.
“Clarissa…”
She tapped his chest softly, moving closer again. Guided by her, Atticus took the cherry from her lips.
Before she could say anything, he pressed her back against the sink and captured her mouth.
Crimson juice spilled from the corners of their lips, sliding slowly down Clarissa’s neck before disappearing beneath her collar.
Just as he was about to go further, she caught his fingers.
“Let’s eat first,” she said softly.
He leaned against her collarbone, breathing hard, his voice rough and broken. “Clarissa… you’re cruel.”
“How am I cruel?” She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, smiling innocently. “I just wanted to spoil Atticus. How is that cruel?”
As his body trembled, she asked quietly, “Don’t you like it?”
“I do,” he admitted after several deep breaths. He was practically giddy.
Then something occurred to him, and his expression darkened slightly. “Where did you… learn all this?”
The Clarissa from before had been shy even about kissing him. The thought made his chest tighten uncomfortably.
She laughed at his expression and explained patiently, “I work in entertainment. Things like this are nothing special.” Then she leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear. “Besides… I’m not interested in doing this with anyone else.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m only interested in Atticus.”
She cupped his face gently. “From now on, I’ll only do this for you. Okay?”
It felt unreal.
His eyes burned red with emotion, desire and joy tangled together. All he could do was hold her tightly and nod again and again.
“Okay,” he said eagerly, kissing her. “Promise me—only for me.”
“Mmm. I promise.”
Encouraged by her obedience, he couldn’t resist pushing his luck. “Then… can you keep a three-step distance when you talk to other men?”
“Okay.”
“And women too.”
“Okay.”
“And… can you pick me up from work every day?”
“Okay.”
“And sometimes… can you surprise me? Like last time?”
Clarissa laughed brightly. “Alright. I promise you everything.”
She ran her fingers through his hair, the gentle, absentminded motion dissolving the lingering tension and replacing it with a quiet warmth.
Atticus leaned into her touch like a spoiled cat, nuzzling against her until he was finally satisfied. Only then did he let go and return to what he was doing.
One of them chopped vegetables, the other cooked. Before long, the table was filled with carefully prepared dishes.
The meal was warm, unhurried, and comforting in a way that felt almost unreal.
That evening, they curled up together on the sofa, the television murmuring softly in the background. Clarissa snacked as she spoke. “Atticus, there’s a company party in a few days. Are you coming?”
He paused. “Will your friends be there?”
“Of course. I invited them.”
Her friends—Phoenix, the others.
Atticus’s fingers curled slowly at his side.
The words yanked him out of his fragile reverie. A dull ache spread through his chest, though his face remained perfectly calm. “I won’t go,” he said evenly. “There are a few important patients at the hospital. I can’t get away.”
Clarissa smiled faintly. “Oh. Then I’ll go by myself.”
He studied her, finding her suddenly difficult to read. Was she doing this on purpose—bringing it up so casually in front of him? The more effortless she seemed, the more uneasy he felt.
He was drowning in this beautiful illusion, aware of the danger yet unwilling to surface.
Swallowing, he said quietly, “Clarissa…”
“Hm?”
“Why did you suddenly bring this up?”
She leaned against his chest and popped a grape into his mouth.
After he swallowed, she smiled. “Didn’t you say I should tell you wherever I go?” Her fingers traced his sharp, handsome features. Then, under his darkened gaze, she cupped his face and kissed him softly.
His pupils contracted.
Before he could fully react, Clarissa gently pushed him back onto the sofa and sat astride his narrow waist. The instant she settled there, she felt his muscles tense beneath her—hard, coiled with restrained strength.
Her heartbeat grew louder in her ears as she leaned against him. “Besides,” she said slowly, “Atticus is my baby. I want everyone to know.”
She only wanted to follow her heart now—to love him properly, just once, without holding back. To feel his love completely.
Atticus’s gaze had turned dangerously deep.
His hands slid to her waist, tightening instinctively, dark heat flickering in his eyes.
“Clarissa…” His breathing grew heavy as he leaned in to kiss her.
She stopped him with a hand to his chest.
He didn’t speak, but his eyes questioned her.
Smiling faintly, she said, “It’s late. We should shower and go to bed.”
Disappointment flashed through his eyes—only to be erased when she looped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Let’s shower together.”
His eyes lit up.
He scooped her up without another word and carried her inside.
The door slammed open.
Instead of the bathroom, Atticus brought her straight to the bed. Clarissa laughed breathlessly. “You carried me to the wrong place.”
She barely finished the sentence before he kissed her—hard, impatient, edged with frustration.
These past few days, she had always been the one leading him. This time, he refused to lose.
“Mm—Atticus…” Her body melted beneath his relentless kisses. She lay sprawled against the sheets, breath sweet and unsteady, clothes falling away like scattered petals.
“Atticus!” She clutched at his back, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes.
He froze.
Gently, he brushed her hair aside. The fire in his gaze softened, tinged with something like pain. “Clarissa… do I always hurt you?”
She stiffened. “Why… why are you asking that now…?”
He got rough when he lost control—reckless, overwhelming. He was too big. That was why she had been so cautious in the beginning. It really had hurt.
Only after the medication did her body slowly adapt.
The memories rushed back all at once, heat flooding her face, shame knotting her throat.
She couldn’t answer.
Atticus’s large hand cupped her cheek, his eyes dark, intense, painfully sincere.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “When I see you, I lose control. If it hurts in the future, tell me immediately. I don’t want you to endure it anymore.” His thumb brushed her skin. “I want you to feel the same happiness I do.”
Clarissa trembled.
The bitterness in her chest surged.
Ronan’s words echoed relentlessly in her mind—how Atticus had spent the past two years drinking himself numb, swallowing painkillers, wrecking his body just to suppress his emotions, until illness nearly destroyed him.
If not for that borrowed set of pajamas… he might not have survived.
Her heart felt like it was being torn apart all over again.
The more careful, the more gentle Atticus became, the more unbearable it was.
The original records never mentioned Atticus’s upbringing. They only described his wickedness—his cruelty—painting him as a ruthless, cold-blooded villain.
She had thought he was just a normal teenager. And then…
Clarissa… Clarissa, how could you have been so stupid?
Why hadn’t you noticed sooner that something was wrong?
Clarissa tightened her arms around him and kissed him fiercely, almost desperately. Her clothes slipped from her shoulders, tears pooling in her eyes as she whispered hoarsely, “It’s… it’s alright now. I’m happy—as long as it’s you, Atticus…”
She brushed her lips against his again, their breaths tangled. “Just love me the way you want to… okay?”
His breathing faltered. There was helplessness in his voice, edged with restraint. “Silly Clarissa… don’t say things like that. If you do, I really won’t be able to stop myself.”
She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him down. “Then don’t.”
Outside, the stars continued to glitter. The moon slowly sank from its peak. Inside, the heat only faded when dawn finally broke.
Atticus carefully lifted her trembling body. The moment she was in his arms, her voice came out weak and pleading. “No… no more. Please, Atticus. I was wrong…”
He brushed the damp strands from her forehead and carried her into the bathroom. The medicinal bath had already been prepared. He eased her into the water and stepped in after her.
He washed her hair slowly, tenderly, then her body, while she lay limply against him, too exhausted to lift a finger. Only after he rinsed the last traces of soap from her hair did she manage to open her eyes, still leaning weakly against his chest.
“Mmm… what time is it?”
“Five in the morning.”
A wave of dizziness hit her. Men really shouldn’t be teased, she thought bitterly—especially young, energetic ones. Her whole body ached, her lower back worst of all.
She looked up at him, reproach softening her voice. “Atticus… you can’t do this again.”
“We need to be more restrained. The doctor said overindulgence is bad for your health…”
He twirled a damp strand of her hair between his fingers. “Clarissa,” he murmured, “you seem to have forgotten. I am the doctor.”
She froze.
His breath brushed her ear as he added quietly, “And… wasn’t it you who told me not to hold back?”
“How was I supposed to know you’d be—” She looked up sharply, only to meet his triumphant, faintly wicked smile. “What?”
Her gaze dropped, her earlobes burning red. Who knew he had that kind of stamina…
She stammered helplessly, her face growing redder by the second, until Atticus laughed softly. He pulled her close and kissed her hard. “Clarissa, you’re adorable.”
He pressed his cheek to hers. “Don’t worry about me. As long as I can be with you, I don’t care how many times. Besides…” His voice lowered. “Not being able to touch you is far worse for me.”
“Atticus!”
He took her hand and kissed it. “But you really did suffer earlier. I’ll make you some nourishing soup later, alright?”
Her expression stiffened.
Nourishing… soup?
For a brief moment, the memory of that bitter medicine surfaced in her mind, pulling her thoughts away.
“Clarissa?” His tone sharpened slightly. “What were you thinking just now?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
She leaned into him, pouting softly. “You jerk… I’m exhausted.”
Her voice instantly soothed him. He hugged her close. “My fault. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll give you a massage, okay?”
She smiled and nodded. “You’re clever.”
She leaned forward over the bathtub, exposing her smooth, pale back. Half her long hair spilled into the water, damp strands clinging to her skin. Faint bruises—dark and red—peeked through, creating a quietly dangerous allure.
Atticus swallowed hard, but restrained himself, focusing instead on massaging her sore back and limbs.