Chapter 8
Lucy's POV
I stirred awake to morning sunlight streaming through the windows. For a moment, I lay disoriented in the bed, my body enveloped in soft silk sheets. Then I became acutely aware of Ethan's arm draped possessively around my waist, his warm breath tickling the back of my neck.
My entire body tensed. Looking down, I realized I was wearing one of the silk nightgowns he loved—how had I changed into it last night? The memories were hazy, clouded by exhaustion and emotional turmoil.
"Finally awake?" Ethan's voice rumbled low against my skin; his fingers caressed my hip through the thin silk. "You were restless all night."
"Don't touch me." I tried to pull away, but his arm tightened, drawing me back against his chest. My traitorous body remembered this embrace, melting into his familiar warmth even as my mind screamed in protest.
"Your body disagrees." His lips brushed the sensitive spot behind my ear, making me shiver. "You kept pressing closer all night, just like you used to."
"That was before—" My words caught on a gasp as his hand slid up my ribcage. "Ethan, stop."
Instead of releasing me, he propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at me with those intense grey eyes. "We need to talk about last night."
"There's nothing to talk about." I finally managed to sit up, putting space between us. "I saw you guys kissing."
"Did you see this?" He reached for his phone on the nightstand, pulling up a security video. My breath caught as I watched the scene unfold—Ethan was slumped in his office chair, clearly intoxicated. Ivy reached out to steady his swaying form. Then, he suddenly pitched forward, their lips appearing to accidentally brush against each other.
"I..." I faltered, thrown by this unprecedented explanation. In three years of marriage, Ethan had never bothered to justify himself to me before.
"You jumped to conclusions." His fingers caught my chin, turning my face toward his. "Again."
The morning light painted bronze highlights in his dark hair, softening the usual sharp planes of his face. For a moment, he looked like the man I'd fallen in love with, not the cold stranger he'd become.
"It doesn't change anything." But I could hear the lack of conviction in my own voice.
Ethan's eyes glinted dangerously as he roughly pulled me close, his lips pressing against mine, his tongue boldly exploring my mouth. His intoxicating, masculine scent enveloped me, making it hard to breathe.
"Your lips are fucking addictive." he murmured against my lips before capturing them again in a heated kiss.
His hands roamed deliberately, sliding from my inner thighs to my waist, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. My nightgown was pushed up in the heat of the moment, exposing my skin to the cool air and causing me to shiver. In the next moment, his hot breath washed over my breasts, his tongue wantonly licking and sucking on my nipples.
"Say my name," he commanded, gazing down at me with possessive intensity, one hand pinning my wrists above my head.
"No," I retorted, turning my head away.
"You'll regret it." His lips curled into a subtle smile.
I couldn't suppress a cry as his other hand roughly kneaded my breasts, the mixture of pain and pleasure sending shivers through my body.
Then his mouth worked its way down, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses on my torso, pausing briefly to tease the sensitive skin of my waist as I unconsciously arched my body.
"Ethan, please..." I whimpered, my voice trembling with need.
He continued down until his coarse hair grazed the delicate skin of my inner thighs, sending shivers down my spine. His nimble tongue swirled around my clit, and I felt the fluids continue to flow inside me.
"You like that, don't you?" he murmured against my skin, his voice ragged.
"Stop... Ethan..." I hissed, whispering as I grabbed his hair with both hands with force.
He didn't budge; instead, he took my clit with more force and sucked on it like it was a delicious candy.
"Ethan, you jerk," I gasped, my body writhing under the intensity of his mouth.
"You love it," he smirked before his head dipped back down.
His tongue dug deep inside me and kept fucking me. The surge of pleasure caused my calves to cramp and my mind to go blank. I came again, my whole body shaking from the intensity.
Drawing back slightly, he licked his wet lips, savoring the taste. "You taste...amazing."
The dining room was flooded with sunlight, the marble table gleaming like polished ice. Mrs. Brown moved efficiently between kitchen and table, setting out a breakfast spread that would rival any five-star hotel.
"You're looking pale again this morning, Mrs. Storm," she said, adding another croissant to my plate. Her eyes held knowing concern. "The morning sickness hasn't improved?"
I shook my head, fighting another wave of nausea. The smell of coffee, usually so comforting, now made my stomach churn.
"Ginger tea might help." Mrs. Brown swiftly replaced my coffee cup with a steaming mug of tea. "I kept some ready, just in case." She hesitated, then sat down beside me, lowering her voice. "About the divorce papers..."
"Please, Mrs. Brown." I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, seeking comfort in its heat. "I've made up my mind."
"Have you?" She studied my face carefully. "Then why did you respond to Mr. Storm's advances this morning?"
I flinched. Of course she would have noticed my rumpled silk nightgown, the way Ethan's hand had lingered on my shoulder before he left for work.
"I..." The words stuck in my throat. How could I explain the way my body betrayed me around him? The constant war between my heart and mind? "It's complicated."
"Love usually is." Mrs. Brown's voice was gentle. "Especially in this family."
"Is that what this is?" I laughed bitterly, but it came out more like a sob. "Love? Or just... convenience?"
"You tell me." She touched my hand lightly. "I know Mr. Storm showed you that video... I've never seen him try to explain himself to anyone before. Not even to Miss Wilson."
I stared into my tea, watching the steam rise in delicate spirals. Ethan’s explanation had shaken my certainties. "Maybe he just needs me for Ivy's treatments."
"Is that what you truly believe?" Mrs. Brown stood, straightening her apron. "Because if it is, you wouldn't be sitting here looking so lost."
My phone pinged before I could respond. The interview confirmation at Lenox Hill Private Practice lit up my screen, making my heart sink. Another step toward independence that suddenly felt more like a step into the void.
"What kind of life can I give this baby?" I whispered, more to myself than to Mrs. Brown. "A mother with a prison record? No medical career? Living in some tiny apartment in Brooklyn?"
"Or," Mrs. Brown said quietly, "a life with whole family."
The coffee shop near the private practice was clearly a medical staff favorite, with scrub-clad doctors and nurses streaming in and out. I had just ordered a ginger tea when a familiar voice made my blood run cold.
"Lucy, darling!" Ivy Wilson's wheelchair glided smoothly toward the corner table, her smile as practiced as a Broadway actress's. "What a delightful coincidence."
"Is it?" I kept my voice steady. "Like the coincidence of my interview being canceled five minutes ago?"
"Oh, that." Her perfectly manicured fingers wrapped around her cappuccino cup. "Well, we can't have someone who's been in jail-"
"You think you can control every hospital in Manhattan?"
"Sweetheart," her smile turned razor-sharp, "without the Storm name, you're just another ex-con. Who would hire you?"
My retort died in my throat as a wave of nausea hit me. I rushed into the restroom.
When I emerged, pale and shaking, Ivy's expression had shifted from triumph to calculation. "No..." Her eyes narrowed. "You ... pregnant?"