Novel Square
Temptations
Xavier strode into the sleek vacation house, his mind a tangle of conflict and desire. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, an involuntary groan escaped his lips as a surge of unexpected arousal pulsed through him. He scowled, fists clenching at Cathleen’s clothes, unable to fathom the hold Cathleen had over his body.
“Damn you, Cathleen,” he muttered under his breath, every inch of him rebelling against the fact that she, of all people, could elicit such a carnal response from him.
He paced like a caged animal, each step heavy with the weight of betrayal. His father’s machinations, Cathleen’s cunning-they were chains binding him to a life he never chose. Xavier knew the fire in Cathleen’s eyes, her sharp tongue, and her calculating mind. She was not a victim. She was the architect of this twisted reality, where he found himself shackled to her by marriage.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.
“I can’t even touch my own wife,” he spat out to him, his voice laced with venom. “Because every time I want to, it feels like I’m giving in to her game.” He thought to himself.
His gaze fell on Cathleen, her cheeks flushed with a mix of helplessness and something darker, something that mirrored the tempest inside him. Without thinking, he swept her up, depositing her unceremoniously onto the cool surface of the kitchen counter. The act, dominant and possessive, left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Xavier…” Cathleen’s voice was a whisper, but he ignored it, storming off towards the bathroom to find some solitude, some escape from the chaos of his emotions.
But just as his hand reached for the solace of release, laughter burst forth from him, wild and mocking. The absurdity hit him in waves-their vacation house was housed within walls of glass, transparent and exposed. A sex god, they called him, yet here he was, about to desecrate his own privacy in a glass cage.
“I can’t even have a moment to fucking jerk in peace without the world watching,” he said through gritted teeth, staring out at the open vista before him. Each pane reflected back his turmoil, his rage, and his yearning for something pure amidst the convoluted web of family, love, and betrayal that trapped him.
Xavier Knight, a man who shunned the spotlight, now stood center stage in the most intimate of theaters, his every move observed by the silence of the house and the ghosts of choices he never made.
Xavier’s mind ticked, a sudden remembrance slicing through the fog of his desire. The glass control. He strode purposefully into the bedroom, the air thick with tension, and vanished into the cavernous walk-in closet. His fingers found the remote nestled between ties and cufflinks, a simple tool of privacy in a home built like a fishbowl.
Click.
The goddamn clear panes frosted over at his fucking command, shrouding them from nosy motherfuckers. Yet as the world outside dimmed, so did the damn rigid cock that had been needing a release after just a simple touch from his wife. His hard-on waned, leaving a goddamn hollow echo in its wake. With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his unspoken frustrations and the urge to release his pent-up load, he turned towards the fucking bathroom.
Water cascaded from the tap, and the sound was sharp against the tile. Bath salts scattered with a whisper, their scent rising in the steam, a futile offering to the gods of relaxation. Then, like a man completing a ritual, he descended the stairs.
Cathleen’s form was where he’d left it, perched atop the kitchen counter, her wheelchair a silent sentinel beside her. He lifted her with ease-a testament to his concealed strength-her body light as air yet heavy with the secrets she kept locked behind her sharp tongue.
“Up we go,” Xavier murmured, his voice a low rumble, betraying none of the coldness he wielded like armor.
In the sanctuary of the bathroom, he began to delicately peel away the layers of Cathleen’s clothing. Each garment protested with a soft rustle, as if it knew the intimate act that was about to take place. Cathleen’s wheelchair sat in the corner, a constant reminder of the accident that had bound her to its confines. She cursed her fate and the ever-present eyes of her husband, who only knew her as a wife by name alone. The room felt small and stifling, and the air was heavy with unsaid words and unfulfilled desires. But in this moment, none of that mattered, as both of them felt nothing for each other. Maybe it was denial.
“Stop fucking staring,” Cathleen spat, her words like sharp knives meant to cut deep. Xavier froze; he had never heard Cathleen swear before. He smiled.
“I can’t help it,” he replied, jokingly, his hands deft despite her barbs. “You’re mine to see, wife,” he said jokingly, again. Knowing it would anger her.
She couldn’t bear it-the loss of her cherished solitude, the stark vulnerability under his intense gaze. The weight of his stare bore down on her like a physical presence, stirring up memories and emotions she had long buried. Yet, paradoxically, with every touch, an unwanted heat flared within her, igniting a fire she thought had been long extinguished. It was as if he held the power to reignite her passions and awaken something inside her that she had forgotten existed. The air seemed to crackle with tension as they stared at each other as though in a staring-down contest.
“Damn you,” Cathleen breathed out, a reluctant surrender lacing her defiance.
“Already damned.” Xavier’s fingers were rough and insistent as he tore away her drenched panties, revealing the undeniable truth between her trembling legs. “Fucking already wet for me,” he sneered jokingly, his touch both soothing and scalding as it delved deeper into her core. They both knew the damning desire they shared, unable to deny it any longer.
Her body’s treacherous act was done, and in that instant, the boundaries between hate and lust blurred into nothingness, leaving them both vulnerable in ways they never imagined. She could feel his hardened member pressing against her, a crude reminder of their forbidden desires.