Tangled Temptations novel Chapter 303

Brett pushed open the bedroom door.

Orlena had tidied up the room and even changed the bed sheets. She was too embarrassed to let the maid wash the soiled sheets, so she hand-washed them in the bathroom herself.

Brett entered, silently observing for a while.

She was never good at housework. She scrubbed for a long time, not only failing to clean them but also managing to get herself all wet in the process.

"I've got it," he murmured.

A blush spread across Orlena’s cheeks, and she couldn’t even bear to meet his gaze. Seeing him would only remind her of what happened the night before.

Brett took her by the shoulder and led her to one side. Orlena didn’t resist, quietly washing her hands.

Although Brett held a high status, he had lived in a rented apartment during his university years and was competent in all household chores. He washed the bed sheets so well. Yet, the sheets were in such a state from the previous night that even he took quite a while to completely clean them. Finally, the soft pink sheets were hung out on the terrace to dry.

After finishing, Brett didn’t leave. He leaned against the terrace railing, lighting up a cigarette. His narrow eyes focused on the delicate color of the sheets, which reminded him so much of Orlena.

The previous night was an accident.

He had been planning to go to sleep after a chat with Parker. Daniel, who rarely showed him any closeness, was sleeping on his bed, his breaths warm and inviting. This was his and Orlena’s child.

Brett sat at the edge of the bed, quietly watching, feeling that the child was incredibly beautiful.

Downstairs, the sound of high heels echoed. He shouldn’t have gone out. At that time, there could only be one person walking around the mansion, and that was Orlena.

But he hadn't seen her in so long, and he couldn't suppress his desire to see her.

She was slightly drunk. When she saw him, her eyes were shimmering. Her eyes and brows were full of womanly charm, but with a touch of innocence that made Brett somewhat unable to resist.

He reached out to steady her, his gaze intense. "Why were you drinking?"

She was drunk, and unlike the usual times when she would avoid him, she just stared straight at him.

Brett was a normal man. He hadn't been with a woman for a long time because of his busy schedule and Orlena. At that moment, he was somewhat aroused. However, he still had enough sense to lead her to her bedroom.

She lay back on the soft bed. Brett poured her a glass of water and placed it on the bedside table. "Drink some water, take off your clothes, and go to sleep."

Orlena's gaze was clear, still straight. After a while, she turned her face to bury it in the blanket, not making a sound. But he knew she was crying.

Brett lightly patted her shoulder, his voice a mix of gentleness and affection. "Didn't you go on a date? Were you hurt?"

She didn't respond, but her slender shoulders started shaking even more violently.

Brett used some force to gently turn her around. As expected, she had been crying.

She wasn't really young anymore. But because she was so much younger than him, and had a childish temperament, she still looked like the young girl from the past.

Brett knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't resist leaning down.

Her lips were soft, moist and slightly parted, as if waiting for him to kiss them. Their hot lips met and entwined, exchanging warmth, and eventually, things quickly spiraled out of control.

Underneath the bed were Brett and Orlena’s discarded clothes. Tears slowly fell from Orlena's eyes. She felt somewhat sober, but not entirely awake. Her delicate fingers lightly traced his handsome features. Her voice was hoarse. "Brett, nobody else can hurt me."

From start to finish, it was only him.

She cried like a young girl, her body longing for his closeness after the effects of the alcohol, but there was still a sense of grievance in her heart.

Brett's slender fingers traced her radiant face. He gently cooed, "Don't cry, Orlena. Don't cry."

He was still somewhat hesitant; after all, once he had her, it would be hard for him to quit.

But then she called him by his name, Brett. She rarely called him that. In the past, when she called him Brett, it excited and thrilled him. When she called him Brett this time, he felt like he was holding a mature woman, the woman who bore his children.

Brett gently made love to her.

She cried bitterly, not from pain, but from sadness.

In the deep of the night, he comforted her while losing himself in her. Perhaps later, when she couldn't help but call out his name, he lost all control. Their bodies, untouched for so long, ignited at a single touch, making a mess of their restraint.

...

When dawn broke, Orlena opened her eyes. She saw a magnified handsome face, the man she both desired and resisted, was lying in her room.

He had shared a bed with her for the night.

She was somewhat dazed. He woke up, his hand on her waist. "Awake?"

What followed was him being kicked out of her room. He was disheveled, and his belt was not even done up.

Brett leisurely puffed on his cigarette, hearing the footsteps behind him.

Orlena's voice was soft. "Aren't you leaving?"

Brett turned around. He wore a pair of iron-grey trousers and a simple white shirt. Men his age often dressed this way, but few could maintain Brett's physique and demeanor.

Brett's tone was quite gentle. "Did you enjoy last night?"

Her cheeks turned a bit red, but she pretended to be indifferent. "It was alright."

It was alright.