The Forbidden Throb Chapter 143

Emma's POV:

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, painting soft gold across the hotel suite.

I woke slowly, reluctantly, my body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that came from too much emotion and not enough sleep. The pillow beside me still held the indent of Daniel's head, and I reached out instinctively, my fingers finding only cool sheets.

He was already up.

I'd collapsed into bed the moment we returned to the hotel last night, barely managing to change into one of Daniel's shirts before exhaustion claimed me. I vaguely remembered him tucking the duvet around me, the press of his lips against my forehead, his whispered "Sleep well, baby."

I got up and heard him before I saw him—the quiet clink of dishes, the soft rush of running water. I found him in the kitchenette area, his back to me as he worked.

He'd changed into dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his movements precise and unhurried as he sliced fruit on a cutting board.

The domesticity of it made my chest sweet.

*I don't want to leave this.*

The thought came unbidden, fierce and frightening in its intensity. I wanted to stay in this bubble where it was just us, where the rest of the world couldn't reach me.

"Could we just... not go back to Boston?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice still rough with sleep, carrying more vulnerability than I'd intended.

Daniel turned, and the look he gave me was so tender it made my throat tight. But his voice, when he spoke, was gentle but firm. "We have a flight tomorrow, baby."

I buried my face in the pillow, trying to hide the way it affected me. "I like it better here," I mumbled into the fabric, knowing I sounded petulant but unable to help it.

I heard his soft laugh, felt the bed dip as he sat beside me. "Come on. Breakfast is ready."

"Not hungry," I lied, pulling the duvet over my head.

His hand found my shoulder through the covers, warm and steady. "Emma."

Something in the way he said my name—patient but unyielding—made me peek out. He was holding a tray: fresh fruit arranged in neat rows, yogurt in a small glass bowl, a perfectly golden croissant still steaming slightly.

The care he'd taken with it made my resistance crumble.

I sat up slowly, the sheet pooling around my waist. Daniel's eyes tracked the movement, lingering on the oversized shirt I'd borrowed from him, before he caught himself and looked away.

He settled on the bed's edge, the tray between us, and speared a strawberry with a fork. When he held it to my lips, the gesture was so natural, so practiced, that for a moment I could almost believe we'd done this a thousand times before.

I bit into the strawberry, the sweetness bursting on my tongue, but my gaze drifted past him to the window. Paris stretched beyond the glass, all slate rooftops and elegant spires catching the morning light.

"I didn't even see the Eiffel Tower properly," I said, and hated how wistful I sounded.

Daniel set down the fork, his full attention shifting to me. "Then we'll come back in spring. Paris is most beautiful in April."

Something in my chest loosened. The panic that had been building since I woke—the fear that this was all temporary, that I'd have to let go of this feeling when we returned to real life—began to ease.

Yes. We have time. So much time.

Going back to Boston didn't mean this would end. We could come back next year, and the year after that. This wasn't goodbye to Paris—it was just... see you later.

"Okay," I whispered, and meant it.

His lips curved, just slightly. "Good girl."

---

By noon, I'd abandoned any thoughts of going out.

The idea of navigating more cobblestone streets, of being jostled by tourists, of pretending to be interested in landmarks when all I really wanted was to be near Daniel.

"I think I'll just stay here," I said, watching him from where I'd curled up on the sofa. "If that's okay?"

Daniel looked up from his laptop, and something in his expression softened. "More than okay." He closed the screen. "What do you want to do?"

"Could we..." I hesitated, suddenly feeling shy. "Maybe watch a movie? Together?"

His answer was to stand and cross to the windows, drawing the heavy curtains closed until the room fell into comfortable dimness. He moved to the entertainment center, and soft light from the TV screen illuminated his profile as he scrolled through options.

"Any preferences?" he asked.

"You choose."

He settled on Beauty and the Beast, the animated Disney version, and I couldn't help but smile.

Daniel returned to the sofa, and this time I didn't hesitate. I climbed directly onto his lap, my legs folding on either side of his thighs, my hands coming to rest on his shoulders.

His breath caught—I heard it, felt the way his chest hitched beneath my palms.

"Emma," he said, and there was a warning in his voice, rough and strained.

But I just settled more comfortably against him, watching the way his ears flushed pink, then red. It fascinated me, this visible evidence of his reaction. I reached up, unable to resist, and touched the heated shell of his ear with gentle fingers.

Daniel's eyes fluttered closed. His eyelids looked faintly red, and when he opened them again, his pupils were dilated, dark and wanting.

His hands found my waist, grip firm but careful. "What are you doing?" His voice was steady, controlled—but I could feel his heart racing beneath my palm.

"Sitting with you," I said innocently. "Watching a movie."

"Emma." My name was half warning, half plea.

I smiled and pressed a kiss to his jaw, light and teasing, before finally—mercifully—shifting to sit beside him instead, tucking myself against his side.

"Okay," I said finally, my voice coming out slightly breathless. "I'll be good."

His arm came around me immediately, and I felt the tension slowly drain from his body as the opening credits began to play.

"You're trouble," he murmured against my hair.

I smiled into his shoulder. "You like it."

But I couldn't seem to settle. My fingers traced idle patterns on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his shirt. I shifted closer, then closer still, until I was practically in his lap again. My lips found the line of his jaw, pressing soft kisses there.

"Emma." His voice held a warning, but it was weaker than before.

"Hmm?" I hummed against his skin, deliberately innocent.

His hand caught my chin, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. They were dark, pupils blown wide, and something in his expression had shifted from restraint to something more dangerous.

"You've been testing me all day," he said, his voice low and rough. "Is that what you want? To see how far you can push?"

Before I could answer, he moved—swift and decisive—shifting our positions until I was on my back on the sofa, his body covering mine, caging me in. One hand braced beside my head, the other still on my waist, holding me steady.

My breath caught. This Daniel—intense, unleashed—made my heart race.

"I—" My voice came out small, breathless. "I'm still sore from last time."

I watched his expression shift, saw the way his jaw tightened as he processed my words. But instead of pulling away, he lowered his head until his lips were at my throat.

"Then I'll be gentle," he murmured against my skin, and the promise in his voice made heat pool low in my belly. "So gentle, baby. I'll take care of you."

His mouth found mine, and this kiss was different—slower, deeper, full of restrained intensity. His hands moved with deliberate care, as though I were something precious and fragile.

"Tell me if it's too much," he whispered between kisses. "Tell me, and I'll stop."

But I didn't want him to stop.

I wound my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and whispered against his lips: "Please don't stop. I want to make you happy."