Spoiled By My Nine Beast Husbands (Emma Tibarn) novel Chapter 321

Chapter 321 Don’t Be In Such A Hurry

But now, this world was Emma’s home–filled with the people she cherished and those she would never abandon. She wasn’t going anywhere.

After saying so, she noticed Lucien’s body still held that rigid tension, so she rose slightly and caught his car between her teeth in a playful nip.

“All right,” she murmured, her tone slipping into something low and wickedly soft, “serious talk’s over. Now it’s my turn to make it up to you.” Her warm breath caressed his skin as she lifted a finger, sliding it under his chin and tracing slow, deliberate circles along his smooth jaw.

“So,” she whispered, lips curving into a smile that was half challenge, half promise, “how exactly do you want me to make it up to you?”

Lucien’s breath hitched, chest tightening as his throat worked on its own. His voice came out rougher, strained with longing. “Emma…” Just that name, repeated over and over on his lips, carrying a weight of restrained desire.

Her lips curved into a mischievous, almost impish smile. Her fingertip glided slowly along his jawline, eyes glittering like distant stars.

A rush of warmth surged through his chest. “Emma!” His hoarse tone was edged with urgent need.

“Mmh?” she drawled, deliberately stretching the sound. She leaned in slightly, letting her warm breath brush softly against the shell of his ear. “Don’t be in such a hurry,” she whispered, voice low and coaxing. “I need to figure out exactly how to make it up to you… how to make it really worth it.”

She froze in place, studying him, every motion halted as she held his attention completely. His body coiled like a taut spring, every muscle straining as he fought the instinct to pull her into him completely, to let her become a part of him.

Yet he let her play, let her tease, even as it drove him wild. His Emma always knew exactly how to unravel him in an instant, leaving him utterly captive to her.

Her fingers lingered on his chest for a heartbeat, then she reached for the black silk ribbon on the bed and gently draped it over his eyes. The soft fabric settled, and darkness swallowed his vision.

Stripped of sight, every other sense flared to life. He caught the faint rhythm of her breathing, the faint, sweet fragrance of her skin, and felt her nearness like electricity.

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Then, without warning, her lips pressed against his, soft and teasing. “Like this… does this count as making it up to you?” Her voice was like a siren of the night, smooth and intoxicating, pulling at him in a way that left him helpless.

Her lips barely touched his–more a whisper than a kiss, a flicker of warmth that disappeared too soon. It wasn’t tenderness she offered, but temptation–light enough to sting, enough to set every nerve ablaze.

Lucien’s restraint snapped. He lunged forward, desperate to claim her mouth. But Emma was quicker. She’d seen it coming and leaned away, graceful and untouchable, leaving his hands to grasp only emptiness,

A laugh rippled through the darkness, light and cunning, the sound of a fox toying with its

prey.

“Patience, darling,” she murmured, fingertips gliding along his cheek. “We’re only at the beginning.” Then she silenced whatever protest lingered on his lips–with another kiss, slow and consuming.

Something inside Lucien gave way–snapping like a wire pulled too tight. In that instant, restraint turned to fire. He surged forward, the balance shifting in an instant; what had been teasing and playful turned raw and consuming.

The air grew heavy, every heartbeat louder, the space between them thick with heat. Silk and fabric hit the floor in a tangle, the black ribbon falling among them like a silent witness.

At last, the storm he had buried inside broke loose. He gathered Emma into his arms with a force born of longing and surrender, pouring into her everything he hadn’t dared to say, everything he’d kept caged–like he could fuse her into his very being.

Outside, light faded from the world, and the quiet night swallowed what the day could not

contain.

When consciousness finally seeped back into Emma’s world, she realized the sun had risen and set twice without her. Lucien was stretched beside her, one arm folded under his head, the other loosely draped around her, keeping her close but not confined. A few loose strands of his hair had slipped free, teasing across her cheek each time he breathed.

“You’re finally up,” he said, voice rich and tender, carrying a warmth that could drown a storm. “Emma, you’ve been out for two days,” he murmured. “I gave you Silas‘ flowers and nutrient fluids. Tell me, does anything hurt?”

Her lashes fluttered. “Two…. days?” she echoed, trying to stitch the fragments of memory

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together.

Slowly, she lifted an arm, flexing her fingers, gauging her strength. The fatigue she expected never came. Instead, she felt startlingly alive–energy pulsing through every joint, every bone, every breath. Her mind was clear, her body humming with renewed power, as if the world itself had poured vitality back into her veins.

“I feel great, really,” she said with a spark of liveliness in her tone. “Better than ever, actually.” She tossed the blanket aside and shifted to stand, but before her feet even touched the ground, Lucien’s arm looped around her waist, drawing her gently but firmly back against him.

“Slow down,” he chided softly. “Stay in bed a little longer. If there’s something that can’t wait, tell me. I’ll take care of it.”

She gave a half–laugh and slipped free from his grasp. “Unless you’ve suddenly learned how to help someone bathe, I doubt you can.”

Though her body felt fresh enough after two days of deep rest, the idea of sinking into a warm nutrient bath, letting it revive her skin and soothe her senses, was too tempting to ignore.

He leaned in until his breath ghosted over her ear, voice dipping into a dark purr. “Who said I can’t lend a hand? I could always join you… in the bath.” The look in his crimson eyes said everything—blatant, hungry, and impossible to misread.

She didn’t even blink. Her refusal came sharp and immediate. “Not happening.” Her palms pressed against his chest, shoving him back before he could get clever.

Was this man serious? She’d just woken up from a forty–eight–hour coma–if she let him have his way, she’d be out cold for another round. Knowing him, if he set foot in that bathroom, there wouldn’t be any bathing happening at all. The sun would rise before the water even touched her skin.