Sweet Flash Marriage with the Restrained Tycoon (Isabelle and Damien) novel Chapter 88

Yet, in the dim moonlight, his expression of utter contentment was unmistakable.

Isabelle drew a steadying breath, realizing Damian was a master of appearances.

The man who presented himself as untouchable and severe—so much that even a stray glance from a woman seemed unthinkable—was an entirely different person in private.

"Reserved" wasn't the right word—not quite.

It was as if he inhabited two separate skins.

Where was the cold, disciplined CEO now?

Nowhere to be found.

Isabelle covered her face, still feeling the heat of his gaze and the flush that spread across her skin.

She didn't dare look in the mirror. Biting her lip, she tried to push the recent memories from her mind.

But her thoughts betrayed her—Damian's image lingered, vivid and consuming.

The sound of his satisfied voice still echoed faintly in her ears.

After lingering in the bathroom for a long while, she finally turned off the light and carefully slipped back under the covers.

Assuming he was asleep, she was pulled firmly into his warm embrace the moment she lay down.

Their eyes met in the darkness.

They could feel each other's breath, warm and close.

"Still hungry?"

What kind of hunger was he referring to?

"If you're satisfied, sleep. If not... you can take your time. I can't promise my restraint will hold."

Isabelle quickly ducked her head and shut her eyes, a nervous flutter in her chest.

Is his stamina truly endless?

How many times has it been now, and he's still not sated?

Damian tightened his arms around her waist, drawing her closer, and pressed a soft kiss into her hair.

The poor thing was exhausted—she'd barely been able to stand by the time they made it to the bathroom earlier.

He couldn't be that much of a beast. If he pushed her too far and she grew upset, it wouldn't be worth it.

A faint, private smile touched his lips. Finally, she was willingly resting in his arms.

Though physically drained, Isabelle's mind remained alert. Sleep felt impossible.

What was done was done. From now on, this would likely be the new normal between them. As straightforward as that sounded, the mere thought of a "next time" sent her heart into a frantic rhythm.

Damian reached out and gently stroked her hair, unable to resist the softness.

Isabelle's heart skipped, but she didn't dare open her eyes.

She was still reeling from his earlier words—"Still hungry?"

After all this time together, Isabelle had come to realize he was an exceptionally gentle man—at least with her.

"Belie... goodnight," he whispered softly, holding her close.

A slight, unconscious smile touched Isabelle's lips as she nestled into the solid warmth of his chest.

"Goodnight," she murmured silently against him.

*****

The next morning, he rose early and left for the office.

He'd sent a message saying he'd left breakfast prepared in the kitchen.

This notoriously reserved CEO, ever since being teased about his silence, had been messaging her whenever he had a spare moment.

It made Isabelle too nervous to even open her work computer's messaging app.

"Not seeing anyone."

Just married, that's all.

The elevator arrived at the 28th floor.

As the doors opened, the sweet, rich scent of baked goods filled the air.

The design department was buzzing with cheerful chatter.

Before Isabelle could even settle at her desk, she spotted a familiar pastry box waiting for her.

Sweet Dreams Café.

"Mr. Cross had these delivered first thing. One for everyone in the company," Eleanor said, happily taking a bite of a chocolate éclair.

"Who eats dessert first thing in the morning..."

Isabelle frowned, unable to decipher his logic.

"Whether people eat it or not is beside the point—the gesture is what counts. I've been here two years, and this is the first time I've seen Mr. Cross in such a visibly good mood."

Of course he's in a good mood...

The company's unofficial social chat, "DailyGrind", was blowing up.

"First time I've ever seen a woman get dropped off from Mr. Cross' car, and Brian was driving."

No need to guess—that woman was Diana.

"You think the marks on Mr. Cross' neck are from her?"

"Is she the rumored Muddlehead? Oh my god, this is huge. The company hits a rough patch, and Muddlehead sweeps in—are we about to level up?"

"You think Mr. Cross... you know... slept with her to secure the Muddlehead collaboration?"

The speculation was growing more and more outrageous.