My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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The instant his skin met mine, a wave of heat flooded through me, making my breath catch. I shivered involuntarily, my delicate frame trembling under his touch.
"Vivian, does your ankle hurt?" Chase murmured, his voice low and tender.
"It's... fine," I whispered, biting my rosy lips.
"Tell me if it does. I'll be careful."
His hands cradled my stocking-clad ankle, kneading with deliberate gentleness. The pleased glint in his eyes unsettled me.
Did black stockings really fascinate him that much?
No wonder he'd been sneaking around earlier, touching them. And Vanessa always wore black stockings at home—probably because he asked her to.
The thought made my skin crawl. I lowered my voice.
"Chase, massaging through stockings isn't very effective. Should I... take them off?"
I expected him to protest, but instead, his eyes lit up.
That threw me.
Weren't men supposed to love stockings? Why would he want them gone?
"Sure, Vivian. Lie back—I'll help you," he said, nodding toward the couch as he reached for me.
But these weren't thigh-highs—they were full stockings. No way was I letting him assist.
"Don't. Just turn around," I insisted, my cheeks burning.
With an awkward chuckle, Chase obliged. Only when I was sure he wasn't peeking did I hesitantly lift my skirt and peel the stockings off, tucking them aside.
"Okay... you can turn back now."
"Mhm."
He turned, kneeling before me again, fingers wrapping around my bare ankle.
"Brace yourself—this might sting a little."
"Okay," I nodded, gripping the couch.
Then it hit me—my skirt was too short.
Without the stockings, only thin silk separated me from his gaze. And from his position, crouched between my legs, he had a perfect view.
His stare sent an odd twist through my stomach. I shifted, pressing my skirt firmly against my thighs.
His expression darkened when the sight vanished, but he stayed put, hands still working my ankle—except his grip tightened.
Then his fingers began drifting upward, tracing slow circles along my calf.
As I lay back, the roughness of his touch sent an unexpected jolt through me. A traitorous part of me wanted those hands to climb higher.
"Hah..." My breath hitched, face flaming.
"Chase," I managed, voice shaky, "isn't... isn't this enough? It doesn't hurt anymore."
"Not yet," he said, lifting my foot onto his lap. My toes brushed the hard planes of his abs, and I jerked.
The contact sent another electric thrill through me. My breathing turned ragged, heat pooling low in my belly.
With every deliberate stroke of his hands, my body tensed, pulse racing.
No—
I clamped my skirt down, face burning, and tried to pull away.
But Chase held my ankle firmly, his grip unyielding. Worse—his thumb teased the arch of my foot while his other hand slid higher, fingers skimming my bare thigh.
"N-no... stop!"
"Vivian, does your ankle hurt?" Chase murmured, his voice low and tender.
"It's... fine," I whispered, biting my rosy lips.
"Tell me if it does. I'll be careful."
His hands cradled my stocking-clad ankle, kneading with deliberate gentleness. The pleased glint in his eyes unsettled me.
Did black stockings really fascinate him that much?
No wonder he'd been sneaking around earlier, touching them. And Vanessa always wore black stockings at home—probably because he asked her to.
The thought made my skin crawl. I lowered my voice.
"Chase, massaging through stockings isn't very effective. Should I... take them off?"
I expected him to protest, but instead, his eyes lit up.
That threw me.
Weren't men supposed to love stockings? Why would he want them gone?
"Sure, Vivian. Lie back—I'll help you," he said, nodding toward the couch as he reached for me.
But these weren't thigh-highs—they were full stockings. No way was I letting him assist.
"Don't. Just turn around," I insisted, my cheeks burning.
With an awkward chuckle, Chase obliged. Only when I was sure he wasn't peeking did I hesitantly lift my skirt and peel the stockings off, tucking them aside.
"Okay... you can turn back now."
"Mhm."
He turned, kneeling before me again, fingers wrapping around my bare ankle.
"Brace yourself—this might sting a little."
"Okay," I nodded, gripping the couch.
Then it hit me—my skirt was too short.
Without the stockings, only thin silk separated me from his gaze. And from his position, crouched between my legs, he had a perfect view.
His stare sent an odd twist through my stomach. I shifted, pressing my skirt firmly against my thighs.
His expression darkened when the sight vanished, but he stayed put, hands still working my ankle—except his grip tightened.
Then his fingers began drifting upward, tracing slow circles along my calf.
As I lay back, the roughness of his touch sent an unexpected jolt through me. A traitorous part of me wanted those hands to climb higher.
"Hah..." My breath hitched, face flaming.
"Chase," I managed, voice shaky, "isn't... isn't this enough? It doesn't hurt anymore."
"Not yet," he said, lifting my foot onto his lap. My toes brushed the hard planes of his abs, and I jerked.
The contact sent another electric thrill through me. My breathing turned ragged, heat pooling low in my belly.
With every deliberate stroke of his hands, my body tensed, pulse racing.
No—
I clamped my skirt down, face burning, and tried to pull away.
But Chase held my ankle firmly, his grip unyielding. Worse—his thumb teased the arch of my foot while his other hand slid higher, fingers skimming my bare thigh.
"N-no... stop!"
End of My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to My Husband Hired My Temptation Next Door book page.