Psycho villain I Raised Wants to Marry Me-Chapter297 – Too much indulgence
When Clarissa woke again, it was already noon.
Sunlight streamed through the cabin window, illuminating two bodies tangled tightly together beneath the sheets.
She opened her eyes slowly, her mind blank for a moment—until the lingering sensations in her body and the heat of the man curled behind her brought everything rushing back.
Her face warmed instantly.
Though she had been the one to start it, remembering everything now still made her shy. At one point, she’d even thought about stopping.
Too much indulgence always came with consequences.
Her body felt like it had been thoroughly dismantled—sore, swollen, aching, exhausted. Clarissa frowned faintly, sighing inwardly. Serves me right.
She felt sticky and uncomfortable. Carefully, she tried to move his arm from her waist so she could get up and wash—
But the slightest movement woke him.
The arm around her tightened, hot breath brushing her neck.
“Awake?”
His hand closed over hers, fingers interlacing. Their bodies fit together far too perfectly.
Clarissa’s heart fluttered.
“Mmm…”
She leaned back into his chest, smiling lazily. “I want to take a shower. Want to come with me?”
If it were the old Clarissa, she would never have said something like that.
Atticus froze for a split second and looked at her—only for her fingers to hook beneath his chin, lifting his face toward hers.
Her touch was soft, fragrant, electric. Every brush of her fingertips sent a shiver straight down his spine.
His gaze darkened.
Sensing it, Clarissa smiled and slid her arms around his neck again, moving closer.
Feeling his breath quicken, she feigned weakness and murmured,
“Atticus… I’m so tired. Can you carry me?”
She rubbed her cheek against his jaw like a languid cat.
The next second, Atticus lifted her effortlessly.
The blanket slipped away, revealing the scattered clothes on the floor. He stepped over them and carried her straight into the bathroom.
Clarissa glanced at his taut profile and smiled wider. Nestling comfortably against his chest, she let out a quiet sigh.
Warm water soon filled the tub. They lowered themselves in together. Clarissa leaned back, the heat easing the soreness in her body, content as Atticus gently massaged her scalp.
Only after the bubbles were rinsed away did she lie back fully.
Atticus moved closer, rubbing her back, kneading her sore limbs and waist with careful hands.
She looked utterly languid—only her smooth white back visible now, long dark hair floating across the water like ink, strands clinging to her shoulders and skin.
Two years had passed. He had changed—and so had she.
Clarissa was more beautiful now, more confident, more radiant. Every smile, every casual movement of hers hooked straight into Atticus’s soul. He couldn’t read her anymore. Couldn’t tell what she was thinking. And so he let himself be led, willingly, step by step, deeper into her orbit.
Lost in thought, he didn’t notice when his hands stopped.
“Why did you stop?” Clarissa’s voice drifted over the water. She exhaled softly, then turned to look at him. “Tired?”
Atticus’s eyes narrowed.
In the next second, he pulled her straight into his arms.
Water splashed violently over the edge of the pool. His low, magnetic voice—hoarse with heat—brushed her ear.
“Tired? Another round wouldn’t be a problem. Want to try?”
Clarissa shivered, instantly sensing the danger beneath his calm. In the end, she chickened out. Still, she hooked her arms around his neck, her voice turning soft and aggrieved.
“You were so cruel last night… I’m really hurting.”
Atticus stiffened.
“Really… that bad?”
“Mmm. It hurts so much. You didn’t care about me at all.”
When he didn’t answer right away, Clarissa frowned slightly and was about to look up—only for him to pull her tightly against his chest.
“I’m sorry.”
She froze.
His hand cradled the back of her head, holding her close.
“Should I rub it for you?”
His voice was unexpectedly gentle, full of care. Warm hands began massaging her waist, the pressure measured and soothing.
The smile on Clarissa’s face slowly faded.
She couldn’t describe what she felt—sour, stinging, faintly bitter. An ache far deeper than physical discomfort spread through her chest.
“Atticus?”
“Hmm?”
She rested against him and whispered, “You helped me so much just now. Let me help you too.”
Atticus startled—but Clarissa had already kissed him.
He trembled. Before the kiss could deepen, she pushed him back into the water with a splash. This time, Atticus took the initiative, flipping their positions again.
Water sprayed everywhere. The pool gradually cooled, but the air in the room only grew hotter.
They didn’t stop until well past two in the afternoon.
Clarissa lay against his chest, utterly drained. Even with years of training, she was still no match for him.
When Atticus finally lifted her out, she was completely limp, barely able to move a finger.
He set her down and ordered food.
The scent alone gave Clarissa a little strength. She forced her aching body forward, stuffing food into her mouth.
She was starving.
Atticus watched her quietly, a soft smile playing at his lips, continuously adding food to her plate.
“Slow down. Take your time.”
She glanced at him.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I can tolerate this level of hunger.”
At her curious look, he explained calmly,
“I once went three days without food—only water—then hiked thirty kilometers carrying eighty kilos.”
Clarissa went quiet for a moment, then murmured,
“Really? I didn’t know…”
Catching his gaze, she smiled gently.
“When I first saw you, I knew you had a story. Looks like I was right. Atticus… you’re incredible.”
She took his hand.
“Atticus.”
“Hm?”
He stared at her, dazed. Just that smile made his heart thunder in his chest. It had been dormant for so long—only waking when she was near, reminding him he was still alive.
Clarissa looked at their intertwined fingers and spoke slowly.
“I want to know more about you. The good, the bad—it doesn’t matter. I want to know everything. Atticus… will you tell me?”
“Clarissa…”
For a fleeting second, Atticus was convinced she remembered everything. Then he rejected the thought. Could she really forgive what he’d done to her before?
Before he could steady himself, she spoke again.
“I’ve liked you from the very first moment I saw you. Atticus… do you like me?”
His heart, just lifted, sank again.
He didn’t know how to answer.
He didn’t want her to remember the past. But what about her feelings now? How were they any different from before?
If not for last night, he could still hide behind the excuse of doctor and patient. But now—
Her voice pressed closer.
Atticus took a deep breath and wrapped her tightly in his arms.
“I… I like you too. I like Clarissa very much. I love her. I love her deeply.”
“Is that so…” Clarissa smiled, hugging him back, burying herself against his chest.
“That’s… wonderful.”
.......
Clarissa had eaten quite a bit and felt pleasantly full, so she stretched out on the chaise lounge to rest.
This was Atticus’s room. She was wearing only his white shirt—far too large for her—hanging loosely over her body, giving her a lazy, seductive air.
Atticus was cleaning up the chaos. He gathered the scattered clothes into the laundry basket, picked up the numbered tag that had fallen to the floor, and began changing the rumpled sheets. When he lifted the covers, Clarissa immediately caught sight of the dark, suggestive stains on the black fabric, and last night’s heat rushed back into her mind.
Her face warmed. “Throw it away.”
Even though the staff would pretend they hadn’t seen anything, the thought still made her uncomfortable.
Atticus paused. When he looked up, her cheeks were flushed, tinged with unmistakable shyness.
He chuckled, deliberately setting the sheets aside as he turned to tease her.
“Throw it away? Why?”
“Because—” Clarissa realized too late that she’d walked right into it. She glared at him. “Atticus!”
Laughing softly, he pulled her into his arms and murmured into her ear,
“This is proof that Clarissa was very comfortable. Wouldn’t it be a waste to destroy it?”
“Don’t say things like that…” She quickly covered his lips with her hand. This man—still shameless as ever.
What she didn’t realize was how she looked at that moment, like a flower just beginning to bloom, pale pink and irresistibly soft. Atticus’s gaze darkened.
“Clarissa…”
She instinctively looked up—only to be pressed back onto the chaise lounge. Her wrists were pinned above her head, her lips sealed beneath his.
Realizing what he intended, she struggled, muffled protests escaping her throat, her long legs kicking instinctively. It was useless. He subdued her with ease.
His weight settled over her, and through the thin fabric she could clearly feel the hard lines of his body—solid, burning, unyielding.
Her face burned. His kisses weakened her, her body responding despite herself. But in the end, reason won out. She pushed weakly at his chest, breathless.
“Atticus… I really can’t anymore…”
Another time and she would truly fall apart.
He froze, then rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she lay against his chest. He took several slow breaths, forcing his desire down. Clarissa didn’t dare move, afraid of reigniting him. She was exhausted—another round would absolutely ruin her.
They stayed like that for nearly ten minutes before Atticus finally calmed. He kissed her forehead and asked softly,
“Where do you want to go this afternoon?”
She wanted nothing more than to sleep, but then she remembered something.
“I heard the sunset here is beautiful. Let’s go see it later.”
“Okay.”
“Then hurry up and get ready,” she added briskly. “Go next door and get me some clothes. And move your things over there too—I like that room better. It’s brighter and bigger.”
She was very good at ordering him around now; the words came naturally. Watching her curled lazily in his arms, Atticus’s eyes softened even more.
“Alright.”
He quickly finished tidying up, then went next door to fetch her clothes.
Clarissa was growing drowsy. When he returned, she instinctively nestled into his arms and said sweetly,
“I’m so tired. I don’t want to move… can you help me change?”
Atticus’s Adam’s apple bobbed. She was trying to kill him.
Taking a steadying breath, he unbuttoned her shirt and helped her change with swift, practiced movements. This time, he didn’t dare linger—Clarissa was a poison he could never resist.
She sat in the chair while he patiently combed her long hair. Watching him from the corner of her eye, a smile curved her lips, slowly widening.
“Do you want me to style it?” he asked.
“No, this is fine.” She stood, kissed his cheek, and smiled. “Thank you for your hard work, Atticus.”
He stiffened again.
Clarissa took his hand, their fingers threading together.
“Let’s go.”
Warmth flooded his chest—a sweetness so intense it nearly drove him mad.
Chapter297 – Too much indulgence
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