Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 54: Don’t Touch

Matthew

I close the door to the bedroom behind me. My shoulders are tight, and my mind is a tangled mess. The day was long, filled with problems in the office I didn’t have the energy to solve. And now Sarah is asking me about cheesecake.

Cheesecake.

I let out a dry chuckle, running a hand through my hair. Why does it even matter? Chocolate, strawberry, plain—I don’t care. It’s just dessert.

I start to unbutton my shirt. All I want to do is to lie down and shut the world out.

The door creaks open, and I glance up to see Sarah standing there.

"What is it?" I ask sharply.

She flinches slightly, and I curse myself under my breath. Even though I made it my mission to be mean to her, I am still not used to the sight of her cowering.

"I just..." She hesitates, her gaze dropping to the floor.

I let out a slow breath, leaning back on my hands. "What is it?"

She takes a tentative step closer. "I made a doctor’s appointment for tomorrow."

I freeze, my fingers still on the last three buttons of my shirt.

"A doctor’s appointment?" My voice is flat, emotionless.

She nods, still not meeting my eyes. "For the baby."

The baby.

I exhale through my nose, pushing down the emotions threatening to surface. "And you’re telling me because...?"

Sarah lifts her gaze, uncertainty flickering in her green eyes. "Because I thought you might want to come."

I bark out a humorless laugh. "Why would you think that?"

She flinches again, but this time, she doesn’t back down. "Because it’s your child too, Matthew."

"I don’t need to be there," I say finally, standing up and turning away. "You can handle it yourself."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarah’s shoulders slump, her fingers twisting together.

"You don’t have to do this, you know," she murmurs.

I pause. "Do what?"

"Pretend like you don’t care." Her voice is soft, but there’s a strength beneath it. "I know you, Matthew. And I know you care."

A bitter taste fills my mouth. "You don’t know anything."

Sarah steps closer and reaches for me.

For a moment, I contemplate slapping her hand away, but I don’t. I watch as she reaches out and starts to unbutton my shirt.

Her fingers are cool against my skin, and I hold my breath. I should stop her. Push her away. Say something cutting that will make her retreat back through that door.

But I don’t.

"I know enough," she whispers, undoing the last button.

My jaw clenches, but I don’t say anything.

A sad smile plays on her lips. "You’re trying so hard to be cold, Matthew. To push me away."

"I truly do not want anything to do with you or this baby, Sarah. I am merely tolerating you both. At least for now," I declare, even though deep down, I know it’s not true. Ever since she told me about this damn baby, it’s all I can think about. I’ve always wanted to be a father and have a family of my own. I just never imagined it would be with Sarah.

And now, it’s really happening.

"The appointment is at ten," Sarah says. "I’ll understand if you don’t come." frёeωebɳovel.com

"I won’t," I say.

She slides the shirt down my shoulders and grazes her fingers over his chest, leaving trails of warmth that contradict everything I’m trying to feel. Her touch is light, almost reverent as if she’s mapping territories she fears might soon be lost to her.

I should step back. I should put distance between us. Instead, I stand frozen as her fingertips trace the contours of my collarbone, then drift down to the center of my chest. She pauses over my heart, and I wonder if she can feel it betraying me, hammering against my ribs.

"Your heart is racing," she observes quietly, her eyes following the movement of her hand. Her palm flattens against my chest, warm and steady.

"Stop," I manage, but it comes out hoarse, unconvincing.

"Why?" Her fingers continue their exploration, tracing the lines of muscle down to my abdomen.

I exhale sharply and step back, breaking the contact. "Just stop touching me."

She gives me a small smile. "Fine. It’s almost time for dinner, so take a shower and meet me in the dining room."

I raise an eyebrow. "Ordering me now?"

Sarah tilts her head slightly, her lips curving in a way that almost seems amused. "No. It is a request," she says, turning toward the door.

I watch her leave, my chest tightening in a way I refuse to acknowledge.

She’s right—I don’t want to care. But I do. And no matter how much I push her away, she keeps finding a way back in.

Damn her.

With a low curse, I head into the bathroom. The hot water scalds my skin, but it does little to ease the tension coiling in my muscles. My mind keeps circling back to the way she touched me.

It was a very tentative touch, and yet, I am as hard as a rock between my legs.

I finish my shower quickly, trying to shake the lingering sensation of her fingertips against my chest. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I step out into the bedroom.

I get dressed slowly, pulling on a dark sweater and jeans. I run a hand through my damp hair before heading downstairs.

The dining room is dimly lit, the aroma of something delicious lingering in the air. Sarah is already seated at the table, her back straight as she pokes at her plate with a fork. She doesn’t look up when I enter, but I know she hears me.

I take the seat across from her, dragging the chair out a little too harshly. The scrape of wood against the tile is loud in the silence.

She finally glances at me, her gaze skimming over my face before settling on my hands, which I keep clenched on the table. "You came."

"Why wouldn’t I? I am starving," I bark.

Sarah nods slowly, then takes a bite of her food. I watch as she chews, my appetite is nonexistent.

"Are you going to come tomorrow?" she asks after a moment.

I already told her no.

But the words won’t come out as easily this time.

I clear my throat. "I don’t know."

Her lips press together. She sets her fork down, looking almost resigned. "Alright."

And just like that, she drops it.

She doesn’t push. She doesn’t plead.

Somehow, that makes it worse.

I clear my throat. "Maybe you should ask someone else."

She looks at me questioningly. "Someone else?"

"Yes. Maybe ask Josh. He lives close by, doesn’t he? Maybe he would like to play daddy since he is always so eager to see you," I say, not even attempting to hide the bitterness in my voice.

Sarah’s eyes narrow, and for a second, I swear I see something flicker behind them—anger, maybe, or disappointment.

"Maybe I will ask him," she says evenly, picking up her fork again. "I could use the support."

She wouldn’t dare.

Would she?