His innocent wife is a dangerous hacker.-Chapter 623 Joy

Bella pulled back, still holding his face. "Thank you. For trying. For making me something. For caring this much."

Leo’s eyes softened. "It’s a terrible painting."

"It’s a wonderful painting. And I’m going to frame it and put it somewhere I can see it every day."

"You’re not."

"I absolutely am."

He groaned, but she saw the smile he was trying to hide.

Bella settled more comfortably in his lap, the lace of her lingerie pressing against his wrinkled shirt. "Now. Tell me about your artistic process. Did you yell at the canvas? Throw brushes? Consider firing your art teacher?"

"I don’t have an art teacher."

"Maybe you need one."

"I have tutorials."

Bella snorted. "Tutorials?"

"They seemed easy." His jaw tightened at the memory. "They lied."

She laughed again, the sound filling the study, chasing away the shadows of his earlier frustration.

Leo watched her, watched the way her whole face lit up, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners, the way she glowed with happiness. This was what he’d wanted. This was what he’d been trying to create.

Her joy.

"Bella," he said quietly.

She stopped laughing, tilting her head. "Hmm?"

"I’d paint a thousand terrible flowers to see you smile like this."

Her expression softened. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his.

"You don’t need to paint anything," she whispered. "Just be here. That’s enough."

He kissed her. Slow and deep and full of everything he still struggled to say.

When they broke apart, Bella was smiling against his lips.

"So," she murmured, "are you done drinking? Or do you need more liquid courage to face the canvas?"

Leo glanced at the bottle. Then back at her. At the lingerie. At the way she was tucked against him.

"I think," he said slowly, "I’ve found something better than whiskey."

Bella’s smile turned mischievous. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He stood smoothly, lifting her with him. She squeaked, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"What about your painting?" she asked.

"It can wait." He carried her toward the door. "This can’t."

She laughed, burying her face in his neck.

Behind them, the terrible little flower sat on its canvas, forgotten but not unloved.

Just like its creator.

***

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed.

Bella stirred slowly, her body aching in all the right places. Every muscle felt pleasantly sore, like she’d done something wonderful and exhausting. She felt warm, satisfied, completely and utterly claimed.

She blinked her eyes open, taking in the familiar ceiling of their bedroom.

Then she realized she was completely naked.

The blanket was draped over her, but only just, pooling around her waist and leaving her shoulders and chest bare. Her skin was marked with small evidence of the night before, faint bruises on her hips where he’d held her too tight, a small mark near her collarbone, another lower, hidden by the blanket.

And suddenly last night rushed back.

Coming back from the study. Him carrying her through the door. The way he’d laid her on the bed so gently, hovering over her like she was something precious.

His hands on her waist. His lips on her neck. The way he’d looked at her when she lay beneath him in that pink lace.

Her cheeks heated.

She remembered how gentle he’d been at first. Slow. Tender. Worshipful. He’d kissed every inch of her, whispering her name like a prayer.

And then—

Then he’d remembered. The university incident. The guy who’d caught her. The way his hands had been on her waist.

His eyes had darkened. His rhythm had changed. He’d pulled out, flipped her onto her stomach, and entered her again from behind, deeper, harder, more demanding.

"Mine," he’d growled against her ear with every thrust. "Tell me you’re mine."

She’d gasped it between moans, her fingers gripping the sheets. Over and over. "Yours, Leo, yours—"

And he hadn’t stopped. Hadn’t slowed. He’d driven into her with a possessiveness that made her see stars, made her forget her own name, made her scream until her voice went hoarse.

She remembered the way he’d pulled her hair gently, just enough to tilt her head back. The way his other hand had gripped her hip hard enough to leave marks. The way he’d whispered filthy things in her ear, things that made her blush now just thinking about them.

She remembered coming apart beneath him, around him, crying out so loud she was sure the whole house heard.

And she remembered him following right after, burying himself deep, groaning her name like it was the only word he knew.

Bella pressed a hand to her burning cheek.

God.

She sat up slowly, the blanket sliding down to her lap, leaving her completely exposed to the morning air. Her skin pebbled, but she barely noticed.

Her body remembered everything. Every touch. Every kiss. Every thrust. The way he’d held her after, still inside her, breathing ragged against her neck. The way he’d eventually softened and pulled out, only to gather her against his chest and hold her like he’d never let go.

She looked around the room.

Empty.

He was gone already.

But on the pillow beside her, there was a note.

She picked it up, hands slightly trembling.

Gone to handle something. Stay in bed. Rest. You’ll need it.

—L

Bella bit her lip, a slow smile spreading across her face.

Below the note, there was a small drawing, a terrible, lopsided flower, clearly added as an afterthought.

She laughed softly, pressing the note to her chest.

That man. Her man.

She lay back down, pulling the blanket up, and replayed every moment of the night before.

Her body tingled just thinking about it.

Then she walked toward the bathroom, her bare feet silent against the cool floor.

Each step sent a small ache through her body, a pleasant reminder of the night before. She caught her reflection in the mirror and paused.

Her hair was a glorious mess, tangled and wild. Her lips were slightly swollen from kissing. And her skin...

She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder.

Marks. Everywhere. Bruises on her hips shaped like fingerprints. A dark mark near her collarbone. Another lower, peeking out from where the towel would cover.

She touched one gently, wincing slightly.

Then smiled.

He’d marked her. Claimed her. Made sure she’d feel him all day.

She turned on the shower, letting the water heat up. Steam began to fill the room as she stepped under the spray.

The warm water cascaded over her skin, soothing the ache in her muscles. She closed her eyes, letting it run over her face, her shoulders, her back.

Her mind drifted to Leo. To the note he’d left. To the terrible little flower he’d drawn.

She laughed softly, the sound echoing off the tile.

That man.