Contract Marriage: I Will Never Love You-Chapter 80: Let Me Help

Matthew

I watch Sarah delicately sand the wood. My lips curled into a small smile. This girl has never had to work with her hands in her entire life, and I can tell that from watching her.

But she’s trying. That’s what gets me. She’s holding the sandpaper awkwardly, her movements slow and careful, like she’s afraid she’ll ruin the crib if she presses too hard.

I lean against the workbench, arms crossed, watching her struggle for a moment longer before finally stepping in. "Here," I say, reaching for her hand. "You’ve gotta hold it like this."

Sarah looks up at me, her brows furrowed. "I am holding it like that."

I smirk. "No, you’re holding it like you think it’s about to bite you." I take her hand gently, adjusting her grip. "Use firm, even strokes. Let the sandpaper do the work."

She huffs but follows my guidance, trying again. It’s still not perfect, but at least she’s not treating it like fragile glass anymore.

"You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?" she accuses, glancing up at me.

"A little," I admit, smirking. "But I appreciate the effort."

Sarah rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the small smile tugging at her lips.

For a while, we work in silence, side by side. I focus on assembling the final joints of the crib while she continues sanding the last few pieces. It’s... nice. Peaceful. Something I didn’t think I’d ever have again, not with her.

I glance over at her, taking in the way her hair falls over her face as she concentrates, the way her hands are delicate but determined.

"Why do we need to sand this again?" she asks.

I chuckle, shaking my head as I tighten a screw into place. "So the baby doesn’t get splinters."

Sarah pauses, staring at the sandpaper like it personally offended her. "Splinters? From this?" She runs her fingers over the wood as if testing my claim.

"Trust me," I say, grabbing another piece of sandpaper. "You wouldn’t want to deal with a crying baby and splinters at the same time. Besides, the paint won’t look good if the surface isn’t smooth."

She nods and keeps sanding, her strokes becoming steadier.

"You’re doing good," I say.

Sarah looks up at me and smiles. And something in my chest loosens.

"Where were you today?" I ask.

Her face lights up. "Becky and I had been at the baby stores. We bought SO much stuff, you wouldn’t believe it!"

I raise an eyebrow. "Oh, I would believe it. How much damage are we talking?"

Sarah grins, clearly proud of herself. "Let’s just say the baby won’t need clothes for at least a year."

I let out a low whistle. "That bad, huh?"

She shrugs, still smiling. "Everything was just so cute. Becky practically had to drag me away before I bought an entire nursery set."

I shake my head, amused. "You know babies grow fast, right? Half that stuff won’t even fit after a few months."

She waves me off. "I know that. But I couldn’t help myself. You should’ve seen the little onesies with animal ears. And the tiny socks!"

I lean back, watching her ramble. There’s a glow to her, something I haven’t seen in a long time. She is happy. And despite my decision to make her miserable, I can’t bring myself to ruin this moment.

"That’s enough sanding," I tell her and she puts the sandpaper down. "Let’s leave it for now. I will paint it tomorrow."

Sarah smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you for doing this," she says softly. "For the baby."

"It’s nothing," I mutter, suddenly uncomfortable with her gaze. "You should rest. I can finish up here."

She sighs. "Yeah. Maybe I am a little tired."

She then walks over and, before I can react, places a quick kiss on my cheek. "Thank you," she whispers, and then she’s gone, leaving me standing there, the ghost of her lips still warm on my skin.

I run my fingers over the spot, confused by the rush of conflicting emotions.

I stare at the crib for a long moment before going back inside the house.

I grab a beer from the fridge, draining half of it in one long pull before heading upstairs. I need a shower too.

As I reach the top of the stairs, I hear it, the soft splash of water, the faint melody of Sarah humming to herself. I pause outside the bathroom door, which is cracked open just enough to release tendrils of steam into the hallway.

Without thinking, I push it open wider.

Sarah is soaking in the bathtub, her hair piled messily atop her head, loose strands clinging to her damp neck. The water is clouded with bath salts or oils, small islands of bubbles floating on the surface.

Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back against the porcelain edge, and one arm is draped lazily over the side of the tub. She looks peaceful. Beautiful, even.

She opens her eyes, startling slightly when she sees me standing in the doorway.

"Matthew," she says, her voice soft with surprise. "I didn’t hear you come up."

"I, uh..." I clear my throat, suddenly aware that I’m still holding my half-empty beer. "I was going to take a shower, but I can wait."

Sarah shifts slightly in the water, causing small ripples to spread across the surface. "It’s okay. I’m almost done anyway."

I step fully into the bathroom, setting my beer down on the counter.

"How about I help you wash your hair?" I say.

Her eyes widen slightly. "What?"

"Your hair," I repeat. "Let me help you wash your hair."

She looks at me, then slowly nods. "Okay."

I roll up my sleeves, feeling oddly nervous as Sarah turns in the tub, presenting her back to me. She reaches up and pulls the elastic from her hair, letting it tumble down in loose waves. freewёbnoνel.com

"There’s shampoo on the shelf," she says, her voice soft.

I reach for the bottle, pouring a generous amount into my palm. The scent fills the steamy air—citrus and something floral. Sarah’s scent.

"Tilt your head back," I instruct, and she complies, leaning against the edge of the tub.

I hesitate for just a moment before sinking my fingers into her hair. It’s silky and thick, sliding between my fingers like water itself. I begin to massage the shampoo into her scalp, working from her temples back.

Sarah lets out a small, contented sigh, her eyes fluttering closed. "That feels nice."

I swallow hard, rinsing the last of the shampoo from her strands.

"All done," I say, my voice rougher than I intended.

Sarah blinks her eyes open and turns slightly to look at me. Her cheeks are flushed. "Tha-thank you."

"Yeah," I murmur and stand up, my cock hard.

"I just remembered, I need to make a call. Business stuff," I mutter, backing away from the tub. "Forgot completely."

The bathroom suddenly feels too small. The steam clings to my skin, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it’s not the steam at all. Maybe it’s the way Sarah is looking at me, her eyes wide and questioning, water droplets dripping from her collarbone to her breasts.

I don’t wait for her response. I grab my beer from the counter and practically bolt from the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind me with more force than necessary. The sound echoes through the hallway, making me wince.

In the safety of my office, I lock the door and collapse into my chair, running both hands through my hair. What the hell am I doing? This wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to be cold, distant. I was supposed to make her feel my pain, not wash her fucking hair like we’re in some romantic movie.

I take a long pull from my beer, but it does nothing to cool the heat coursing through me. The memory of her wet hair slipping through my fingers, the small sigh she made when I massaged her scalp—

"Fuck," I mutter.

I’m still hard, painfully so. The image of Sarah in that tub won’t leave me alone—her flushed skin, the curve of her neck, those wisps of hair clinging to her damp shoulders. I want her.

Control...I need to learn how to control my urges.

Maybe I need to get out of here. Away from this house, away from her.