Substitute Bride: Utterly Pampered by Her Billionaire Husband-Chapter 1162: Dianna, Let’s Get Married

"Oh." Dianna walked over.

"I’m heading out." Mort Thorne said, wanting to leave.

But Dianna’s small hand reached over and grabbed his sleeve.

Mort Thorne paused and turned to look at her.

"Didn’t you say you wanted to see my wounds? Are you not going to look?" Dianna blinked at him with an unfathomable innocence.

Mort Thorne pressed his thin lips, "I do want to see."

Dianna pulled his large hand and placed it on her buttons. Her voice carried a light, teasing charm, becoming exceptionally soft and alluring, "Then why are you just standing there? Hurry up and undo my buttons."

Mort Thorne wasn’t sure if she was doing it on purpose; he was, after all, a mature and normal man. She seemed to be giving him all sorts of hints, but he had no proof.

Mort Thorne’s fingers fell on her buttons, undoing them one by one.

With the outer garment removed, she was wearing a black vest underneath, starkly contrasting her milky white skin, which was now covered in wounds.

"How did you get so many injuries?" Mort Thorne frowned, his eyes filled with concern. Just thinking about how these injuries were for him made his heart ache, "Did you apply any ointment?"

"Yes, Sister Serena applied some for me. I have even more severe injuries. Do you want to see?"

"Of course, where?"

"Right here~" Dianna guided his large hand to her skirt.

Mort Thorne froze, quickly looking up at her, only to see Dianna smiling at him with arched brows.

She did it on purpose!

Absolutely on purpose!

She’s been flirting with him!

"Behave yourself, hurry and take a bath!" Mort Thorne withdrew his hand and turned to leave.

...

Mort Thorne strode into the room, closing the glass sliding door behind him.

The room was very quiet, quiet enough to hear the rustling of clothes being removed inside, followed by the sound of water. The girl must have entered the wooden tub for a bath.

Mort Thorne’s Adam’s apple moved up and down, feeling like he was feverish again.

After ten minutes, the girl’s soft voice came from inside, "Mort Thorne, I don’t have any change of clothes. Can you lend me a shirt?"

Mort Thorne looked at his clothes; none were new, all worn before.

He casually picked a white shirt and walked over, knocking on the glass sliding door, "All I’ve got are shirts I’ve worn."

His voice was unbearably hoarse.

The glass sliding door opened a crack, and a small hand reached out, "Give it to me."

Mort Thorne handed over the white shirt.

Then, his gaze caught her extended hand, glistening with water droplets on her tender skin, resembling dew on rose petals, mesmerizingly beautiful.

He looked away, handing over the shirt.

But she didn’t take it for a long time.

Mort Thorne was puzzled and looked up.

Dianna’s little head peeked out, her petite oval face looked charmingly at him.

Mort Thorne’s voice was entirely hoarse, "What’s wrong now?"

"Mort Thorne, do you want to... come in and bathe with me? It’s so comfortable to soak in the tub." She laughed softly.

Mort Thorne, "..."

"I feel like, don’t waste this whole tub of hot water. You’re going to bathe anyways, why not join me? This seems like... a couple’s bath..."

Her enthusiastic invitation ignited a fire in Mort Thorne’s eyes, but he restrained himself, pushed the shirt into her hands, and sternly advised, "Hurry and bathe, don’t catch cold."

He pulled the glass door shut again.

...

Some time later, Dianna dried off completely and walked out wearing his white shirt. The man’s shirt was too large, reaching her knees, its loose fit made her look even more delicate.

She went over to the bed, lifted the covers, and lay inside.

The bed was filled with his robust masculine scent.

"Mort Thorne, I’ve finished bathing. You can go take your shower now."

Mort Thorne watched her naturally climb into his bed, his large hand slipped into his pants pocket as he walked into the shower area.

With a "shush," he shut the glass sliding door, his hand rummaging in his pocket but finding no cigarettes. He closed his handsome eyes, flicking out his tongue to lick his dry lips.

Over the years, he’s encountered many women, every type throwing themselves at him, and all kinds of hints; he’s not naive enough to miss her teasing. She came to seduce him.

She wants to sleep with him.

This little vixen’s enthusiasm was almost unbearable for him.

Mort Thorne finally felt his age, a 35-year-old man dating a lively young girlfriend, indeed... blessed in romance.

...

Mort Thorne finished a cold shower, then emerged wearing a black tank top and trousers. He grabbed another quilt from the cabinet and made a floor bed.

Dianna hadn’t slept yet, supporting her head with a slender arm, gazing at him intently, "Mort Thorne, tonight might be your most gentlemanly moment in life."

Mort Thorne lay down and closed his eyes, "Dianna, go to sleep."

Dianna sat up, sitting at the bedside, stretched out her snow-white bare foot, and kicked off the blanket covering him.

He was only wearing a black tank top, revealing two strong arms, his shoulders broad and his chest muscular. Dianna stared at him directly, "Mort Thorne, you’ve chicken out."

Mort Thorne didn’t open his eyes, curling his thin lips, "Sleeping with you, does that make me brave?"

"..." Dianna kicked him.

Mort Thorne just felt her small foot causing trouble, so he reached out and caught her delicate ankle.

But suddenly his vision darkened, a soft scent of young girl enveloped him as Dianna fell straight from the bed into his embrace.

With the quilt kicked away by her, she now nestled into his sturdy chest.

"Hehe," Dianna laughed while lying in his arms.

Mort Thorne gazed down at the delicate little face in his arms, "Doing it deliberately, huh?"

Dianna lifted her little head, looking at the nearby handsome face, smiling brightly, "Mort Thorne, you’re so adorable not yielding to temptation this whole time, I really want to give you a purity award."

Mort Thorne’s Adam’s apple moved up and down, knowing she was teasing him.

Dianna touched his stubble with her soft fingertips, seeming particularly fond of this gesture.

Mort Thorne quickly pinned down her wandering hand and pulled the quilt over her, tucking her entirely inside, fearing she’d catch cold due to the chill of the night.

"Mort Thorne, you really don’t want to?" Dianna asked him. Now he seemed so strange, truly sitting in this moment without yielding.

Mort Thorne held her in his arms, kissed her forehead, and softly murmured, "Dianna, let’s get married."

He said, Dianna, let’s get married.