The Billionaire's Secret Bump-Chapter 42: The kiss that should have been Goodbye

Martin held her tighter.

One hand cradling the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her hair like he was afraid the strands might slip away if he loosened his grip even a fraction. The other arm wrapped firmly around her waist, palm flat against the small of her back, anchoring her to him as though she might vanish if he let go. He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to fix anything with words—not yet. He just let her cry.

He let the frustration pour out in shuddering waves against his chest.

He let the anger burn through every sob that wracked her body.

He let the fear leak out in the way her fingers twisted into his shirt, clutching like she was drowning and he was the only solid thing left.

He let the exhaustion collapse against him until her legs trembled and her weight sagged completely into his embrace.

He held her through it all.

Through the hiccuping breaths that slowly evened out.

Through the tears that soaked the front of his shirt until the fabric clung cold and wet to his skin.

Through the long, trembling silence that followed when the crying finally stopped and she was just... standing there. Face buried in the crook of his neck, hands still fisted in the damp cotton, breathing him in like she hated that she still wanted to.

Martin felt helpless in a way he had never felt before.

Not when he lost his first major deal at twenty-seven.

Not when Valentine stripped him of operational control for six months as a "lesson" at thirty.

Not even when he woke up alone in that velvet suite and realized Fiona had disappeared without a trace.

This was different.

He pressed his lips to the crown of her head barely a kiss, more a silent plea and spoke against her hair.

"You can’t quit, Fiona." His voice was rough, almost pleading. "We need you here. At this company. You very well know we have a very big launch happening and we can’t afford to lose you."

He swallowed.

Plus I need you here...

The last part came out quieter—almost broken.

Fiona went still in his arms.

Then she let out a laugh.

Sarcastic.

Bitter.

Wet with tears.

"Are you being for real right now?"

She pulled back just enough to look up at him eyes red-rimmed, lashes clumped, cheeks streaked but the fire was back in her gaze.

"Just because I choose to be vulnerable at this moment, now you want to say you need me?" Her voice cracked on the last word. "Please, Martin. Just stop it."

She tried to step out of his embrace.

He didn’t let her.

His arms tightened instinctively desperate, possessive.

She froze again.

And that was when she really noticed.

She was wrapped in him.

Her head had been right on his chest the entire time.

She could feel his heartbeat fast, unsteady, pounding against her cheek like it was calling out to her.

His arms were locked around her body one hand still cradling her head, the other splayed wide across her lower back, fingers spread like he was trying to touch as much of her as possible.

His warmth seeped through her blouse.

His scent cedar, rain, him filled her lungs.

Her own body temperature was rising fast, uncontrollably every nerve lighting up where they touched.

How could he still do this to her?

After everything.

Her own body could not reject him.

The realization made fresh tears sting her eyes.

Martin sensed the shift.

Felt the change in her breathing—shallower, quicker.

Felt the way her fingers flexed against his shirt—not pushing away anymore, just... holding.

He lifted her chin with two fingers—gentle, careful, like she was made of glass.

Their noses brushed.

His mouth was so close she could feel the heat of his exhale against her lips.

And then he claimed her.

No hesitation.

No permission asked.

Just hunger.

His lips covered hers—hard, desperate, like it really was the last time.

Fiona gasped into his mouth.

Her hands fisted tighter in his shirt.

He angled his head, deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping in to taste her—slow at first, then greedy, exploring every corner like he was memorizing her all over again.

Fiona’s mind snapped.

One second she was standing there crying in his arms.

The next she was kissing him back—fiercely, angrily, helplessly.

Her tongue met his—clashing, stroking, tangling.

She tasted salt—her tears.

He groaned low in his throat—a sound that vibrated through her chest.

One hand slid up her spine, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her head exactly the way he wanted.

The other hand slipped lower cupped her ass through the fabric of her trousers, pulled her tighter against him so she could feel exactly how much he still wanted her.

Fiona moaned soft, broken into his mouth.

Her hips rolled forward instinctively—seeking friction, seeking him.

Martin growled.

He walked her backward until her spine hit the closed door.

Martin pinned her there with his body.

The closed door at her back was cool through her blouse, a stark contrast to the heat rolling off him in waves. His hips pressed forward, trapping her, his thighs bracketing hers so she had nowhere to go even if she’d wanted to. One forearm braced beside her head, the other hand still tangled in her hair, tilting her face exactly the way he needed.

He kissed her harder.

Deeper.

Slower.

Like he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into her mouth.

Every apology he hadn’t voiced.

Every regret that had kept him awake last night.

Every fear that had kept him silent for months.

Every ounce of love he had been too much of a coward to name until it was almost too late.

His tongue stroked hers slow, deliberate, savoring. He tasted the salt of her tears, the faint sweetness of the ginger tea she’d been drinking earlier, the raw need she couldn’t hide. He kissed her like a man who had spent the last twenty-four hours believing he’d lost her forever and was now terrified that one wrong move would make it real.

Fiona’s mind snapped back.

One second she was drowning in him—body arching, hands clutching, heat pooling low in her belly despite everything.

The next second reality crashed in like cold water.

She tore her mouth away.

Breath ragged.

"No, Martin. I can’t do this."

He froze lips hovering a breath from hers, eyes dark and wild.

"Fiona—"

"I should quit."

The words came out small, but they landed like a slap.

Martin’s entire body tensed.

His hand in her hair loosened but didn’t let go completely.

His hips eased back—just enough to give her space but he didn’t step away.

"Fiona... please stay. At least until after the event." His voice was low, rough, almost pleading. "After that, I promise—if you still think of leaving, I won’t stop you. I won’t fight you. I’ll let you go. But right now... we need you here. The launch needs you. I—"

He swallowed hard.

"I need you here."

Fiona stared at him.

Tears still clinging to her lashes.

Her lips still tingling from his kiss.

She pushed at his chest gentle, but firm.

He let her create space, but he didn’t release her completely. One hand stayed on her waist, the other fell to her hip, thumb brushing slow, unconscious circles through the

She stepped sideways—slipped out from between him and the door.

He let her.

But he followed—slow, careful, like he was afraid sudden movement would make her bolt.

Fiona backed up until her thighs hit the edge of his desk.

She gripped the wood behind her.

Looked at him.

Really looked.

He was disheveled—hair mussed from her fingers, shirt half-open, lips swollen, eyes raw with guilt and desperation.

And she hated how much she still wanted him.

Hated how her body could not reject him.

Hated how her heartbeat synced with his fast, unsteady, calling out even when her mind screamed to run.

Martin took one step closer.

Then another.

Stopped when she tensed.

He lifted both hands—slow, palms open, non-threatening.

"Fiona... please tell me you will not quit."

She stared at him.

Tears filled her eyes again.

"I will think about it."

The words came out small.

Reluctant.

But honest.

Martin exhaled—like he’d been holding his breath for hours.

"Thank you."

He didn’t move closer.

He just stood there—watching her, waiting, giving her space she hadn’t asked for but desperately needed.

Fiona looked away.

Stared at the floor.

Felt her own heartbeat still racing.

Felt the heat of his body even though he wasn’t touching her anymore.

She thought about the event.

About the work she had poured her soul to.

She thought about herself.

She looked up at him.

Tears still shining.

Voice barely above a whisper.

"I hate you for making me feel like this."

Martin’s face crumpled again.

"I know."

She took one step forward.

Then another.

Until she was close enough to feel his warmth again.

She lifted her hand.

Pressed her palm to his chest—right over his heart.

Felt it pounding under her fingers—fast, unsteady, calling out to her.

She looked up.

Met his eyes.

And whispered:

"But I don’t hate you enough to leave... yet."

Martin exhaled—shaky, relieved, broken.

He lifted his hand.

Cupped her cheek.

Thumb brushing away a tear.

"I don’t deserve that."

"No," she said softly. "You don’t."

She rose on her toes.

Pressed her lips to his—gentle this time.

Not hungry.

Not desperate.

Just... honest.

A kiss that said *I’m still here*.

A kiss that said *I’m still angry*.

A kiss that said *I’m still scared*.

Martin kissed her back—slow, reverent, careful.

Like he was afraid she would vanish if he moved too fast.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his.

"I’m not promising forever," she whispered. "I’m promising today."

Martin nodded.

His voice was raw.

"Today is enough."

He wrapped his arms around her again.

Pulled her close.

Held her.

And let the moment be...