Chapter 283: Chapter 283: Method One to Pamper Your Wife
Isabella Weaver was taken aback, her first reaction was to quickly get off him.
Her face flushed a little, but she soon fiercely said to Harry Hunter, "I’m planning to have your child so that you won’t dare to casually mention divorce! If you still want a divorce, I’ll disappear with the child, making it impossible for you to find us!"
Harry Hunter sighed softly and pulled her into his arms to hold her, "I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again, with or without a child."
Isabella struggled out of his embrace, then climbed back on top of him, "No, everyone says having a child is a guarantee, especially in wealthy families! I want to have one!"
Harry Hunter helplessly pulled her back, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, "Stop it, you’re still hurt, you just had your stitches removed."
"No worries, I’m not feeling any pain at all! Hurry up, take off your clothes!"
Isabella’s active eagerness was over the top, yet Harry wasn’t aroused in the slightest. He lowered his head and kissed her lightly.
"If you like children, we can raise a few more in the future, but not now, you’re filled with anger, and I don’t want it like this."
He hoped their first time would be joyous, unforgettable, a natural progression after mature emotions had blossomed, not forced or with a purpose, which he resisted.
Isabella’s hard-earned courage to have children dissipated with his words.
She squirmed restlessly in Harry’s arms, tossing and turning, unable and unwilling to sleep.
Turning away from Harry, she was still fuming inside.
Harry realized she was still bothered by the mention of a fake divorce. She used to love snuggling in his arms while sleeping, never turning her back on him.
He hugged Isabella from behind, pressing himself against her, swiftly peeling off her nightdress, and to her exclamation of surprise, he ran his hand over her skin, moving from her abdomen gradually upwards, grasping her bosom.
The little wife in his arms clearly shuddered.
Harry lowered his head and lightly nibbled her exposed shoulder, "Isabella, say you love me."
Isabella’s breathing became erratic, she pressed down on Harry’s hand, stopping his movement, and said coldly, "I don’t love you!"
"You don’t love me, yet you threw such a fit over the fake divorce? You haven’t talked to me for days."
Harry’s voice was deep, and his palm easily broke free from Isabella’s restraint, teasing her skin.
His touch alternated between tender and firm, treating her like a treasure, patiently finding her sensitive spots, watching her tremble blissfully in his arms.
"Isabella, say you love me!"
Isabella felt as if her whole body was on fire, unbearably hot, and hearing Harry’s voice, she finally regained some clarity, yet she still stubbornly refused to speak.
As she remained silent, Harry continued to tease her, and as he listened to her fragmented, melodious whimpers, his own desire ignited.
It was unclear how much time had passed before they finally stopped.
Isabella, covered in sweat, had unconsciously wrapped her arms around Harry’s waist, burying her face in his chest, feeling his heartbeat, too shy to lift her head.
However, Harry forced her to look up, grasping her chin and kissing her intensely, as if he wanted to engulf her completely.
"When you recover, I’ll have you, Isabella. I can wait a little longer."
Isabella’s heart trembled.
Touching the scars on Harry’s back, she decided not to be angry with him anymore.
The moment he emerged from the flames, the moment he was injured protecting her by falling debris, would never fade from memory.