Substitute Bride: Utterly Pampered by Her Billionaire Husband Chapter 1472: This Is a Marital Duty

Presently, the brilliant beams of two automobiles illuminated the expansive lawn as Morgan Ashworth made his arrival. A maid promptly opened the villa's grand entrance, exchanging his shoes with practiced deference. "Master, you have returned," she chimed softly.

Clad in a sharp black wool coat, Morgan Ashworth bore the evening's chill upon his shoulders. His gaze ascended towards the upstairs, where a single, firmly shut door stood.

"Where is the madam? Has she retired early?" he inquired, his voice a low rumble.

"Yes, Master. The madam has gone to bed early," the maid confirmed.

"Understood." With long, purposeful strides, Morgan Ashworth ascended the stairs.

He pushed open the chamber door, revealing an interior bathed in dim, golden light. A profound silence permeated the room, yet it felt undeniably warm. In that instant, his long-wandering heart found a semblance of anchor, the cacophony of the outside world receding into insignificance. This, he mused, must be the sensation of coming home.

A small figure lay nestled on the bed, her gentle breaths seemingly infusing the air with a captivating sweetness that drew him in.

He had to admit, the desire to be home had been building within him for quite some time.

The boisterous nightlife beyond the villa's walls had begun to feel nothing but draining and repulsive.

He had missed her, too.

Missed her immensely.

Morgan Ashworth moved closer with deliberate quietness, observing Willow Crawford curled on her side. Could she be troubled by a nightmare? Her delicate features were occasionally drawn into a slight furrow, lending her an almost wounded expression, akin to a small, hurt fawn.

He extended a hand, his fingertips brushing against her tender cheek.

Her skin, warm and silken, glided beneath his touch. He found himself unable to resist gently stroking her face for a prolonged moment.

His gaze then drifted downward, settling upon her abdomen. She was in the early stages of pregnancy; her belly remained flat, not yet visibly swollen.

Slowly, he placed his hand there, a profound connection forming as he acknowledged their child growing within.

The feeling was, he realized, indescribably wondrous.

A deep emotion stirred within his chest. Morgan Ashworth lowered himself to sit, then leaned forward, bestowing a tender kiss upon her forehead.

Within her dreams, Willow Crawford seemed to register the touch, a soft murmur escaping her lips, "Husband~"

She had uttered the endearment in her sleep.

Morgan Ashworth's heart melted without resistance. His lips traced a path from her eyes, down her nose, and finally came to rest upon her soft, red lips.

He kissed her.

Initially, his actions were filled with restraint, a conscious effort not to awaken her. Yet, gradually, he felt himself lose control, the kiss deepening as he found it insufficient.

It was truly not enough; an unyielding desire surged within him to press further.

His fingers gently wove into her dark tresses, passionately immersing himself in her sweetness.

Mmm.

Willow Crawford perceived the sensation as a nightmarish weight, a heavy burden pressing down, stealing her breath.

"Get off," she tried to vocalize in her dream.

She attempted to push away the intrusive pressure, but it was too immense, immovable.

Suddenly, her eyes flew open, and she jolted awake.

The first thing she saw was Morgan Ashworth's handsome face, magnified before her. It wasn't a weight; it was a man, the man who had been absent for so long, pressing down upon her.

He had returned, and he was kissing her.

An immediate wave of unease washed over Willow Crawford. She struggled to push him away, her voice muffled, "Mmm... don't..."

Noticing her awakening, Morgan Ashworth opened his eyes. He propped himself up on one arm beside her, his gaze fixed on her. "Awake?"

"Why are you back?" she asked, her cheeks flushing under his intense scrutiny. "Weren't you out enjoying yourself?"

Her heart brimming with resentment and anger, she unleashed all her pent-up feelings.

The memory of a sweet voice from a phone call still sent waves of pain through her whenever it surfaced in her thoughts.

She knew, undeniably, that she was consumed by jealousy.

Morgan Ashworth studied her intently. "Do you not want me to come back?"

She did.

Of course, a part of her yearned for his return.

But the pain he had inflicted upon her heart felt too deep.

Willow Crawford deliberately chose to articulate the opposite of her true feelings. "It seemed like you were having so much fun outside, so much that it made leaving difficult. Why bother coming back then?"

A wry, self-deprecating smile touched Morgan Ashworth's lips. She truly didn't want him home. What had he even been expecting?

"Willow Crawford, I am your husband, and this is also my home. I come and go as I please; do you understand that?"

"I don't understand. Let go of me; I want to sleep."

Observing her desperate attempts to break free, a darkness descended upon Morgan Ashworth's eyes. He lowered his head, his lips once again sealing hers.

He had no desire to hear her speak further; her words only served to inflame his aggravation.

Willow Crawford recoiled inwardly at the prospect of intimacy. She could detect the faint scent of alcohol on him, a clear indication he was inebriated.

Was he seeking her out in this state, perhaps to act out?

Furthermore, a subtle, lingering fragrance of women's perfume clung to him, confirming his recent company.

"Mmm, let go of me!" Willow Crawford thrashed with all her might.

Her resistance acted like a spark, instantly igniting Morgan Ashworth's primal urge to conquer. He had already missed her, and now that instinct intensified.

"Willow, this is a marital obligation, do you understand?" he murmured, his voice thick with raw emotion.

"I don't understand! Morgan, I'm pregnant. Have you forgotten the doctor's explicit instructions? I cannot attend to your 'needs' right now." Willow quickly invoked their unborn child.

A flicker of amusement crossed Morgan Ashworth's face. "You show such concern for the child now. What were you doing earlier?"

Her beloved child was the target of those words, and Willow felt a deep pang. She shared that love, yet circumstances left her powerless. He would never comprehend the agonizing ordeal she had endured, the solitude of her pain and suffering.

A mist instantly veiled Willow’s eyes, her vision blurring.

Witnessing the sheen of unshed tears in her beautiful eyes, Morgan Ashworth felt a simultaneous ache and itch within his heart.

He lowered his head, his lips finding hers once more.

"Morgan!"

"Stay still! If you keep struggling, I cannot guarantee the child's safety," he murmured, his voice a low threat.

Willow’s pupils constricted in genuine fear, robbing her of the will to resist further.

Morgan Ashworth’s advances continued, his skilled fingers finding the fastenings of her pajamas and undoing them.

"Morgan!" she called out, her voice laced with anxiety.

"No more calling out. Stop it." Her cries were almost too much for his soul to bear.

Willow anxiously placed her hand upon his.

With a flick of his wrist, Morgan Ashworth brushed her small hand aside. Impatience flared as he roughly unfastened a few more buttons, "I understand. Cooperate a little, and I'll be gentle."

Uncertain of his meaning, Willow trembled with fear. Suddenly, he grasped her hand, guiding it downward.

What did he intend?

A deep blush crept up Willow's neck as she immediately pulled her hand away, "No! You have your own hands!"

Morgan Ashworth’s lips curved into a slight smile. "Is there a problem with me liking your hands?"

His demeanor was so self-assured.

"No, I simply refuse!"

"Willow, I am your husband. What I desire, I take, and you have no right to resist," Morgan declared with absolute authority.

Willow bit her lower lip, her gaze fixed on him with a fierce intensity.

Sensing he had pushed too far, Morgan Ashworth covered her eyes. "Close your eyes. Don't look at me."