Chapter 11: A Waist-Clutching Kiss

The thought alone made Julian’s large hand tighten around Clara’s waist.

Clara frowned. "That hurts."

Julian clenched his jaw, seemingly struggling to control something. A moment later, he finally released the pressure, supporting her waist loosely.

After a while, Clara murmured softly, "So thirsty... I want water."

Julian reached into the car’s side fridge, took out a bottle of water, and unscrewed the cap with one hand, bringing it to her lips.

As Clara instinctively opened her mouth, he moved the bottle away and asked in an unfriendly tone, "Clara, who am I?"

Clara didn't answer.

"Who am I?" Julian asked again. "Only the right answer gets you water."

Clara propped her hands against his chest, lifted her head, and giggled at him with half-lidded eyes. "Are you silly? You don't even know who you are?"

"You’re Julian."

The frustration in Julian’s chest finally dissipated a little.

The corners of his lips curved slightly as he placed the bottle back against her lips, saying mercifully, "Correct. Drink."

Clara took two sips before pushing the bottle away.

Some water spilled, trickling down her lips and dampening her collar.

Julian set the bottle down, pulled out a tissue, and began wiping from her chin upward.

When he reached her lips, he stopped. His gaze fell upon her moist, plump red lips.

The next second, his thumb brushed against her lips, stroking back and forth before rubbing them firmly.

In the dim light of the enclosed car, the man’s cold face was gradually stained with desire.

The black Bentley drove into Xiyuan, and the driver quietly departed.

Julian leaned against the backrest, holding Clara without moving until she slowly woke up, asking indistinctly, "Are we home?"

Julian didn't answer.

Clara lifted her head in dissatisfaction. "Why aren't you talking?"

Julian still gave no response, his eyelids lowered.

With the alcohol still clouding her mind, Clara moved in his arms, opening her knees to kneel on either side of his thighs. She straightened her body, staring into his eyes, and poured out her thoughts: "You are really cold, you know? Cold personality, cold aura, cold expression, and cold eyes—"

Her gaze slid from his eyes, past his high bridge, and landed on his lips. She asked curiously, "When you kiss, are your lips cold too?"

With her eyelashes lowered, she didn't see the man’s desire-filled eyes; she only heard him counter-ask, "What do you think?"

His voice was deep and husky, hiding an unspoken temptation.

Clara stared at his lips for a moment.

The color was rosy, the corners slightly upturned, and the cupid's bow was subtly defined. They looked... very kissable.

Clara cupped his face and, on a sudden impulse, kissed him.

It was a mere touch.

"They're warm." Her expression was pure and innocent, as if she hadn't just kissed a man but had simply tasted a glass of water.

She reached out to push the car door, wanting to get out, but before her fingertips could touch the handle, she was yanked back by a sudden force. The next instant, the man’s hand clamped onto the back of her neck, his palm hot and commanding.

His face descended abruptly. "Close your eyes."

It was almost an order. Clara’s heart skipped a beat. Just as her lashes fell, her lips were kissed fiercely.

It began as a clumsy, reckless nipping, then progressed to a lingering suction on her lips. Soon dissatisfied, his tongue pried open her teeth to explore inward, greedily seizing the sweetness inside.

Clara’s tongue felt numb from the suction; she could barely breathe. She struggled to push him away, but her hand was caught. His fingers forced their way between hers, locking them tightly together against his chest.

That weak resistance was no different from pouring oil on a fire. Julian’s breathing grew heavy as he gripped her waist, pressing her into his embrace.

Her eyes were misty with moisture, and a fragmented moan was forced from her throat.

Julian let out a low pant, his strength almost losing its measure. The kiss became increasingly suffocating, as if he wanted to swallow her whole.

The oxygen in her chest depleted rapidly. Clara, gasping for air, used all her strength to turn her face away. Her lips had only gained a moment of freedom before he chased after her to block them again with an undeniable persistence.

The air in the car heated up quickly, becoming thick and scorching, like honey melting and bubbling in a hot pan. Under the dim shadows of the lights, their double heartbeats overlapped in the small space, one tangled with the other, each faster than the last.

Her consciousness was pulled into fragments. In a daze, she opened her eyes and saw his lowered long lashes and a face that had completely lost its calm—that usually cold and restrained face was now soaked in desire, dangerous and mesmerizing.

The world lost focus at that moment. Before she could think of anything else, her consciousness was completely swallowed by darkness.

Julian carried Clara upstairs, pushed open the bedroom door, and placed her gently on the bed.

The warm yellow light fell, highlighting her soft and peaceful features.

He stood by the bed, his gaze fixed on her face, the emotions in his eyes too thick to untangle.

Desire clamored within his body, and his rationality hung on a crumbling edge, barely held back by an invisible thread.

After a long time, he turned abruptly, went downstairs to wake Mrs. Martha, and asked her to go up to help Clara wash her face and change her clothes.

Though a bit confused, Mrs. Martha went immediately.

Entering the room, she saw Clara lying on the bed with her eyes closed, breathing steadily. However, her face was brilliantly flushed and her lips were red and swollen—one look was enough to know what had just happened.

Mrs. Martha carefully lifted a corner of the quilt. Seeing her clothes intact, she instinctively let out a sigh of relief, yet was secretly shocked.

No way... the young master could hold back even in this situation?!

Could it be that, as the Madam feared, her young master was actually...

Mrs. Martha didn't dare think further. She quietly helped Clara remove her makeup, wash her face, and change into pajamas.

Julian walked in carrying a cup of honey water, and Mrs. Martha quietly exited.

He placed the water on the nightstand and reached out to help Clara up, circling her in his arms.

As he looked down, his gaze inadvertently swept over her pajamas, and his brow twitched violently.

She was wearing a pink V-neck camisole nightdress. The thin straps hung precariously on her slender shoulders, and that patch of fair softness was almost overflowing.

Julian’s throat rolled heavily. He pulled the quilt higher over her chest before picking up the cup again to feed her half a cup of honey water, then helped her lie back down.

Afterward, he turned and left, his pace fast and urgent, as if he were fleeing.

In the bathroom, cold water flowed over the man’s heaving chest. He propped one hand against the glass door, panting sharply.

It took a long time before he emerged from the bathroom, carrying a chill with him.

The person on the bed was sleeping soundly, a serene smile lingering on her lips, as if she were dreaming of something wonderful.

A sudden, nameless fire surged in Julian’s heart.

Why was it that she lit a fire and then drifted away leisurely, while he was left deeply trapped in the scorching embers?

Pulling back the quilt and seeing her still hugging that raggedy duck, he grew even more annoyed. He pulled it away ruthlessly, threw it onto the window seat, and only then lay down gently beside her.