But seeing Cyrus Hawthorne waiting leisurely for her answer at this moment, it seemed that if she didn’t give a proper explanation, he wouldn’t let her go...
She couldn’t possibly admit that she used such a foolish method just to prevent him from taking the MX plan abroad, right?
Ann Vaughn suddenly went all out, shouting at him confidently, "I’ve been thinking about you, isn’t that okay!"
As soon as she uttered these words, Ann Vaughn’s delicate and gentle face turned crimson, and she wished she could bury herself in the ground and never come out! New ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄhapters are published on ɴo(v)elFɪre.ɴet
Even someone as calm and composed as Cyrus was briefly stunned, his narrowed eyes gazing at her like a sea engulfed in waves, suddenly swept up in a deep whirlpool.
Especially at this moment, Ann Vaughn was clearly shy beyond measure, yet she feigned confidence, with a carefree air, making her even more charming and attractive.
In a wolf’s eyes, she was the most delectable food.
In an instant, Cyrus Hawthorne leaned forward, holding Ann Vaughn’s tightly clutched hand with his, intertwining their fingers, while his other hand held her slender waist, trapping her within his arms.
"How do you know that I’m not the same?"
His voice was low and deep, as mesmerizing as the sound of a cello, magnetic enough to make her ears go weak.
Ann Vaughn, scorched by his gaze like lava, trembled slightly, no longer daring to meet his eyes directly, instinctively wanting to free herself from his firm grip.
But unfortunately, Cyrus Hawthorne did not give her a chance to regret.
The sunshine outside was bright, but it couldn’t compare to the boundless scenery within the room.
The light drapes fell to the floor, covering much of the amorous scenery.
Cyrus Hawthorne slightly closed his narrow eyes, half-holding Ann Vaughn, who had fallen asleep again from exhaustion, his gaze resting on her face as radiant as peach blossoms in March, looking very content.
"Bastard..." Ann Vaughn murmured in her sleep with a hiccup, muttering a curse.
The taste of this little thing was too delightful, a single touch causing him to lose control of his self-restraint, which he had always been proud of.
At this moment, Ann Vaughn’s phone placed beside her pillow suddenly vibrated.
Cyrus Hawthorne raised his eyes to glance at it, reached over to take it, intending to hang up directly, but when he saw the name on the caller ID, his gaze paused slightly.
Then he slid his long fingers across it, answering the call.
"Dear, did you miss me?"
A low laugh came from the other end, but it carried no warmth, followed by the faint sound of a bottle being opened.
Then came the slow sound of liquid flowing into a glass.
Cyrus Hawthorne’s narrow eyes were cold, his expression unchanged, yet the person in his arms seemed to have heard the commotion, her eyelashes trembling slightly.
He hung up the call unhurriedly, cleared the record, and placed the phone back in its spot.
But the person in his arms merely turned over and continued sleeping.
Cyrus Hawthorne gently stroked her silky hair with his large hand, a slight curve to his thin lips; if one ignored the swirling clouds in his eyes, they might consider his expression at this moment to be extremely gentle.
Even in her deep sleep, Ann Vaughn instinctively felt a hint of danger and coldness, curling up involuntarily, wanting to ward off this chill.
She tried to burrow further into Cyrus Hawthorne’s embrace, unaware she was entering the lion’s mouth.
"I originally intended to let you go," he sighed helplessly, extinguishing the rare gentleness in his eyes.
Ann Vaughn was so exhausted that she didn’t even have the strength to open her eyes, her whole body aching severely.
But as she drifted into sleep, she hadn’t escaped the terrifying scene of being relentlessly taken, instinctively releasing sobbing whispers.
Why wouldn’t he let her go even in a dream?
Ann Vaughn was at a loss, unable to distinguish whether what she saw was a dream or another fit of Cyrus Hawthorne’s beastly nature, just able to whimper and let him plunder, her throat almost burning.
After an unknown amount of time.
The room was quiet as if the previous madness never happened.
Ann Vaughn lay on her stomach, struggling to lift her eyelids, only to see darkness outside the window, realizing how late it must be.
She propped herself up to sit, her body still sore, especially her legs, feeling as if she had been doing the splits all night.
Yet her body was clean and fresh, with no sticky sensation at all.
And perhaps due to sweating a lot, the discomfort from the fever had dissipated quite a bit, she felt much better.