Chapter148 Help Me Out with Your Hand
"Mm..."
Miranda was kissed breathless, her hands instinctively climbing up his neck, tilting her head back to clumsily respond.
Not until both were breathing unsteadily did Clifton reluctantly release her.
Miranda leaned softly in his embrace, cheeks flushed, eyes shimmering with moisture, chest heaving violently.
"You—"
She wanted to say something but found her throat terribly hoarse.
Clifton played with a strand of her hair, his fingertips lightly pinching her reddened earlobe, eyes holding a teasing smile.
"What? Want to kiss more?"
Miranda glared at him, her face turning even redder.
She took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart, then looked up at him, asking somewhat uncertainly, "So—you're not angry anymore?"
Clifton looked at her cautious appearance, his heart softening.
"Not angry anymore."
He paused, his fingertips rubbing across her lips, somewhat swollen from kissing, speaking meaningfully. "That kiss just now counts as interest on the life debt you owe me."
Miranda froze, then found it somewhat funny.
"My life is only worth one kiss?"
She muttered quietly, "That's too cheap. Harrison wanted me to have dinner with him for a whole month."
Clifton raised an eyebrow, those deep eyes instantly darkening, like a storm brewing in the deep sea.
Indeed not enough.
One kiss—how could that fill the void in his heart these past few days?
"You're right."
Clifton suddenly leaned down, whispering in her ear, his voice low and husky, carrying obvious roughness. "One kiss really is too cheap. I feel shortchanged too."
Before Miranda could react, she felt pressure at her waist. He pulled her closer, their bodies pressed tightly together.
She could even clearly feel the changes in his body.
"Then—then what else do you want?" Miranda stammered, an ominous premonition rising in her heart.
Clifton's lips curved, revealing a somewhat wicked smile.
"I'll take the loss."
His hand slowly slid down her spine, his palm's heat penetrating through the thin fabric, scorching hot.
"Tonight, shall we have a deep exchange?"
Deep exchange.
He deliberately emphasized those four words, loaded with suggestiveness.
Miranda instantly understood his implication, her face turning red enough to drip blood.
"Clifton!"
She indignantly raised her hand, her soft fist lightly pounding on his chest. "You pervert! Talking about taking a loss when you clearly just want to take advantage of me!"
This wasn't her repaying a debt at all—it was him exploiting the situation!
Clifton caught her wrist in one motion, pressing her hand against his scalding chest, not denying it.
"Mm, I do want to take advantage of you."
He stared straight into her eyes, the desire in his gaze undisguised.
"And..."
He guided her hand, slowly moving it downward.
Past well-defined abs, past the taut V-line, finally stopping at the edge of the towel where something stood ready.
Miranda jerked back as if burned, trying to pull her hand away, but he held it firmly in place.
"Miranda, you were quite capable when clinging to my thighs earlier, weren't you?"
Clifton leaned close to her, his other hand pressing against her red lips. "Show me that determination you had about not letting go."
Miranda looked at the man's increasingly dark and dangerous eyes, alarm bells ringing in her mind.
The pressure on her lips grew heavier. Clifton couldn't possibly want her to use her mouth...
At the thought of that image, Miranda nearly exploded.
"No way! Absolutely not!"
She shook her head frantically, her body shrinking back, rejection written all over her face.
Clifton looked at her as if facing certain death, first stunned, then as if realizing something, a low, pleased chuckle escaped his throat.
The amusement in his eyes deepened, but that dark color grew even more intense.
One hand gripped her slender waist to prevent her escape, the other hand took hers and slowly explored beneath that obstructive towel.
The sensation was scalding, formidable.
Miranda trembled all over in fright, her breathing nearly stopping.
"Good girl."
Clifton lowered his head, kissing her earlobe, his voice impossibly hoarse, carrying coaxing and command.
"It'll feel very good."
...
The next morning, Miranda opened her eyes. The moment consciousness returned, her first sensation was exhaustion.
A bone-deep soreness and weakness spreading from her fingertips to her wrist, then crawling up her forearm.
Images from last night that made her face burn and heart race instantly flashed through her mind, along with the "intensity" she'd been forced to endure afterward.
Miranda buried her face in the pillow, her ears burning.
She lay in bed for a while before propping herself up to sit.
The spot beside her was already empty, the sheets smooth, only cool to the touch.
Miranda turned her head to see a sticky note on the nightstand.
The handwriting was strong and forceful, radiating sharpness, just like the man himself.
[Have a mission. Back tonight.]
Two simple lines, no sweet words, yet radiating reassuring steadiness.
Miranda's fingertips traced over those words, unable to suppress a smile. She carefully folded the note and tucked it in the deepest part of the drawer.
After washing up and heading downstairs, she'd just finished breakfast and was preparing to gather her things for the office when her phone on the table suddenly vibrated, breaking the morning calm.
The words "Father" flashed on the screen.
The smile on Miranda's lips instantly faded, her eyes turning cold.
Ever since learning her father had cheated on her mother and even had an illegitimate daughter, Ariana, only months younger than herself, those two words held only irony and disgust.
That father figure who'd once been tall and upright in her mind had long since crumbled to dust.
The phone kept vibrating, as if it wouldn't stop until she answered.
Miranda took a deep breath and answered, her voice cold. "Hello."
"Miranda, come home for lunch today." Dominic's voice came through the receiver, carrying his usual tone that brooked no refusal.
Miranda frowned, changing her shoes while asking, "Is something wrong?"
The other end fell silent for a second before Dominic's voice deepened, clearly displeased. "Can't you come home for a meal without something being wrong? Look how long it's been since you've been home! Do you even have me as your father in your eyes? Do you even care about this family?"
Miranda listened to this righteous accusation and found it laughable.
Family? Heh!
A chill rose in her heart. She was about to directly refuse when the design drawing for those cufflinks suddenly flashed through her mind.
That deep blue raw stone was still locked in the safe in her bedroom at home. She could go back and get it.
"Fine." Miranda cut off his lecture. "I'll be there for lunch."
After hanging up, Miranda exhaled a long breath.
She thought for a moment, her fingers flying across the screen to send Christian a text.
[Brother, Dad wants me home for lunch. If you're free, come back too.]
She figured she could also ask her brother how the investigation into Ariana's so-called father was going.