Chapter19 So Big, So Hot
Miranda heard Clifton's voice and jerked her hand back like she'd been electrocuted.
But she'd forgotten she was standing at the slippery bathroom doorway. The moment she pulled back, her feet slipped out from under her.
"Ah!"
She cried out as she lost her balance, tumbling straight into Clifton's lap in his wheelchair.
Everything happened so fast. Clifton instinctively reached out to catch her, but he hadn't anticipated the force of her fall.
Worse still, Miranda's hand flailed wildly in the air as she tried to steady herself, landing with precision on something firm and hot below his waist.
Time seemed to freeze.
The only sound in the air was their mingled breathing.
Miranda could feel clearly through the thin towel wrapped around him that the thing beneath her palm was rapidly changing in an unspeakable way.
Clifton's face turned black as thunder.
A vein pulsed at his temple as he ground out her name through clenched teeth.
"Miranda!"
The way he said it, with barely restrained fury, sounded like he wanted to devour her alive.
Miranda's face flushed crimson, the heat spreading from her cheeks down to her neck.
She froze completely, her mind going blank, forgetting even how to struggle to her feet.
"I... my foot slipped! I didn't mean to!" she stammered.
She tried frantically to push herself up using the wheelchair armrests, but in her panic, she only made things worse, intensifying the sensation beneath her palm.
Clifton let out a muffled groan, his grip on her arm tightening suddenly.
Miranda flinched and finally found the strength to scramble off him, retreating two meters away and wishing she could disappear into the wall.
She kept her head down, not daring to even glance at him.
"Are you... are you okay?" she ventured cautiously, stealing a quick look before immediately dropping her gaze again. "Did I... did I hurt you just now? Should I... should I call a doctor?"
Clifton's expression was dark enough to drip ink. He took a deep breath, clearly trying to control his emotions.
He bit out two words. "No need."
Without another glance at her, he turned his wheelchair and headed toward the bed.
Miranda watched his rigid back and finally exhaled in relief, then fled into the bathroom and quickly shut the door.
Bang.
She leaned against the cool door, pressing her hands to her burning face.
Her heart felt like it would leap out of her throat.
The next second, something seemed to occur to her. She rushed to the sink and turned on the tap, washing her offending hand over and over under cold water.
Her mind kept replaying the sensation from moments ago.
So big, so hot...
She'd almost forgotten that she'd just touched a man's most vulnerable area.
What if she'd actually damaged it?
He was the Prescott family's only heir...
The more Miranda thought about it, the more worried she became. This couldn't just be left alone. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd definitely find a way to convince him to see a doctor.
She dawdled through her nighttime routine before emerging to find Clifton already in bed, his back to her, apparently asleep.
Only a dim wall lamp lit the room, creating a peaceful atmosphere.
She tiptoed to the other side of the bed, carefully slipped under the covers, then turned off the light and went to sleep.
The night passed without incident.
The next morning.
Miranda opened her eyes to find the space beside her empty and slightly cool, Clifton clearly having been up for a while.
She quickly freshened up and changed before heading downstairs.
In the dining room, Clifton sat at the table, elegantly reading a financial newspaper, morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows and giving him an air of cool refinement.
Miranda took a deep breath, walked over, and sat across from him.
She picked up her glass of milk and took a sip, but her eyes couldn't help drifting toward the area between Clifton's legs.
After working up her courage for a while, she finally cleared her throat and spoke.
"Um... I know a really good doctor. Should I have him come to the house to check you out?"
Clifton paused in turning his newspaper page and looked up at her, his expression neutral. "No need. My legs have been examined by all the top experts both domestically and abroad. The conclusion is the same. I can't stand."
"No, no, that's not what I meant!" Miranda waved her hands quickly, afraid he'd misunderstand. She leaned in and lowered her voice mysteriously. "I'm talking about a urologist."
Clifton was silent.
The air instantly solidified.
Seeing his expression change, Miranda thought he was embarrassed and quickly added reassuringly, "Don't be shy. It's perfectly normal. I thought about it last night, and I really think you should have a specialist check that area. Don't worry, I promise I won't tell anyone!"
What she was really thinking was that Clifton was the only heir in his grandfather's line. The responsibility for continuing the family line rested entirely on him.
If that area had actually been damaged by her carelessness, a hundred of her wouldn't be enough to compensate.
Clifton's knuckles turned white as he gripped the newspaper.
Looking at this woman with her concerned, earnest expression, his temple throbbed as fury rose from the depths of his chest.
Just then, Clifton's grandfather strode in energetically, catching the tail end of Miranda's words.
He stopped in his tracks, looking between his grandson's thunderous expression and his granddaughter-in-law's worried, sincere face. His mind immediately went in the wrong direction.
He walked to the table, staring at his grandson with shock and dismay.
"Clifton, you... you can't perform?"
"Pfft!"
Clifton nearly choked on his own saliva.
He slammed down the newspaper and glared at his grandfather through gritted teeth. "I'm perfectly capable!"
"Capable of what!" His grandfather ignored his protests and turned to Miranda instead, his face full of sympathy and guilt as he patted her hand. "Ah, Miranda, you poor thing!"
"..."
Poor thing?
Before Miranda could process this, she felt her wrist seized in a tight grip.
Clifton's face had twisted with rage. Unable to hold back any longer, he grabbed Miranda's wrist and yanked her up from her chair.
"You're coming upstairs with me!"
His grip was incredibly strong. Miranda couldn't break free as he half-dragged her toward the stairs.
"Grandpa! Look at him!" Miranda called back for help.
But Clifton's grandfather, thinking his grandson was just embarrassed, waved cheerfully. "Go on, go on! You young people need to communicate! Grandpa won't interfere!"
Communicate?
This was murder!
Bang!
The bedroom door slammed shut and locked.
Miranda's back hit the cold door panel hard, her heart pounding like a drum as his overwhelming presence pinned her in place.
"Clifton, what... what are you doing!"