Chapter 15 Stubbornness

Those vulgar words spoken over the phone now echoed in Bethany's ears as Vincent pleased her. Amidst intense stimulation, desire knew no bounds.

Bethany was pressed against the wall, her hands held above her head by the man. Her sharp nails almost dug into the wall as she tilted her head back, lightly moaning, sweat beading on her neck. The figure of excitement and arousal intertwined with Vincent's shadow, casting a reflection on the floor.

Finally, water dripped onto the floor from her legs.

Bethany collapsed into his arms, her face flushed deeply. Even though the lights were off, Vincent could imagine the scene through her body temperature.

"I thought you were seriously ill. But you're quite sensitive." The man's hoarse voice was tinged with amusement.

Bethany hadn't fully recovered from the aftermath, too busy catching her breath to speak.

She was puzzled. They hadn't even reached the final step, yet Vincent had brought her unprecedented pleasure.

The sensation was too strange.

Vincent took out a handkerchief from his pocket and cradled Bethany in his arms, tenderly wiping away the water stains on her legs.

Bethany didn't move, silently consenting.

But when Vincent approached her thighs, Bethany stopped him. "I'll take care of that myself later."

Vincent didn't think much of it, assuming she was just shy. "So, are you satisfied?"

She had to admit that Vincent was quite skilled.

But Bethany wouldn't affirm him. After all, she was forced to do so.

"Not bad," she said.

Bethany's response was somewhat challenging to Vincent's pride.

"Not bad?" Vincent smirked disdainfully. "Then your fiancé is worthless."

Mentioning Clinton suddenly brought Bethany back to her senses.

She pulled away from Vincent's embrace, calmly tidying herself up, and smiled faintly. "So what? You're just here to treat me. The deeper pleasure still requires him to satisfy me."

Vincent stood against the light, his face indiscernible to Bethany. She was unable to make out even what he was wearing.

But her provocation was evident.

Vincent pursed his lips and said nothing, exuding a cold aura.

Bethany sensed the danger and was about to slip away. "Since you're done with the examination, I'll be leaving."

This time, Vincent didn't stop her.

He watched her departing figure, slowly tightening the handkerchief imbued with Bethany's scent. A sharp glint flickered in his eyes.

Bethany hadn't tried with Clinton yet, and he reached another conclusion.

Bethany wasn't frigid at all.

She had normal physiological responses, and her figures were excellent. She simply lacked interest in Clinton.

With this understanding, things became much easier.

...

Bethany descended the stairs, the cold wind blowing in her face, completely calming her down. And the flush on her cheeks dissipated.

She scanned the crowd for Clinton, needing to be intimate with him as soon as possible, or the water stains between her legs would dry up.

She hadn't let Vincent wipe it off for her just now just for making out with Clinton.

But after searching around, she couldn't find Clinton, and he didn't answer his phone.

At this moment, a young man approached her with a glass of wine, smiling and greeting her. "Bethany, are you looking for Clinton?"

This young man had a charming appearance, a perfect playboy.

Bethany remembered him. He was Darien Skinner.