Chapter 148
"If you're feeling dizzy, you need to do something to take your mind off it."
He coaxed softly, like the serpent tempting Eve with forbidden fruit.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he tilted his head, and his warm lips landed on her eyelids.
A gentle kiss.
Grace's eyelashes trembled violently, and tears finally rolled down uncontrollably.
Miles didn't stop.
He kissed away her tears, the salty taste spreading across his tongue.
Then her nose, her cheeks.
Each touch was incredibly gentle, yet carried a strong sense of invasion.
His palm returned to the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair, forcing her to tilt her head back and receive his delicate kisses.
Grace's hands weakly clutched at his open collar, her knuckles turning white. She wanted to push him away, but couldn't muster the strength; her weak resistance only seemed to encourage him.
Her body melted into a puddle in his arms.
Miles's kisses finally stopped at the corner of her lips.
He didn't go deeper, just gently rubbed and sucked.
"Open your mouth."
He commanded, his voice so low it was almost hypnotic.
Grace, as if truly hypnotized, unconsciously parted her lips slightly.
At that moment, Miles didn't kiss her.
His thumb pressed down on her lower lip, applying some pressure, making that rosy flesh sink inward.
He stared at the lip deformed under his pressure, the desire in his eyes so intense it was about to overflow.
But he held back.
He just used his fingertip, over and over, heavily rubbing her lips until they became swollen and red, stunningly vivid.
"Good girl."
He murmured in praise, his tone full of a superior's pleasure and desire for control.
He pressed her back into his embrace, his chin resting on top of her head.
One hand held her waist while the other casually stroked her long hair.
His movements were lazy and comfortable.
Like a well-fed lion playing with its favorite prey.
Grace lay against his chest, listening to his gradually calming but still strong heartbeat, feeling weightless and dazed.
She didn't know what had just happened.
Everything had occurred so naturally, so quickly, and so... heart-racing.
She couldn't even find a reason to blame him.
Because from start to finish, he seemed to be "caring" for her.
Even those suggestive touches were supposedly to check her injuries.
But... the lingering tingling sensation in her body, and that burning hand at her waist, silently reminded her just how intimate everything had been.
Miles looked down at Grace, curled up in his arms like an ostrich, too embarrassed to lift her head, a triumphant smile curving his lips.
That smile was wickedly charming.
His fingers picked up a strand of her hair, twirling and playing with it.
Grace lay motionless against his chest, her brain blank from oxygen deprivation and excessive sensory stimulation.
Her body still retained that strange trembling from before, the burning palm at her waist, and the numb swelling on her lips from being repeatedly rubbed by his fingertip—all reminding her of how far things had crossed the line.
He said nothing more, just used his hand at the back of her head to casually comb through her long hair.
His fingers running through her hair carried a soothing touch, yet Grace couldn't truly relax.
Because she could clearly feel his gaze on her, carrying an undisguised possessiveness, as if examining his own property.
The hot, intimate atmosphere in the air didn't dissipate with this moment of quiet, but grew increasingly thick.
After a long while, Miles's fingers left her hair and returned to her back.
This time, it wasn't a comforting pat, but along the groove of her spine, vertebra by vertebra, pressing and sliding down extremely slowly.
His fingertips carried calluses from years of holding scalpels, and through the thin dress fabric, that rough texture felt especially clear.
Grace's spine tensed involuntarily, and as his fingers moved downward, a fine current shot up from her tailbone.
His hand slid to the most slender, concave part of her lower back and stopped, his palm drawing circles there with moderate pressure.
"Your legs... aren't you tired keeping them tensed like this?"
His low voice sounded above her head, carrying a barely detectable huskiness.
Only then did Grace realize that from tension and shame, her legs straddling his lap had been in a state of constant tension, her toes even slightly pointed.
She wanted to relax but found her body had stiffened beyond her control.
Before she could answer, the palm causing trouble at her waist changed direction.
It left her lower back, sliding down along the curves of her body.
Past her waistline, past her hip bone, finally landing on the outside of her thigh.
His palm was large, burning hot against the thin silk fabric.
"Relax a little," he said.
His fingertips pressed against her tense muscles, not with much force, but precisely finding every sore point, kneading slowly and firmly.
This should have been a thoughtful gesture to relieve fatigue.
But in this position and atmosphere, it took on an indescribably intimate quality.
Grace bit her lower lip, too embarrassed to make any sound. She could feel her thigh muscles gradually softening and losing strength under his kneading.
And his hand didn't stay in place.
Like conducting a meticulous exploration, it moved from the outside of her thigh, all the way down, sliding past the back of her knee. The skin there was very sensitive; his fingertips just lightly brushing past sent a shiver through her.
Then, her calf.
He gripped her calf muscle, which was also somewhat stiff from wearing high heels. He held it with his thumb and fingers, kneading with moderate pressure.
Grace felt her legs no longer belonged to her, all sensation converging where he touched.
Finally, his hand gripped her slender ankle.
She still wore those delicate stilettos, her ankle bone feeling especially fragile in his palm.
"High heels are tiring, aren't they?"
Miles looked down at the ankle held in his palm, his voice low.
As he spoke, his other hand reached over, supporting her heel.
"Let me take them off for you, rest a while."
His tone was so natural, as if this were just a normal intimate gesture between lovers.
Grace had no time to refuse, and couldn't even form coherent words.
His fingers had already deftly undone the strap buckle, then gripping her heel, gave a gentle pull.
The high heel that had confined her all evening slipped off, falling onto the soft carpet with a muffled thud.
Her freed foot instantly felt unprecedented relief.
But this relief lasted less than a second.
Because Miles didn't let go.
He cradled her foot and placed it on his other thigh. Then his palm covered her arch.
Grace gasped, her body lurching forward, her hands instinctively clutching tighter at his shirt front.
The soles of the feet were an even more private and sensitive area than the earlobes.