Chapter 185

Chapter 186

He paused for a moment, didn't even look back at her, and kept walking forward.

"Just wait for your project to fail! You think I'm joking with you?"

"If you don't accept me, you're done for!"

He reached the door and suddenly stopped.

I leaned against him, looking up at his face in a daze.

He glanced down at me, then turned around to look at Savannah.

"Pull out of the project if you want. I don't need this one project, and my company won't collapse just because we lose it."

She froze.

He continued, "This isn't over. If you dare touch her, no matter how powerful the Faith family is, I'll make sure you pay dearly."

Her expression changed.

He didn't look at her again and carried me out.

Outside the club, the night breeze blew past, carrying a chill.

I leaned against him, my consciousness drifting in and out.

He carried me to the car, put me in the back seat, then got in and told the driver to go.

I leaned against him. All I could smell was blood mixed with his familiar scent.

I reached out and touched his back.

He flinched.

I pulled my hand back and looked at the blood on my fingers.

"Your wound is serious," I said.

"It's fine."

He didn't say anything, just looked at me with dark, heavy eyes.

His stare made me uncomfortable, so I looked out the window.

"Why are you doing this again?" I asked.

"What?"

"Being so reckless with your life for me." My voice was a bit hoarse. "Last time with the acid, and now this. Do you think your life is worthless?"

He didn't answer.

I looked at him.

"James, do you think you're made of iron or something?"

He reached out and touched my face, his fingertips brushing my cheek. His hand was a bit cold.

Probably from losing too much blood, I guessed.

"I'm not made of iron," he said. "But when something happens to you, I can't think about anything else."

I turned my head and buried my face in his chest.

He didn't move, just held me like that, his chin resting on top of my head.

The car drove on, the neon lights outside flickering on and off.

My voice choked up as I spoke: "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Liar. You're bleeding so much, how could it not hurt?"

He didn't say anything, just held me a little tighter.

As the car kept going, I felt something was wrong.

My body was getting hotter and hotter, like a fire burning from inside, making my mouth dry and my breath hot.

My heartbeat was getting faster and faster, like it was about to jump out of my chest.

I shifted, trying to move away from him, but my whole body was too weak to move.

He shifted too.

I looked up at him.

His face was flushed and unnatural red, with fine beads of sweat on his forehead, his Adam's apple bobbing.

His breathing had become heavy too, one breath after another.

It seemed that smoke wasn't ordinary smoke—it contained an aphrodisiac.

I took a deep breath, trying to suppress the heat, but I couldn't. The fire burned hotter and hotter, making my rationality crumble bit by bit. I could feel my body temperature rising, my skin becoming sensitive, and the places he touched felt like they were on fire.

He raised his hand and knocked on the partition.

"Pull over."

The driver was confused: "Mr. Smith, we're not there yet."

"Pull over."

The driver didn't dare ask more questions. He turned on the signal and pulled over.

"Get out, take a cab back, expense it to Bodhi. I'll drive myself back later."

The driver agreed.

"James, why did you send the driver away? We're both like this now. How are we going to get back?" My voice was soft and weak.

I leaned against him, my body getting hotter, my breathing more ragged.

I squirmed restlessly in his arms, trying to find a comfortable position, but nothing felt right.

His hand gripped my clothes, wrinkling them, pressing me down: "Don't move."

I looked up at him, my eyes red: "I feel awful."

He closed his eyes.

My face buried into his neck, my breath hot against his skin.

My hands clutched at him, my nails lightly scratching, like I was trying to endure something.

He held my hands down.

I looked up at him, my eyes hazy, misty with moisture.

"I feel awful," I said again, my voice tearful. "It really feels awful."

He looked down at me.

I looked at him too.

Our eyes met, and the air seemed to ignite.

He raised his hand and pressed the partition button.

The partition rose, separating the front and back into two spaces, and all the windows were tightly closed.

He lowered his head and kissed me.

I didn't dodge, but moved up to meet him even more eagerly.

The moment our lips touched, both of us trembled slightly.

The fire was burning too fiercely—this little bit of "water" couldn't quench the thirst at all, but made the flames even fiercer.

He sucked the moisture from my mouth, his tongue dancing with mine, his hands gripping hard, like he wanted to meld me into his bones.

My hands climbed up his shoulders, gripping tightly.

The kiss got deeper and deeper, my breathing more and more ragged, my chest heaving violently.

He let me go to catch my breath, then moved from the corner of my lips downward, kissing all the way to my collarbone.

"Sophia."

"What?"

"Can I?"

I looked at him, my eyes hazy, not saying anything.

His thumb caressed my cheek: "You're suffering too. We can make each other feel better together."

I looked at him.

His eyes held restraint, but more than that, desire.

Sweat dripped from his forehead onto my face.

I was silent for a moment, then reached out to touch his face: "But your wound is bleeding."

"It's fine."

"It'll hurt a lot."

He didn't say anything, just looked at me.

I couldn't take it anymore. I leaned up and kissed his eyes.

The kiss was very light, like comfort, and also like permission.

He paused, then pressed me into the seat.

Outside the car window was the city at night, neon lights sweeping across our faces, flickering on and off.

I bit my lip, trying not to make a sound, my eyes red, tears sliding from the corners.

He lowered his head and kissed away my tears.

"It's okay," his voice was hoarse. "The soundproofing is good."

I turned my head and buried my face in his neck.

Our hot breaths against each other's skin.

I closed my eyes, hooked my arms around his neck, pulled him down, and we sank together.

He urgently tore open my clothes, took one soft mound in his mouth, and his hand caressed my waist.

I tore open his shirt, stroking his abs, listening to his passionate breathing, and I couldn't help but let out a few soft moans myself.

The metal buckle of the belt was undone. I sat on him, feeling his desire, pressed tightly against him, becoming one.

I rose and fell, following his rhythm, climaxing again and again.

I don't know how long it lasted. He held me, his forehead against mine.

James called for a designated driver, who arrived quickly.

The driver knocked on the partition from outside.

"Sir."

"Please drive to the address I ordered."

Driver: "Okay."

The driver took us home and left in his own car.

James looked down at me.

I leaned against James, eyes closed, lashes wet, cheeks flushed, my breathing gradually settling down.

He straightened my clothes a bit and brushed my sweat-dampened hair behind my ear: "We're home."

James opened the car door and carried me out.

I struggled a bit: "I can walk myself."

"Can you?"

I glared at him and didn't say anything, but as soon as my feet touched the ground, my legs went weak, and I almost fell to my knees.

He picked me up again.

This time, I didn't struggle. I buried my face in his chest and said sullenly, "It's all your fault."

He laughed: "All my fault."

James carried me inside, upstairs, and gently placed me on the bed.

He lay on the bed, turning his head to look at me: "Sophia."

"What?"

"Next time, let me do it."

My hand paused.

"What?"

"Next time," he said. "Let me be on top. You were only on top once, and you're already this tired."

My face started heating up. I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.

"Shut up."

He laughed.

I wasn't as shameless as him. I buried my face in the pillow, embarrassed.