Chapter 69 Watch TV with Me
Donovan released Iris and looked down at the bulge in his pants. Its size was staggering.
He desperately wanted to continue, but he couldn’t go any further.
After feeling the straps of her lingerie, she felt as fragile as porcelain, and he had to be careful when touching her. He was afraid he might lose control and hurt her.
“Do we have anything to eat?”
The sudden change of subject caused Iris to freeze for a moment.
Only after she was certain that Donovan really intended to let her go did she nod hurriedly.
“Yes. Spaghetti—is that okay?”
Donovan was about to nod when he suddenly remembered that, during their kiss, Iris hadn't had the strength to push him away.
In her current state, how could she possibly cook pasta?
Never mind. I'll keep that in mind.
“Is there anything ready-to-eat?”
Iris shook her head. "Just fruit."
Donovan shoved a thick wad of cash into Iris' hand. “Then let’s just order takeout.”
"Okay."
Iris knew Donovan had high standards when it came to food. He was probably worried that her cooking wouldn't suit his tastes, so she didn't insist.
After acknowledging him, she climbed down from the shoe rack and walked into the house.
She went to the kitchen, where the fridge was stuffed with groceries Amos had bought.
He seemed to know she was short on cash. He’d bought enough fruit and vegetables to last her three days, so she wouldn’t have to go to the school cafeteria.
Iris grabbed some strawberries for herself and turned around.
On the dining table, she found a flyer from a takeout restaurant that Quinn had left specifically for her.
She called the number on the flyer to order two meals, then headed toward the living room with the washed strawberries in hand.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Donovan still standing in the entryway. He took two paper bags from someone—she didn’t know who—and slammed the door shut.
Iris stopped in her tracks and peeked around the corner.
Donovan pulled a dark gray bathrobe from one of the bags and turned to head into the master bedroom.
Shortly after, she heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.
He didn’t even ask her permission and was going to take a shower here?
How rude!
Iris dared to complain in her mind but didn’t have the nerve to tell him to leave.
She returned to the desk in the living room and flipped through the class notes Amos had organized just for her absentmindedly.
The strawberry juice in her hand was sweet and tart but not particularly juicy. It was in a completely different league from the strawberries at Donovan’s house.
Still, the sweet-tart flavor did a good job of soothing her slightly low spirits.
She squinted her eyes in contentment and satisfaction, then got up to get more from the kitchen.
When Donovan emerged from the bathroom, the takeout hadn’t arrived yet.
Iris sat at the desk, clearly hearing the man’s footsteps as he stepped out of the bedroom and drew closer to her.
She didn’t dare turn around, holding her breath instinctively.
Immediately afterward, two strong, muscular arms braced against the tabletop, one on each side.
Donovan enveloped her in his arms. The warm, damp steam from his body hadn’t dissipated completely yet; he was like a portable heater, making her cheeks burn.
From above, she heard Donovan’s deep, slightly hoarse—yet pleasant—voice.
“What are you doing?”
"I’m reading class notes."
Donovan didn’t need Iris to answer, though; he could tell just by looking.
It was good that Iris was studying hard, but the handwriting in that notebook was unmistakably a boy’s.
Amos had really gone to great lengths to win Iris over.
Donovan’s gaze darkened. With a stern expression, he closed the notebook and leaned down to her neck, inhaling the sweet, pleasant scent of her skin.
The gesture caused Iris to flinch in fright.
Donovan chuckled softly. "Stop reading. Come with me.”
“What for?”
Iris pulled her neck back, refusing to move.
Donovan couldn’t be bothered to argue. He simply wrapped his arm around her waist, lifted her off the ground, and carried her to the living room. He set her down on the sofa.
The moment she touched the sofa, Iris immediately curled her legs up and sank into the soft cushions, looking even smaller and more helpless.
She lifted her head, her eyes filled with wariness and defensiveness as she looked at Donovan.
His bathrobe was tied loosely, and when he bent over, the firm, flowing lines of his muscles were clearly visible, radiating a sense of power.
Iris awkwardly looked away.
She then noticed ointment, pills, and a glass of water on the coffee table.
"It's time to apply the ointment."
He sat down beside the sofa and dipped a cotton swab into the ointment.
Iris immediately reached out and grabbed his wrist, her face etched with resistance.
"I'll do it myself."
Donovan’s expression darkened, and a single glance from him sent a shiver down her spine.
She knew she had no right to refuse him.
She didn't want to anger him for no reason. She pressed her lips together, then finally raised her face in submission.
“You do it.”
However, Donovan saw through her feigned compliance.
He looked down at the ungrateful woman before him.
He was just trying to help by applying the ointment, yet it seemed as though he were bullying her.
Feeling irritated, he unconsciously pressed his hand down harder.
Iris endured the pain without making a sound. Tears welled up in her eyes, and her lashes grew damp.
She knew she shouldn't have let Donovan help her apply the ointment; he was always so rough.
It was just too painful!
But Donovan didn’t realize this at all. Seeing her clench her teeth and furrow her brow, he assumed the ointment had stung her wound and was too harsh.
He began to wonder if he should ask Mercedes, to adjust the formula again.
Fortunately, the doorbell rang just in time—the delivery person was ringing it from outside.
Iris snatched the ointment and cotton swabs from Donovan’s hands. Before he could react, she dashed back to the bedroom.
"Go ahead and eat. I’ll handle the rest myself.”
She was definitely avoiding him.
Donovan snorted coldly, grabbed his wallet, and walked to the door to take the takeout bag from the delivery person.
“Sir, that’ll be $60.”
Donovan opened his wallet. Aside from a stack of cards, it was empty—he’d given all the cash to Iris.
He looked down at the delivery guy with a cold expression.
“Can I pay by card?”
The delivery guy looked stunned.
After a few seconds of silent eye contact, Donovan turned and called out toward the house.
“Iris.”
"Huh?" Iris poked her head out of the bedroom. "What's up?"
"Sixty dollars. Pay him.”
"Okay."
The delivery guy took the cash from Iris with a smile.
The moment the door closed, however, the corners of his mouth drooped.
As he walked toward the elevator, he muttered under his breath, "Looks like a decent person. But if he’s afraid of his wife, so be it. What’s the big deal? He has to put on airs and act all high and mighty! And he even asked, 'Can I pay by card?'”
The delivery guy curled his lip and shook his head derisively.
Donovan and Iris returned to the living room.
The man put the takeout bag on the coffee table and opened the containers.
Both contained pasta; it smelled rich and looked pretty good.
Considering his taste, perhaps they’d even included two small bowls of tomato soup.
Without a second thought, Donovan pushed one plate toward Iris and gestured for her to eat.
Iris shook her head. "I’m not hungry.”
Even if she were hungry, she wouldn't eat now—eating so much late at night would definitely cause her to gain weight.
Donovan gave her a sidelong glance. “If you’re not hungry, why did you order two portions? Are you trying to stuff me to death?”
Iris closed the lid of the meal box and mustered her courage. "I ordered this one for Harrison."
“Who told you he was coming?”