Chapter 115 Giving You Myself (Part 1)
"Hey, Alison, let me help you to the bedroom," Jack said, his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. Surprisingly, she didn't find it off-putting.
"No, I need to shower first. Why don't you join me?" Her suggestion felt awkward; it had been so long since they had been intimate. "Jack, you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk, I'm perfectly sober." He suddenly turned to face her, his eyes locking onto hers. "Tell me, who are you?"
"I'm Alison." She looked into his eyes earnestly, tired of pretending to be Emily. She wanted him to know she was Alison.
"Really? Are you truly Alison?" He gently lifted her chin, making her look up at him. "You have a unique scent, different from Emily."
She stared at him, her eyes filled with fear. She was terrified of this close contact, especially since he was so different from the man he had been in Paris. Back then, he had only wanted to push her towards Aidan, but now, he wanted her for himself.
His lips curled into a slight smile, and he suddenly spoke in German, "You are Alison. You speak German, Japanese, and French. You are not Emily. But I want to kiss you." As he spoke, his lips moved closer to hers.
His hand remained on her chin, while the other held the back of her head, preventing her from escaping the impending kiss. As his face drew nearer, she trembled and closed her eyes when their lips finally met.
She couldn't escape. It was as if his words had entranced her, leaving her no choice but to passively experience the tenderness beneath his cold exterior. At first, his lips brushed gently against hers, but soon, his tongue joined in.
By the door, just as she had entered the room, he held her and kissed her, the familiar sensation making her shiver. His tongue danced with hers, leading her in a rhythm she couldn't resist.
"Emily..." he murmured in a daze.
"I'm Alison," she corrected him, her voice slurred but firm. The name "Emily" grated on her ears. She made it clear she didn't like being called that. She was Alison, never Emily, and never would be.
"Alison..." he finally called her by the right name. It seemed that in his moments of tenderness, his defenses were the weakest, his heart the softest.
Everything felt so familiar. As he kissed her, he gently laid her down, and when she was nestled in his arms, he abruptly stopped the kiss and carried her to the bathroom. As he walked, he tugged at their collars, wanting them both to be naked, to see her body at this moment.
Alison panicked, immediately wrapping her arms around his neck. "Jack, turn off the lights, please?" she coaxed him gently, not wanting him to see her scars.
Her gentle request worked. Jack nodded slightly and quickly turned off the bathroom light.
The bathroom was pitch black, with only a faint light from the room outside casting shadows. She could barely see him, but his presence felt more real than any visual perception.
Her back pressed against the familiar cold mirror. His lips found hers again, kissing her wildly while whispering in her ear, "Alison, you are Alison." It was as if he was reminding himself that she was not Emily, but Alison.
Her body softened under his touch, his caresses overwhelming her, both familiar and strange. His kisses were accompanied by relentless tearing, quickly stripping her of her clothes. He rubbed her body in the water, waiting for the bathtub to fill.
The water was warm, making her feel drowsy, but she couldn't sleep. She still had to go home to Sophia and Ethan, and she had to go to Rebel. However, facing him sober was a challenge.
The bathtub was half full when he impatiently carried her in, seating her on his lap. After all, she owed him $120,000, not a small amount.
As the water enveloped her, she felt like a baby floating. The steam, the scent of alcohol, and his unique presence bombarded her senses.
He suddenly stopped all movement, holding her against his broad chest, and whispered in her ear, "Alison, did you not want Aimée to have my child? Is that why you did it?" This question had been bothering him, making him uneasy.
She silently played with the warm water, feeling its temperature and smoothness. She didn't know how to answer, so she chose silence.
"Why aren't you talking?" he asked, stopping his kisses. Asking these irrelevant questions was indeed a mood killer. He could have enjoyed her in the water, but he wanted to know the truth about that day by the creek. Although Aimée's child was temporarily safe, it had become a reason for the Rolland family to force him into marriage, and he couldn't refuse.
So, he had been troubled, torn between marrying or not, suffering in his dilemma.
"If I told you, would you believe me?" she whispered, letting the water fall from her hand. Even in the dark, she could feel the ripples it created, just like the turmoil in her heart.
He kissed her earlobe precisely, the soft touch and her unique scent so familiar, making him feel they had a connection before, but he couldn't recall the specifics.
"I didn't push Aimée, nor did I want her to miscarry," she explained. In fact, Aimée had pulled her down, causing her to injure her leg.
He chuckled drunkenly, "Alison, you're a good liar. That child is Aimée's leverage to force me into marriage. How could she harm her own child? I don't believe you."
"Believe what you want," she said, having anticipated his disbelief. It was pointless to explain.