To be honest, that voice was low and sexy, incredibly alluring.
To put it bluntly, it was quite sultry.
But when it cos to love between a man and a woman, whether you’re a privileged gentleman in a suit or an ordinary worker, when the lights go out at night, it’s all the sa.
Being too serious makes people feel restrained, and when it cos to it, sothing is missing.
Like Ethan Blackwood, with the face of a noble, speaking in innuendos. With his unconventional ways, he left Claire Shaw helpless and then tangled her up entirely.
If you’re making fish, then make fish, why did it end up like this...
Claire, who barely cald her emotions, was easily stirred up again by him. He really was a male enchantress.
Faced with the temptation of the man before her, Claire stepped on his foot with her slipper.
"If you can’t handle it, then don’t tease !"
She glared at him hatefully, then ran out to cool down, her footsteps "clack-clacking".
Ethan Blackwood watched her fleeing back, a slight curve lifting his thin lips.
Luna, do I have a place in your heart?
Claire turned on the tap, cupped so water in the rushing stream, and splashed it on her face to dissipate the heat.
She decided it’d be best to stay away from Ethan during her period; so close yet no substantial progress could be made.
Claire bit her lip in frustration, in three days, she’d be free to indulge again.
A while later, when she walked out, Ethan had already set the dishes on the table.
Stead fish, boiled shrimp, sautéed shredded potatoes, and a atball soup.
A few simple ho-cooked dishes, with wisps of steam rising, adding a holy touch to the small dining room.
The tall man at the table was setting the dishes, and it was clear that his white shirt had oil stains on it.
The man didn’t mind at all and graciously pulled out a chair for her.
Claire said nothing, just felt a bit uncomfortable inside.
From a young age, she never desired much, just had one small wish.
Three als a day, with family, eating hot als together.
When she handed her test paper to her mom, her mom would gently pat her head and praise her for doing great.
Her dad would lift her onto his shoulders and let her ride on top like a horse.
Yet, that father she had scarcely seen, and having the three of them eat together was even more of a distant dream.
When he ca, Miranda Shaw, who never lifted a finger at ho, would buy groceries in advance and prepare a spread.
Usually, midway through the al, a disagreent would arise, and Claire’s unfinished bowl would be smashed on the ground.
When Damian Sutton left, all that was left was chaos and Miranda Shaw’s tears and wails.
The ordinary activities that people go through daily were unattainable luxuries for Claire.
Ethan Blackwood served a bowl of soup in front of Claire and casually said, "If there’s ti next ti, I’ll make chicken soup for you. You’re too skinny, you need to nourish yourself."
"Okay." Claire’s voice was heavy, and she lowered her head, making it hard for anyone to see her expression.
She scooped a spoonful of soup to her lips.
Drip.
Ethan saw two streams of clear tears slide from her sharp chin into the bowl, causing ripples across the calm surface of the soup.
"Is it too hot?"
Ethan asked with concern, "It shouldn’t be. I tasted it. Or do you not like the tomato flavor? Next ti..."
Because Claire lowered her head so much, a few strands of hair fell, covering her face.
All he could see was her fingers gripping the spoon tightly, her shoulders trembling, and she bit into a atball, seemingly trying hard to control her emotions.
This frightened Ethan, who put down his chopsticks and approached Claire.
"What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?"
Claire looked up, her fair and clean face sared with tears.
Tears just happened to drop from her chin, resembling tiny, sparkling pearls under the lamp light.
Very beautiful, and pitiable.
Like a daughter in a grievance, shedding pearls of tears, you’d even pick stars for her from the sky.
Ethan’s hands gently cupped her cheeks, not questioning why she cried, his deep and steady gaze quietly watching her.
Claire raised her chin, her tearful eyes eting the man’s, clearly reflecting her crying face in his dark eyes.
He was so composed, his eyes seed to contain an ocean that quietly healed her.
His thumb gently wiped away the tear stains from her chin, his tone soft, "Do you need a hug?"
As soon as he finished speaking, Claire already lunged forward.
She sat while he stood.
Claire’s face buried in his abdon as she tried her best not to make any sound.
Everyone says crying children get candy.
With Miranda Shaw, her tears only earned a beating or she would be locked in a cabinet.
She never understood how there could be mothers in this world who didn’t love their children.
Yet, even such a mother was her only blood relation.
In the dark room, she cried herself hoarse and begged in fear, and when Miranda finally let her out, she could only tug warily at her clothing, pleading her not to abandon her, vowing to behave.
Although Claire seed to arm herself with strength, only she knew how fragile she truly was.
Her broken childhood was pieced together with scraps to make an incomplete her.
A slight shove and she’d fall apart.
Hardly anyone saw this side of her, always in front of Ethan Blackwood.
He could easily awaken the long-hidden vulnerability in Claire’s heart.
"Cry if you want to," he said, stroking her head, lacking the usual teasing deanor.
This ti he was impeccably dressed, looking serious like an elder.
Claire clutched his shirt tightly, crumpling the smooth fabric into wrinkles.
The wet tears slowly seeped into the clothes, dampening Ethan’s abs.
The large and warm hand on her head was just like she imagined a loving father’s would be.
If she had a caring father, perhaps he’d comfort her like this when she was aggrieved.
"With , you don’t need to be strong. Crying will make you feel better."
Claire whimpered like a kitten, her shoulders trembling.
She was fine when silent, but uttering a sound made it awkward.
All these days, Ethan’s desires had been long suppressed to give Claire ti.
He was sincerely comforting her, but their posture was too awkward, with Claire’s face rubbing against his abdon.
Initially, he was touched by the lancholic atmosphere and could seriously console her.
Unexpectedly, her small, thin, and restrained cries reminded him of that one night he drank a bit and was less restrained than usual.
The girl beneath him couldn’t handle it and clutched his arms, crying and pleading, leaving marks on his arms. He was teased about it for a long ti.
Back then, her voice was just like now, soft and tender, like a cat’s paw scratching at the heart.
Claire realized that sothing wasn’t right as she cried; she looked up, her tear-streaked face staring at Ethan’s seemingly gentlemanly face.
"What are you thinking?"
Ethan: "...Nothing."
In monts when she’s so sad, he felt beastly for thinking such thoughts.
Unexpectedly, the tear-filled girl choked, "If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I can help you."
As she spoke, her earlobes subtly reddened, and she shyly added, "In a different way."
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