Victoria Monroe was groggy, intending to dispel the foreign object, but instead touched his wetness.
This action caught Rhys Hawthorne completely off guard, and he instantly loosened the ginger juice in his mouth.
Like a floodgate opening, the rushing ginger juice poured into Victoria Monroe’s mouth, and she had no choice but to swallow with her neck arched.
He hurriedly grabbed a towel from the side to gently wipe the ginger juice from her neck, his heart beating erratically, unable to calm down for a long ti.
Being touched by soone you like makes your body go numb and tingly, completely out of control.
The taste of ginger juice wasn’t good; he had soone add so brown sugar on purpose.
Observing Victoria Monroe’s expression with downcast eyes, she didn’t seem so repulsed. Of course, she’s been drinking herbal dicine for years.
The taste of herbal dicine is much worse than ginger juice, so ginger juice is practically a beverage for her.
Since she didn’t mind, he continued the sa thod, giving her the remainder of the ginger juice.
After feeding her the ginger juice, he remained with Victoria Monroe for a while, watching her reaction.
She had a bit of a fever; even in this warm weather, she felt cold under the covers.
After drinking the ginger juice, Victoria Monroe’s face wasn’t as pale as before, and even her lips showed a faint honey pink. She unconsciously murmured, "Cold... so cold."
Rhys Hawthorne had no other choice but to take off his shoes, lift the blanket, and lie down beside her, pulling her body close.
Her body was like a small furnace, burning hot, yet shivering.
This is a normal physiological response to a fever, indicating that her temperature would continue to rise.
Rhys Hawthorne leaned in to hold her gently, his breath falling by her ear, "Do you feel a little better now?"
Perhaps it was more about her ntal unease. So many things had happened one after another; in this vast world, she was without child, family, or lover.
She was like a drowning person in the sea, desperately clinging for a piece of driftwood.
And Rhys Hawthorne was the anchor for her troubled heart.
Victoria Monroe’s red lips pressed against Rhys Hawthorne’s neck, instinctively taking in his scent.
The fragrance of body wash mingled with a familiar hint of sandalwood, a scent that reassured her.
She seed to murmur softly, "Little Master..."
The man holding her stiffened montarily at this special address, uttered with a sticky, coquettish tone that tingled his heart.
He liked it when she called him Rhys Hawthorne by his full na, and he also liked being called Little Master by her.
Both titles were special to him.
No one in his circle would call him by his full na; whatever Victoria Monroe called him, he liked it.
But what he truly desired was for her to give him an even more intimate nickna.
Just like she used to call Julian ’Ash’ with such familiarity.
Rhys Hawthorne’s previously unyielding heart was now filled with a strong desire to be closer to her.
His lips brushed against the tips of her hair, his voice tender yet husky, "It’s , darling."
Victoria Monroe found the embrace extrely comforting. Having just taken a shower, his body carried a cool dampness, helping to soothe her feverish skin.
The scent around him was pleasant, gradually loosening the frown on her face that had ford due to illness.
Her body grew hotter and hotter, no longer feeling cold but too warm instead.
Rhys Hawthorne’s palm rested on her cheek, wanting to check her temperature.
The young girl’s body alternated between chills and heat.
To her, his cool palm felt soothing, and she nestled into it like a cat.
So docile, so gentle.
But soon she wasn’t satisfied with just the area of his palm and began to fumble over him with closed eyes.
Rhys Hawthorne had just spent a long ti in a cold shower, his body temperature lower than usual.
Perfectly cooling Victoria Monroe’s heat, her face nestled against his neck, fingers grazing the buttons of his pajamas.
One was a seasoned player of love, the other an inexperienced innocent.
Back in the early days when Julian was with her, he wasn’t able to let go either, while Victoria Monroe was lively and bold, often teasing him to see his shy reactions.
After marriage, she often helped him undress, single-handedly mastering the skill of undoing buttons.
In other aspects, Rhys Hawthorne was composed and restrained, but faced with this, he was a blank slate.
Since the age of three, he had dressed himself; no woman had ever undressed him.
He instinctively pressed down on Victoria Monroe’s hand, his voice low and seductive, "Darling, don’t do this."
Victoria Monroe, muddled by fever, was in a daze, only instinctively feeling that it was cool there and she liked it very much.
She murmured softly with a frown, "Hot..."
Before Rhys Hawthorne could refuse, Victoria Monroe’s cheek rubbed against his, her breath falling right on his ear.
Rhys Hawthorne’s attempt at stopping her was as futile as an ant trying to shake a tree.
Ever since long ago, Victoria Monroe hadn’t realized that Rhys Hawthorne had always fulfilled her every request.
On set, she was always laughing and carefree, her mind filled only with Julian Fordham, never noticing anyone else.
Even now, her unreasonable request made Rhys Hawthorne release his grip with a resigned acceptance.
He continuously turned the prayer beads in his fingers, silently chanting, "Form is emptiness, emptiness is form."
That small hand finally withdrew.
Before he could catch his breath, within monts, a soft body pressed against him.
With closed eyes, she let out a sigh of satisfaction by his ear, "So cool, so comfortable..."
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