Chapter 311 We're Friends
Victor felt relieved and quickly raised the partition.
As a young guy, he couldn't handle watching a hot couple making out.
Once the partition was up, Francis took off his tie and tied Harper's hands.
He was starting to get her post-amnesia self. If she touched him now, she'd deny it all once she sobered up. He'd worked hard to get her to warm up to him and didn't want to mess it up.
Plus, he didn't want anyone else seeing Harper like this. Not even hearing her.
Harper couldn't move and whimpered. Her body felt like it was on fire, making her super uncomfortable.
Francis tried to calm her, "I know you're uncomfortable. Just hang in there a bit longer."
'Liar!'
Harper's mind was foggy, but her face said it all.
She knew he was lying.
She felt even hotter, like she was burning up inside. Her throat was dry, and she was both hungry and thirsty, with no relief in sight.
Harper whimpered again. Why was this so hard? She felt both upset and angry.
Francis found it kind of funny; her pout reminded him of Agnes.
Agnes. His eyes darkened. He wasn't usually empathetic.
But he couldn't dislike Harper or the kid she had with another guy. Just thinking about cute little Agnes softened his heart.
Francis even imagined being a good stepdad.
But he also thought about their own child...
If their kid had lived, they'd be older than Agnes, maybe just as cute. But that was just a dream.
The car reached the underground parking lot.
Francis supported her with one hand, letting her lean on him, and said, "Don't move, or people will see."
Harper didn't care about being seen; she just wanted to be close to Francis's warm body.
She was covered by a long suit jacket.
Her lips brushed his cool neck, and she rubbed her head against it, finding the scent familiar and nice.
On the way to the room, she couldn't stay still.
She even found joy in unbuttoning his shirt and nibbling on his skin to cool down.
This kind of torment was tough for any guy to handle.
Victor followed and reported, "Mr. Redstone will be here in twenty minutes."
"Okay," Francis replied, not as steady as usual, more like a barely controlled hum, incredibly sexy.
Victor saw a small head moving under the coat, making his imagination run wild.
The elevator doors opened.
Francis carried Harper inside and said, "Wait here for him."
"Yes, Mr. Getty," Victor replied.
Since there were cameras in the elevator, Francis kept her covered with his coat.
Under the coat, Harper's hair was a mess, her face flushed, and her long, slender legs wrapped tightly around Francis's waist.
Francis seemed unsteady, his brows furrowed, his expression cold and stern.
Under the suit, his disarray was clear; the buttons of his shirt had been bitten off by her.
For the first time, Francis felt a headache, finding a minute in the elevator unbearably long.
He gripped Harper's waist tightly and said in a hoarse voice, "I'll let you quench your thirst a bit now, but you can't be mad at me when you sober up."
Harper seemed to enjoy this and got even more proactive.
Finally, they reached the room. Francis headed straight for the bathtub, put her in, and started running cold water.
Worried the cold water might freeze her, he stepped in too, holding her tightly as they both got soaked.
But Harper wasn't behaving. She sucked on Francis's fingers, whimpering, clearly trying to relieve her burning desire.
Francis got annoyed. He pulled his fingers out, turned her face towards him, and asked, "Who am I?"
Harper opened her eyes, filled with unsatisfied desire, and said blankly, "Francis."
The familiar scent and touch made her instinctively call his name.
It was like a brand; even in her confused state, her body remained loyal to Francis.
Francis's heart felt warm and sweet.
At that moment, he felt like Harper was no longer the post-amnesia Harper who didn't recognize him, but the Harper who relied on him wholeheartedly when they were closest.
"Harper, good girl." He gently kissed her forehead, his voice tender.
The doorbell rang.
Francis knew Wesley was ready.
For a moment, he selfishly wished Wesley wasn't there.
But in the end, he couldn't bring himself to take advantage of her.
Harper was being so disobedient that he had to carry her to the door.
As soon as the door opened, Wesley saw Francis holding a tightly wrapped Harper.
He exclaimed, "I think we both know you're the only one who can help her out."
Francis ignored his teasing, his eyes cold. "Cut the crap."
Wesley knew Francis had changed and he wouldn't take advantage of the woman in his arms.
He carried a medical kit and said, "Put her down. She needs an injection."
Francis carried Harper into the bedroom and paused at the door. "Wait a moment."
He closed the door, and there were quite a few noises inside, mixed with sobbing.
Wesley pressed his ear to the door, listening with a flushed face.
Suddenly, the door opened.
Wesley lost his balance and stumbled forward, intending to grab Francis for support. Unexpectedly, Francis stepped back.
Wesley almost fell but caught himself with his hands.
Francis looked down at him coldly, "Serves you right."
"Come on. We're friends," Wesley said, holding his waist. "I almost threw out my back. You'd better be responsible for that."
Francis showed no reaction, giving him a sidelong glance. "Get to work."
He had finally managed to pin Harper to the bed.
Wesley approached and saw Harper wrapped tightly, her face covered with a towel, leaving only her nose and mouth exposed for breathing.
Wesley said helplessly, "Who are you guarding against?"
Francis didn't hide his possessiveness, raising an eyebrow, "Against you."
Wesley thought, "You're crazy. I've known both you and Harper for so many years. How could I even think of making a move?"
Francis frowned and asked, "So if you didn't know us well, you would make a move?"
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