Chapter 8
The furrow in Francis's brow reminded Harper of the dream she'd had during the day. In it, he had coldly demanded she get rid of their baby.
Her heart hammered in response. "I might have eaten something bad. I'll be fine after lying down for a while," she explained.
Francis's frown deepened, clearly doubtful of her words. Out of nervousness, she bit her lip and whimpered faintly, "Ouch."
Examining her palm, he noticed several crisscrossing scrapes stark against her pale skin. "Didn't you take care of this?" he asked, eyebrows knitted together.
Harper hadn't even been aware of the cuts, likely from when she fell earlier. The thought brought her mood down yet again.
Seeing her paleness, Francis didn't hesitate to scoop her up and place her on the couch before retrieving a first-aid kit.
Kneeling before her, he tenderly cleaned her wound, his usually austere demeanor softened by the care in his movements. "Why didn't you dodge?"
Harper was speechless at the audacity. He was the one who'd shoved her.
The gentle touch with which Francis applied the alcohol swab belied an effortless ability to drown anyone in his care.
The sting from the alcohol made Harper's eyes well up with tears, and she bit her lip, feeling ridiculous for being so sensitive over a small wound. Yet, for some reason, she wanted to cry.
Fighting back the tears that threatened to fall, Harper bit her lip harder.
She longed to ask him if he had ever truly loved her, but she feared she couldn't bear his answer.
Francis looked up just in time to see her lip bleeding. The blood stood out vividly against the bright textures of her skin.
He reached out and gently held her chin, his voice carrying a commanding tone, "Stop biting."
Harper’s eyes brimmed with tears, and with a tinge of embarrassment, she managed to murmur through pretense, "It hurts."
His firm grip muffled the words, her voice emerged stifled, the tip of her nose reddened, and trails of tears spilled over, much like a dew-kissed rose in the nocturnal air, fragile and easily shattered.
Francis felt a sharp pang in his heart.
The following second, his hand tightened on her chin, and he kissed her without warning.
As Francis leaned in, he blocked the light in her eyes.
The fervent kiss continued, his lips grazing over the tender ones beneath, intensifying the pain.
Her heart pounding, Harper instinctively placed her hands against his chest, attempting to push him away.
Irritated, she thought, what did he mean by kissing her now?
Her mind was cluttered with a barrage of questions, her thoughts a tangled mess.
But the man before her left no room for contemplation. Francis had always been incredibly assertive in matters such as this.
He captured her flailing hands in a firm grasp, pressing her deep into the soft embrace of the couch, restraining her, then shifted to nibble gently on the corner of her lip, mastering each moment, rendering Harper incapable of thinking about anything else.
She was left with no choice but to respond passively.
Francis knew all too well how to rouse her desire, his slow, teasing bites and tender sucks melting Harper into a pool of warmth, her voice reduced to fragmented breaths.
The vibrating of a phone disrupted their intimate moment.
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