Chapter 175 Kiss and Love
Sebastian looked at her carefully for a few seconds before finally letting out a
long sigh and lowering his head to kiss her. Though his approach was almost
fierce, the force in his hands was significantly gentler.
Isabella breathed a sigh of relief, thankfully he hadn't gone too far. It seemed she
had dodged another bullet tonight.
After a lengthy and deep kiss, the heat within him not only failed to subside but
became even more rampant, threatening to overwhelm him.
Through the bathrobe, Isabella could feel his body temperature rising steadily.
She dared not move, fearing that any careless action might spark Sebastian's
instincts.
"Maybe..." she suggested, "you should take a cold shower."
That seems like the only option,” he conceded.
Isabella emphasized again, "Moderation, moderation."
Sebastian bowed his head, resting it on her shoulder, inhaling the fragrance of
her hair, silent, simply leaning against her quietly.
Isabella had no idea what he was thinking, so she remained rigid, not daring to
move.
After a while, he spoke, "I promised I wouldn't force you, and I'll keep my word.
There’s no need to be nervous."
Although not the best of men, Sebastian was someone of his word and
wouldn’t go back on it. Isabella gradually relaxed.
"Perhaps... I've made too many mistakes before," Sebastian mused, "and I’m
only realizing it now."
Isabella didn't quite understand what he meant. What mistakes had he made?
Before she could ponder further, Sebastian continued, "Your guard against me,
your inability to accept me wholeheartedly for now—it’s all my fault."
"Sebastian..."
Are you crazy? Speaking nonsense? Admitting to being wrong?
"When we argued before, I forced myself on you and showed no gentleness…"
He sighed, hugging her tighter, "I'm sorry for leaving you with a shadow."
That's when Isabella understood what was on his mind.
"It's... all in the past," she spoke softly, "just be good to me from now on."
"I'll wait until you can fully accept me again," said Sebastian, "no matter how long
it takes, I will wait."
His voice carried a clear determination.
Wait no matter how long? Really?
Unable to hold back, Isabella questioned, "But aren't we preparing to have a
child? If you wait for me like this, then the baby will..."
"The baby isn’t important; but you are," Sebastian replied. "We can take our
time, there's no rush."
Isabella found herself increasingly unable to understand Sebastian. The baby was
one of the main reasons he married her, and now he was saying that she was
more important than the baby!
Sebastian must really be crazy!
Sebastian chuckled lowly, probably guessing what she was thinking, "I’m not
crazy, I'm serious, Isabella."
In fact, what Isabella found hardest to resist was when Sebastian called her by
her name in that husky, magnetic voice... Isabella. It made her want to indulge, to
love him just a little bit more.
But falling for Sebastian held no benefits for her.
"If this continues and we don't conceive a baby soon..."
"I have confidence, you won’t reject me forever."
Sebastian looked up, kissed her on the cheek and got out of bed.
His shirt was creased from being pressed, his figure tall and his legs long.
Isabella stared blankly at his retreating back, her fingers touching her own lips.
That kiss... she had felt love in it.
Not the previous venting or possession, but genuine love.
How could Sebastian have love for her...
The sound of water came from the bathroom, and when Isabella thought about
him taking a cold shower right now, she suddenly found it amusing.
She hugged the comforter, laughing like a fool.
Living peacefully with Sebastian like this, being treated with his gentleness, was
such a blissful experience. Although this happiness was fleeting, insubstantial,
and could disappear at any moment, the joy she felt was very real.
Sebastian took a cold shower for a full twenty minutes before he came out of the
bathroom, water still dripping from the tips of his hair.
Seeing Isabella laughing so heartily, he let out a snort: "Aren't you going to
sleep?"
"I was waiting for you so we could sleep together."
Her words instantly softened his tense expression.
Isabella suddenly realized that this man was actually quite easy to please. As long
as one was willing to deceive him, to indulge him, all problems could be resolved.
She got up, took the towel from his hands, and carefully dried his hair for him:
"Blow-dry it before you sleep; otherwise, you might get a headache."
"You do it for me," he suggested, referring to the hair-drying.`
"Alright, since you're my husband."
Sebastian sat on the edge of the bed, and Isabella knelt by his side, holding the
hairdryer and carefully helping him dry his hair. The whirring sound of the dryer
filled every corner of the master bedroom...
It was a warm and comfortable scene, also quite pleasing to the eye. A man like
Sebastian was like a walking fashion spread.
The night deepened.
At the old Lawrence family estate, in Jarod Lawrence's room, the lights were
bright, but the curtains were drawn tightly shut. Apart from Jarod Lawrence, who
was sitting in a wheelchair, there stood a tall man beside him.
"Peter, bring me the picture frame on the table."
"Get it yourself." The man named Peter glanced at him, arms folded across his
chest. " Addicted to playing the cripple now, are we?"
"Can't you just treat me as if I'm disabled?"
Peter snorted: "In the way you're sitting, you'll turn into a cripple sooner or later
even if you aren't one now."
"That would be perfect, saves me from pretending," Jarod Lawrence replied. "And
no need to worry about getting caught."
"You pretend so well in front of me, you deserve an Oscar," said Peter.
"Fine." Jarod Lawrence sighed. "I’ll get it myself."
Jarod Lawrence lifted the blanket from his legs and stood up, walking towards
the table. His stride was firm; there was no sign of disability, no need for a cane.
"Keep pretending like this, and you'll even deceive yourself, Jarod Lawrence,"
said Peter.
He only laughed, not saying a word, picked up the picture frame, and gently
caressed the photograph of the woman with his fingertips.
In the photo, she had bright eyes and white teeth, her eyes curved into crescents
as she smiled, her hair slightly disheveled while she crouched in the garden
watering and fertilizing, gloves on her hands.
Jarod Lawrence still remembered the moment she noticed the camera; first
startled, then smiling as she did now... He pressed the shutter button, capturing
the moment forever.
The woman's appearance was far from delicate because he had taken the photo
surreptitiously.
Yet, it was this very picture that had helped Jarod Lawrence through many
nights.
"She is dead, and no matter how much you look at that picture, she won’t come
back," Peter said, watching him. "And you, although you're alive, what difference
does it make from being dead?"
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