Chapter 277: Are You Really Impotent？
Winona wasn't quite sure what was happening, but she obediently remained still. When Zachary reached out to scoop her up, she didn't resist.
The weight of an adult woman wasn't exactly light, and Zachary found it even more challenging with her inebriated state. He managed to lift her halfway, but the strain proved too great, and they toppled back onto the couch together.
Fortunately, Matthew's apartment was furnished with quality items, as he had planned to live there himself. The couch was wide and soft. When Zachary fell, he cushioned the impact with his elbow, preventing himself from completely crushing Winona.
He half-propped himself up, hovering over her, taking in the sight of her lying quietly beneath him.
Winona's brows and eyes were tinged with a light blush. The look she gave him wasn't the usual one of rejection and mockery. Zachary's slender fingers traced the contour of her cheek. "If one day I can't give it to you, would you leave me?"
The woman tilted her head, probably annoyed that he was disturbing her sleep.
Zachary chuckled softly, with a hint of self-mockery. "But you already don't want me. If I'm impotent, you'd probably run even faster and be glad you have left me."
Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead, devoid of any ulterior motive. His lips then lightly brushed along her eyes, nose, cheeks, until they softly met her own, which were reddened from the alcohol.
Winona's lips were soft and slightly cool, carrying the sweet taste of the cocktail she had indulged in. Zachary hadn't planned to take advantage of her intoxicated state. The thought repulsed him. But as the kiss deepened, he felt himself slipping out of control.
Because Winona responded to him.
Her half-closed eyes were filled with a hazy drunkenness, reflecting the light, shimmering beautifully. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, her body arching to press against his chest.
Zachary's mind buzzed, his taut nerves stretched to the limit. His blood pounded, and he felt as if he were losing himself.
In his arms was the woman he loved, and he had come here with certain intentions. The combination of her response and the situation made it impossible to retain his composure unless he had truly been impotent.
The next morning, Winona awoke in a muddled state. The once cluttered table was now spotless. If not for the empty bottles of alcohol scattered about, she might have believed she dreamed the entire encounter.
She attempted to piece together the events but had no clear memory of Zachary's departure.
Half-asleep, she had heard him say something about being impotent.
Groggy and with a pounding head, she sat up from the sofa. She was still clad in yesterday's clothes, now slightly disheveled, and her lips ached. She suspected, in her drunken stupor, she might have bitten them, mistaking them for the delicious food she'd dreamt of.
Winona felt an enveloping weakness, unsure whether it stemmed from the uncomfortable night on the couch or residual effects of the cocktails. But she had only consumed low alcohol—or so she believed. Little did she know, some of those bottles were handcrafted, deceptively sweet but packing a delayed punch.
She lingered on the couch for what felt like an eternity until the realization hit her: she was going to be late for work. Summoning what energy she could, she dragged herself to the bathroom to freshen up.
As soon as she stood in front of the sink, she was furious. She gritted her teeth and squeezed out a name. "Zachary."
Her lips were swollen and chapped, looking like they had been excessively ravaged. Just a glance was enough to recount the intensity of last night. Tugging down her collar, she revealed a constellation of kiss marks sprinkled across her collarbone and upper chest, varying in intensity.
Though Winona's experience in such matters was limited, she knew enough to discern the absence of what typically followed intense intimacy. He hadn't taken it any further.
As she stitched together fragments of last night's events with the lingering sensations and Zachary's hazy words, an astonishing thought began to crystalize.
Zachary, was he really impotent?
If not, then he must be a very upright person.
Otherwise, he had to be extraordinarily self-controlled. However, given his previous attempts to push boundaries, even when she was sober, this seemed less likely. If she were drunk, it would only embolden his desires. Yet, he had stopped himself multiple times before, albeit often with great reluctance.
Reflecting on the array of past incidents and the physical evidence on her skin, Winona reached a startling conclusion: Zachary was likely impotent.
A sudden knock on the bathroom's glass door jolted her from her thoughts. Startled, Winona turned to see a tall, imposing silhouette through the frosted glass. Before she could fully process who it was, the door swung open, revealing Zachary standing there, his eyes locking onto hers.
"You haven't left yet?" she blurted, hand still gripping her collar. Given his absence earlier that morning, she had assumed he’d already gone.
His gaze drifted over the love marks on her skin, darkening as his Adam's apple bobbed before he said, voice hoarse, "Pull up your collar and come out for breakfast."
Winona’s earlier musings fed her curiosity. Her eyes flitted involuntarily from his face to his lower abdomen. There was a saying that men often wake with morning erections, heightened arousal evident.
Yet, upon inspection, his trousers revealed no such telltale sign. No discernible bulge.
She licked her lips, feeling as if she had stumbled upon a crucial revelation. "Zachary, are you really impotent?"
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