He pressed repeatedly upon her lips; they were so soft, so tender, that with each press, they seemed to melt away, like jelly. Isidore hadn't tasted jelly in many years, but in his memory, it hadn't been this sweet.
A wave of uncontrollable desire surged in his chest. He tightly embraced Eloise's body, clinging to the warmth, unwilling to part for a long time.
Just the thought of it, of such intimate connection, made his blood surge, as though it were boiling.
The heat spread to the back of his neck. He restrained himself, his breath heavy, as the arm around her shoulder tightened, as if he wished to pull her into his embrace completely.
She was so fragrant, so soft, that he could not feel the bones within her body. His hand clenched the hem of her dress, twisting and pulling, turning it into a crumpled, salty mess like tangled cotton. His mind was filled with a flurry of thoughts. Isidore wanted to do something intimate with Eloise right here. His gaze grew hazy, and his hand slowly found its way to her body...
He suddenly snapped back to reality.
What was he doing? She was forced to be imprisoned here with him, and it couldn't be denied that she was suffering because of him. She was frightened in her heart, and after finally falling asleep, she was held in his arms, taken advantage of in the chaos.
Would she be willing? If she were awake, she would certainly not be. Not long ago, she had so decisively rejected his proposal, and now she sees the chaotic and filthy side of his life.
The repulsive Milo, the threat of life and death— even he found it distressing, let alone her. He had previously claimed he was not a rapist, but what difference was there between his actions and those of a rapist? Just because of a moment's fragility in his heart, could he justify violating her?
In that moment, Isidore was filled with intense self-loathing and gently pulled away from her. Without his arm supporting her back, Eloise lay soft and limp on the bed, her long hair spread out on the pillow.
Isidore sat at the edge of the bed, his head bowed, his back rising and falling with each breath. He had already endured to the point of unbearable distress.
Behind him, Eloise's soft breathing, her inadvertent murmur, and her slight turn in bed were all like adding fuel to the fire.
Isidore's chest ached as if it would tear open from the strain. His mind dwelled on sorrowful thoughts, yet the desire he had kindled still refused to be extinguished. He grew more and more disgusted with his own animalistic lust, no different from a beast, a brute. No wonder she would want to escape. He ran a hand through his hair and stood up, intending to take a cold shower in the bathroom.
As he stood up, he noticed that the corner of his shirt had somehow been grasped in Eloise's hand. His golden eyes flickered twice. With a blank expression, he leaned down, prying open her soft, pale fingers, and slowly pulled the corner of his shirt free, exerting considerable effort.
He then walked past her without a glance, his hand just grasping the bathroom doorknob, when his deep golden eyes shut, his sharp brows knitting together.
He cursed himself inwardly, and after the curse, came to a dark and sordid conclusion— as long as she didn't find out, it couldn't be called taking advantage of the situation. Just right— she was fast asleep. Isidore turned slowly, his gaze fixed upon her.
He slowly walked to the side of the bed, lifted one long leg, kneeled onto the bed, and crawled toward her. His back arched gracefully, like a predatory male leopard. He crawled to Eloise's feet, parted her legs, and knelt silently, gazing at her.
See what he has done.
Isidore's gaze, like the cold light of the moon, cast down from above, enveloping Eloise in its chill. The girl slept peacefully as before, but her body was marked with chaotic traces. Her lips were slightly swollen from being kissed, faint bite marks adorned her collarbone, and her loose neckline had been pulled down almost completely. Several faint finger marks were visible on her milky white breasts.
Due to his mischief, the blanket was haphazardly thrown over her, but a section was firmly covering her calves. Her snow-white feet were sticking out from the blanket, with her toes as soft as if they had been brushed with blush. How adorable.
So careless, yet so composed, sleeping without a care, unaware of any need for defense—how could one blame him for lacking self-control?
The smoldering frustration in his heart—he could not tell whether it was anger at himself or at her. Isidore grasped her foot, his fingers kneading her toes—see, even now, she still did not wake.
His eyes remained fixed, unblinking, on Eloise's sleeping face.
Perhaps in her dream, she felt uncomfortable, and instinctively tried to withdraw her foot. Fearing she might wake, he would release his grip just in time, only to hold her tighter and squeeze harder afterward.
But it was still not enough. She lay right before him, sleeping so docilely, like facing a table of delicacies with a cup of plain water—who could taste the flavor of water?
Once, with his eyes closed, he truly applied some force, imagining her awake, her little face displaying a hint of disdain and impatience, as she mercilessly stepped down. The pain was real, and the resulting sensation nearly drove him to the edge.
But "almost" was still "almost." Such indirect stimulation quickly ceased to satisfy.
Eloise, unable to free her foot several times, murmured in complaint, "It tickles." He slowly opened his eyes and loosened his grip. She quickly withdrew her foot to one side, her thighs parting, revealing the delicate, gleaming curve at the center of her leg.
He noticed it, his gaze lingering in surprise, and silently curved his lips into a grin.
