CHAPTER 162: CHAPTER 162: UNABLE TO HOLD BACK

Soon, the apartment door was opened.

Hugh Irving held a key in his hand, and a bag of medicine bought from the pharmacy in the other.

Ethan Sinclair didn’t notice, probably muddled by the fever, still lying motionless on the sofa.

She walked over, sat by his side, and reached out to touch his forehead.

The man had a severe fever.

It was her first time seeing such a strong man with a fever; it was truly unusual.

"Are you dead?" Hugh Irving tugged at his ear, "Can your property go to me if you die?"

"Professor Irving, can’t you wish for some good for me?" Ethan Sinclair rasped, his voice hoarse.

This cold shower really did a number on him; not only was he feverish, but his whole body ached everywhere, even his voice had changed.

He was completely out of it.

Hugh Irving snickered and got up to make him some medicine.

"If you’re awake, don’t play dead, get up." She busied herself around the living room.

Ethan Sinclair didn’t move, not even turning over.

When she brought the medicine over, he still lay stubbornly on the sofa, unmoving.

Hugh Irving took out a fever patch from the bag, tore it open, and gently turned his face over.

Ethan Sinclair opened his eyes, his pale face flushed, rosier than a girl’s.

It made Hugh Irving blush.

Ethan Sinclair was quite a rare handsome man, good-looking, rich, and especially skilled, flawless.

"Why are you blushing just putting on a fever patch, Professor Irving? Do you have a fever too?" Ethan Sinclair said irritably.

He was indeed upset; all these days, she hadn’t answered his calls or messages.

He was feeling suffocated.

Once you’ve tasted meat, you can’t go back to eating vegetables.

His eyes darkened, and he curled his legs up.

Hugh Irving glared at him, patting his hot face, "Shut up!"

After saying this, she leaned down and placed the fever patch on his forehead.

The familiar scent of a woman filled the air.

Having slept with her for so long, he knew this scent too well; it was a catalyst that kept him awake at night.

His gaze fell on the softest part in front of her, his adam’s apple rolling uncontrollably.

He closed his eyes.

Restraint, he must be restrained!

"Get up, take some medicine." Hugh Irving didn’t wait for his response, carefully helping him up.

Ethan Sinclair couldn’t refuse; if he continued to burn like this, he’d probably start hallucinating.

He half-lay on the sofa, his shirt hanging messily, only two or three buttons done, looking both devilish and wild.

Hugh Irving’s eyes didn’t shy away, focusing on his well-defined chest muscles.

Ethan Sinclair took the antipyretic medicine from her hand and drank it in one go.

Then, he adjusted his shirt.

"Is Professor Irving planning to give me a lecture?"

Hugh Irving averted her gaze; she had been longing for these days, very much so, but she feared things getting out of control.

"I have to go." She replied lightly.

"Alright." Ethan Sinclair didn’t try to stop her, turning to lie down again.

Hugh Irving frowned, "At least get up and eat something. Your clothes are all wet. Take a shower before sleeping."

"Didn’t you say you were leaving? Why do you care so much?"

"I’m the last person who saw you. If you die, I’m afraid others will blame me!"

"Rest assured, Professor Irving, I won’t die. You can leave now."

Hugh Irving was furious with him!

"Say, what do you want?" Hugh Irving shot him a sidelong glance.

Ethan Sinclair paused, then said, "My hand hurts, help me shower."

"In your dreams!"

She threw a pillow at Ethan Sinclair, who didn’t dodge, and the pillow landed on his injured hand.

"Ouch—" he furrowed his brows.

Hugh Irving quickly picked up the pillow again, checking his injury.

"Idiot! Didn’t even know to dodge!" she muttered under her breath.

"Couldn’t dodge that, Professor Irving." Ethan Sinclair chuckled.

Hugh Irving couldn’t argue with him. Seeing the strong smell of medicinal alcohol from his wrist, she had no choice but to agree to help him wash up.

Ethan Sinclair faintly smiled.

They had taken a shower together before, but now she was avoiding their relationship, taking a shower crossed a big boundary.

However, even helping him wash was some progress.

In the bathroom.

"Take it off." Hugh Irving stood before him with his grey towel.

Ethan Sinclair was over 1.8 meters tall, while Hugh Irving was 1.7 meters, a perfect height difference.

He frowned, undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand. The buttons had been barely done up, and in less than two seconds, the perfectly sculpted chest and abs were exposed before her.

Hugh Irving forced herself to act calm, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Ethan Sinclair noticed every expression on her face.

Her earlobes were red with embarrassment.

His slender fingers unbuckled his belt, the sound of it clicking as the waistband loosened slightly.

Then he undid the button, lowering the zipper.

Hugh Irving felt waves of panic but dared not show it.

Ethan Sinclair chuckled.

Her eyes were obviously full of desire, pretending to have no experience.

"Professor Irving," Ethan Sinclair called her huskily.

Usually, when things got heated in bed, he loved calling her Professor Irving by her ear.

Each time louder than the last, tirelessly.

Now, hearing him call her like this, Hugh Irving felt a tightness in her lower abdomen, like countless ants crawling, wishing someone would help crush them.

"Stop messing around and hurry up," Hugh Irving turned her face away, washing the towel at the sink.

Ethan Sinclair stood behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"I have no strength left, Professor Irving, help me."

"I think you didn’t take enough medicine." She turned around, quickly washing his body.

From neck to chest muscles, then down to the distinctly outlined abs...

Ethan Sinclair grabbed her hand.

"Why are you here today?" he asked seriously.

Hugh Irving didn’t want to answer, struggling to break free from his grip, but she couldn’t.

"Let go!"

"Answer me," Ethan Sinclair was rarely serious.

Tonight, he needed an answer; he didn’t want to be strung along, not advancing nor retreating, unwilling to give up either.

Hugh Irving was a good girl.

"What do you want?"

"Hugh Irving, let’s give it a try." Ethan Sinclair stepped closer, standing between her legs.

Hugh Irving was forced to lean against the sink, his approach making her body shiver slightly.

Though her upper body was a bit away from him, below the waist, they were tightly pressed.

"We’re not suitable," she said.

"How would we know if we don’t try?" Ethan Sinclair moved closer again.

Hugh Irving’s breaths grew rapid, her entire body devoid of resistance.

"Professor Irving, give me some time, let’s try; if it’s suitable, we’ll be together; if not, I won’t bother you again."

Ethan Sinclair couldn’t abide by Zane Sterling’s notion of restraint; he couldn’t restrain himself.

This woman before him made him lose his composure, he couldn’t remain rational, let alone restrained.

He waited for her answer, making no further moves, even stepping back a bit, not pressing against her anymore, even letting go of her hand.

Hugh Irving said nothing, picked up the towel, and stood behind him, washing his back.

After she finished, she washed the towel again.

Then, she turned around and handed the towel to him.

Ethan Sinclair obediently took it, not sure what she was thinking.

She squatted down, taking off his pants.

Her face flushed red.

This big guy, long unseen, was still as formidable.

She continued washing his legs without care.

Ethan Sinclair’s deep eyes darkened.

She washed what she should and shouldn’t have.

Ethan Sinclair’s last bit of restraint was completely washed away by her.

He couldn’t help but let out a low groan.

"Assistant Sinclair, you’re losing control." Hugh Irving put away the towel, giving him a casual pat.

Ethan Sinclair’s legs went weak.