CHAPTER 40: CHAPTER 40- GIFT

Catherine had been slumped lazily on the sofa, but when she heard the sound of water running in the kitchen, a sudden thirst stirred within her. Groggily, she got up and headed toward the kitchen. Upon seeing a tall figure standing there with his back to her, her only reaction was to lunge forward and wrap her arms around him—otherwise, she feared she would lose her balance.

Even though she was drunk, she could still feel the lean, strong body of the man beneath her hands. Her small hands brushed against his lower abdomen, feeling the firmness of his muscles through his thin shirt. The alcohol amplified her senses, and she couldn’t resist tracing them a few times, remembering something Riley had once said about a man’s waist being an important part of his body—its strength determining whether he could satisfy a woman in bed.

Bert had no idea her hands would wander so boldly along his waist. His whole body tensed; if she moved any further, it would be dangerous.

He turned, pulling her into his arms, pressing her against the refrigerator behind him, and then bent down to **her soft lips, kissing her fiercely and passionately.

Catherine struggled groggily.

"I want some water..."

But in the next moment, all her protests were swallowed by the relentless kiss. His tongue boldly pushed past her teeth, skillfully entwining with her lips. One hand reached up to caress her delicate earlobe, tracing gently along her pale neck, awakening every sensory cell in her body.

Catherine’s entire consciousness was in a haze, filled with the crisp, mature scent unique to a grown man. Even if she forced her eyes open and tried to see him clearly, her mind was immediately drowned in his heated breath and lingering kisses.

Apart from that one night before, Catherine had no experience with love or intimacy, leaving her utterly defenseless, her body melting under his kiss.

That previous night, she had been drugged—its intense effects had left her in control at first, reaching for Bert’s shoulders and kissing him willingly. But now, she was passive and helpless, entirely at Bert’s mercy.

His lips lingered on hers before traveling down her neck, while one hand boldly slipped under her clothes, reveling in the woman’s body.

At that moment, Bert desired her intensely, but he was painfully aware that he could not take her again. Last time, she had been too dazed, and now, drunk once more, nothing could happen—otherwise, it would be impossible to contain.

So he eventually stopped, holding her soft, pliant body tightly against his chest, easing the torment within him. His meticulously styled hair, ruffled from his lips buried in her, added to his raw masculinity, though the drunken woman in his arms was too dazed to notice.

Already light-headed from alcohol and now further softened by Bert’s kiss, Catherine sank even more into his embrace, weakly protesting again,

"I want some water..."

She was nearly dying of thirst. Why hadn’t anyone given her a drink yet?

Bert took a deep breath, then, holding the drunken woman in his arms with one hand, he reached out with the other to pour her a glass of water, gently lifting it to her lips so she could sip.

But after being so parched for so long, one glass was far from enough.

Catherine closed her eyes, her consciousness hazy, and after finishing the glass, she licked her glossy red lips and murmured,

"More..."

Bert stared at her lips, flushed even deeper from his kisses. Gritting his teeth to suppress the restless desire in his lower abdomen, he poured another glass and fed it to her.

This time, she only drank half before shaking her head, refusing the rest. Bert tilted his head back and drank the remainder himself.

He didn’t mind using the same cup she had sipped from—after all, their lips had already intertwined so intimately, what was there to mind?

After drinking, Catherine felt fully refreshed. She pushed him away in one motion, stumbled a few steps, and turned to leave the kitchen.

Bert watched her walk off, patting her own backside, and couldn’t help but smile wryly.

She was carefree, indeed—half-dazed, having toyed with him and used him, and then turned and walked away, while his body was still ablaze with heat.

Once Catherine left the kitchen, she returned to the sofa. This time, she didn’t lie down, but sat in the corner, legs tucked up on the sofa, hugging herself as she dozed off in a haze. Instinctively fearing the cold, she even pulled a thin blanket over herself.

After leaving the kitchen, Bert saw her all prepared, wrapped up tight and ready to sleep. He couldn’t help but feel a mix of irritation and amusement as he walked over and sat down on the sofa beside her, watching her drunken, dreamy expression.

"Catherine, can you have any sense of safety?" he said.

There was still a living, breathing person in the house—how could she just fall asleep like this?

Even though he knew she was drunk, and even though he himself was the man allowed in her house tonight, Bert still felt a pang of worry.

What if... what if next time she was in this state and ran into someone with ill intentions?

But then he thought better of it. He wasn’t exactly a gentleman himself; after all, he had already done so much to her in the kitchen just now. Everything except actually going all the way.

"Shh—"

She rested her small face on his leg, eyes closed, and raised a slender finger to her lips, softly signaling him to be quiet.

"It’s my birthday today. Don’t bother me—I don’t want anyone scolding me."

Bert’s brow furrowed. Her birthday?

He glanced around the room, but there was no sign of a celebration. Of course—Renata was still in the hospital; how could she possibly be in the mood for a birthday?

His gaze returned to her small face. It was clear that the two bottles of beer had completely drunk her under the table.

She lay across his leg, eyes closed, the corners of her mouth lifted in a faint, delicate smile.

It was a simple smile, yet it moved him in a way he couldn’t explain. Bert’s heart softened slightly.

He lifted his hand, gently caressing her flushed cheek, his thumb tracing softly back and forth, and spoke in a tender voice:

"What kind of birthday gift would you like?"

She shook her head drowsily, still fogged by alcohol.

"I don’t want any gifts. I just want my mom to get better soon. That’s more important than anything else."

Bert’s deep gaze lingered on her small face, and he responded softly, echoing her words.

"She will get better."

"Everything will get better."

"Do you want any other gifts?"

Bert asked again, but this time she simply shook her head.

He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. She was honest, truly asking for nothing else. In this drunken state, her reactions—untouched by careful thought—were purely instinctive.

And these instinctive reactions revealed her heart more genuinely than anything else.

Her heart was warm and calm, free of desires, which was why she wanted nothing.

Thinking of her now, intoxicated and fragile, Bert’s gaze grew heavier as he looked at her, tentatively speaking:

"Do you still remember that night, two years ago?"