Injured Rabbit

But tonight, something was different.

Out of the corner of his eye, Francis caught a glimpse of the half-empty bottle of red wine on the nightstand and the goblet that had been casually tossed on the bedsheet.

Had she been drinking?

Francis did not know about Mary's sensitivity to alcohol, but having lived together for some time, he had found out about Mary's inability to hold her liquor, which was why she never drank.

Suddenly, feeling the smooth skin in his arms, and the delicate stomach against his palms, he froze.

At this time, the woman in his arms mumbled something in her sleep.

It seemed to be sobbing, but it also seemed to be whispering.

Francis gently kissed her hair.

Until now, his mind would occasionally recall the first time he met Mary. She was standing at the door of the room in her snow-white pajamas, looking at him with shock and hurt in her eyes.

Like a wounded rabbit.

As if he had done something wrong to her, and hurt her deeply.

At that time, Mary's gaze pierced his heart and constricted it.

But at that time, they were only strangers.

Although he later realized that Mary mistook him for Belland, that gaze still often appeared in his mind.

Francis thought that perhaps he had never felt so valued.

He was even a little jealous of Belland.

Hence, he often could not help teasing Mary over the issue.

Mary's face was beautiful, but her eyes were always clean and clear, which made her face possess contrasting qualities of sexiness and purity.

Back then, Francis was amused to see the dissatisfaction and helplessness in her clear eyes.

But now, the woman really seemed like a wounded rabbit, licking her wounds alone every night.

At this time, Mary suddenly turned around and put her two white and tender arms around Francis's neck. Her warm lips were also close to his neck, as if she was murmuring something in her sleep.

The thin bedsheet slid down as Mary turned her body.

Under the moonlight, Francis could clearly see the woman's beautiful naked body. Her white skin was sparkling and translucent under the moonlight. It was like a ripe peach, tempting people to taste her sweetness.

There were still wet tears on her face, and her tightly pursed lips showed her stubbornness and grief. Her scattered hair was stuck to the corners of her eyes by the tears. Through the mess, however, there was a blurred lustful appeal.

Francis could not help but lower his head and kiss the tightly pursed red lips.

He could not bear to let go too quickly, and his lips gently rubbed against the warm lips as he pried open the tightly pursed lips and teeth, allowing him to burrow into the woman's mouth and taste the sour and sweet mixture of red wine and tears.

Francis opened his eyes and suddenly found himself facing the woman's eyes, which had already opened a slit.

She was awake.

This stopped Francis's breathing, but between his lips and teeth came Mary's response, her delicate little tongue entangling with his tongue, sucking hard.

Francis's eyes darkened, and the hands around her waist tightened, as if they were trying to draw her into himself.

He closed his eyes and responded with a stronger kiss, his cold palms covering the woman's full breasts, his thumb rubbing the tips of her breasts until they were upright.

A painful moan also came from behind her teeth.

His slender fingers slid down and slid between the woman's legs. One of his fingers quickly pierced into the honey garden. Once again, a painful moan emerged from between the woman's lips and teeth.