She looked at my outstretched hand, hesitating. I could see the wariness in her eyes—even though I'd just saved her, she still remembered I was "dangerous."
I waited patiently without rushing. I watched the wariness in her eyes gradually melt, replaced by complex emotions mixing curiosity with dependence.
She was being conquered by the "gentleness" I was projecting.
The feeling was deeply satisfying.
Finally, she placed her cool little handin my palm.
"...Thank you."
I gripped her hand—so light, so soft, bones delicate as if they'd snap at the slightest pressure. I helped her up, letting her lean against me to bear most of her weight.
Her body pressed against my side. I could feel her warmth, her softness, her slightly tense muscles from nervousness. She carried a faint shampoo scent—not last night's cheap perfume, but something fresh like newly sprouted grass.
This real, unguarded contact...
Made my lower abdomen tighten.
Damn.
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Not the time.
Five minutes later, we reached the apartment. A high-end residential building where I occasionally handled private matters unsuitable for the manor.
I had her sit on the living room sofa while I fetched the medical kit.
When I returned, she was looking around—minimalist black, white, and gray decor with no personal items. She looked nervous, unnaturally gripping her clothes, betraying her inner anxiety.
"Relax." I knelt on one knee before her, opening the medical kit. "I won't eat you."
At least, not now.
I could feel her gaze on me—scrutinizing, curious, with anticipation she didn't recognize. It reminded me of a kitten awaiting attention.
Damn.
I took a deep breath, forcing focus.
"This'll hurt a little. Bear with it." My voice was rougher than expected.
I touched her ankle scrape with an iodine-soaked cotton swab. Her body trembled slightly, like being struck by electricity.
That reaction made my lower abdomen tighten.
I looked up at her—she was biting her lower lip, trying not to make a noise. Her face was slightly scrunched from pain, but morefrom shyness. Her cheeks flushed light pink, spreading to her ears, vivid against her pale skin.
"Does it hurt?" I asked knowingly, while making my touch even gentler.
She nodded, then shook her head. "It's... it's okay."
Voice small and trembling.
I smiled and continued treating the wound. The cotton swab glided across her skin—I could feel its smoothness and warmth, and that nervous trembling. These subtle sensations traveled through my fingertips to my nerve endings, then burned straight to my brain.
The apartment was very quiet.
So quiet I could hear her rapid breathing, her swallowing, even her heartbeat—or was that mine?
