Abandoned Luna Now Untouchable (Cecilia) novel Chapter 229

Chapter 229: Chapter 229 A Chaotic Night

Sebastian’s pov

I watched her for a long moment, my expression flat despite the war going on just beneath the surface.

"My arm’s getting tired," I said, tone even.

"No, it’s not," she murmured, eyes half-lidded.

"The water’s cold now."

"Nope," she insisted softly, her head lolling against the edge of the tub like she was royalty and I was her long-suffering servant.

Her drunken pout was softening my resolve by the second.

But the moment passed. Duty beat desire--this time.

I lifted her out of the cooling bath and wrapped her in a thick towel, drying her off with brisk, practiced movements.

She scowled, clearly not a fan of the change. Then she leaned in, wrinkled her nose, and made a face like she’d just smelled a dead fish.

"You stink."

The irony wasn’t lost on me, considering she’d used my shirt as a personal vomit canvas less than an hour ago.

"Yeah," I said dryly. "Hard to stay fresh after being personally baptized by you."

She gave a half-smile, already drifting off again, and I carried her out of the bathroom with ease.

Her bedroom looked like a disaster zone--clothes tossed everywhere, the air heavy with bad decisions, and a carpet that honestly needed to be burned.

I didn’t hesitate. I turned on my heel and headed for my room instead.

I laid her gently onto the clean sheets, and she melted into them with a quiet, contented sigh.

Her eyes were already sliding shut, her body going limp in that way only the truly exhausted--or deeply drunk--could manage.

While she slipped into sleep, I took a quick shower, scrubbing away the evening: the alcohol, the sweat, the chaos clinging to my skin like static.

When I stepped out, towel slung low around my hips, I heard a knock just down the hall.

Sawyer stood outside her door, holding a mug of something steaming--probably one of his infamous hangover cures.

"I’ll take that," I said, intercepting him just as he raised his hand to knock on her bedroom door. "You’re off the clock."

Sawyer blinked, clearly thrown.

He glanced from the door behind me to the steaming mug now in my hand, confusion flickering across his face.

Then I turned and started walking down the hall--past her door, and straight toward mine.

"Wait... " he called after me, voice rising slightly. "You’re putting her in your room?"

I didn’t answer.

Just kept walking, the mug of broth warm in my hand, the conversation ending exactly where I wanted it to.

Inside, I set the mug on the nightstand and tapped her cheek lightly.

"Wake up. Drink this. You’ll thank me in the morning."

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused but aware enough to register me.

I helped her sit up, keeping the blanket wrapped snugly around her shoulders while she leaned into me.

She drank the broth obediently, albeit with several exaggerated grimaces.

When the mug was empty, her hands emerged from the blanket cocoon and wrapped around my waist.

She nuzzled against my chest, inhaling deeply.

"You smell good now," she murmured, her voice dropping into a slow, drowsy purr.

Her thighs trembled. I could feel her tightening, her breath sharp. She was on the edge.

I stopped.

I looked up. Her head was thrown back, eyes screwed shut. But when her eyes fluttered open, her gaze was glassy. Unfocused.

Her mind was floating in a wine-soaked fog. Not here with me.

If I made her come now, if I fucked her, she might wake up with regret. She might hate me.

The desire in my blood cooled to a dull, furious ache.

I pulled back. I closed her robe and tied the belt.

I brushed her flushed cheek.

"You’re drunk," I said, my voice rough. "Not the best time."

I pushed away from the bed.

"Don’t go..." she murmured, reaching for me.

I pulled the blanket over her. "I’m not going anywhere."

I moved to the armchair. My cock still throbbed, a hard, unsatisfied weight.

"Come back," she pouted, slurring. "I’ve got snacks... " Her words tumbled into nonsense.

She tossed. She turned. She tried to crawl off the bed. Finally, she collapsed near the foot of it.

I carried her back to the pillows and tucked her in. I retreated to the bathroom.

By morning, I’d taken four cold showers.

The taste of her pussy still burned on my tongue.