When Caspian Warner returned to the bed after hanging up the phone, Titus Zane’s acute sense of sll told him sothing was wrong.
The nearly two-ter-tall man slowly approached the bed, staring at Titus Zane. His thick lips curved into a slight smile. The inherently dangerous illusion that black people often project made Caspian’s expression even more terrifying to Titus.
With his hands tied behind his back, he curled up on the bed, struggling just to prop himself up.
But as the man drew closer step by step, Titus still tried hard to sit up, scooting backwards on the bed as much as he could...
"Do you know what Sister Hua just said on the phone?" Caspian sat sideways on the bed, his broad palm brushing away the hair covering Titus’s face, his thick lips curling up as his hawk-like eyes glead with amusent as if he was looking at his prey.
Titus shook his head subconsciously; his mouth was gagged with cloth preventing him from speaking, while his eyes watched Caspian warily.
After lifting the hair from Titus’s face, Caspian’s hand, calloused from years of use, didn’t leave but gently caressed his face, clearly savoring the mont.
"Sister Hua ordered... to finish you off directly."
Titus was startled, clueless about what he had done to betray Sister Hua, leaving her with the intent to kill.
Faced with the fear of death and the instinct to survive, Titus kept shaking his head at Caspian, his eyes filled with tears and pleading.
Unmoved, Caspian sat in front of the bed, still casually stroking Titus’s cheek.
The organization never lacked beautiful won, but they had strict rules; the n and won within could not have the slightest relationship. So, even in their liberated society, nobody dared to make a wrong move towards any woman of the organization.
Eastern won had always been a mysterious and beautiful enigma in the eyes of Western n. Their petite figures and modesty, unlike that of Western won, were particularly morable for Caspian due to their conservative nature and the sense of their tantalizing resistence.
Titus continued to shake his head, muffling sobs through the cloth in his mouth. Caspian raised his eyes, his bronze fingers lightly touching Titus’s blood-stained lips, brushing them softly with an ambiguous smile, and said, "I would like to let you go, but Sister Hua’s orders cannot be defied."
Caspian’s words were akin to a death sentence for Titus, extinguishing the flicker of hope he had and dimming the light in his eyes as he sagged in defeat.
His lips stung as Caspian pulled out the cloth from his mouth, and his fingers lingered on his lips, intrusively moving in and out in a tantalizing, lecherous manner...
"Mmm... get off... what do you think you are doing..." Death was terrifying, but for a woman, the fear of being dishonored was far more appalling.
"Don’t be scared; after I’ve had enough fun, I’ll make it quick for you," said Caspian, sending Titus into a panic again. He struggled and shifted backward, but the small space left no room to escape.
Caspian grabbed Titus’s head with one hand, the fingers kept making singular motions, and his bronze face changed bit by bit, a natural male response to arousal. Suddenly, his hand tightened like a vice, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her back.
A flip made her land face-down on the bed.
In Caspian’s hands, Titus was like a dying prey struggling as she lay forced down, her feet frantically kicking against the ground.
With one hand on her posterior and the other reaching for his belt, the sound of a tal buckle clinking open was heard among cries for help and curses. Titus heard the zipper opening. Then a sharp pain at her waist as her pants were yanked down; the cold touch of the air caused Titus to bite into the bedsheet, emitting a sound of utter despair.
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