Chapter 61

As the partition in the Maybach slowly rose, the front and back seats were gradually separated into two distinct spaces. Winnie wasn't unfamiliar with riding in a Maybach; apart from noticing that Van's car was unusually long and wide, she had never thought it would actually have a partition, let alone that it would be raised at this very moment. The partition was made of glass, so it didn't feel oppressive, but it didn't allow silhouettes through and had excellent soundproofing, so good that she couldn't hear any sounds from Eric in the front. The courage she had just mustered to flirt was now completely gone. She wanted to run, but as soon as she lifted her butt slightly, the man's hand precisely pinned her down. He didn't use much force, but there was an undeniable sense of dominance; his hand was simply pressed against the fullness of her hip—firm, but not moving further. Winnie didn't know whether to call him a rogue or compliment him for being a gentleman. "What do you want?" Van asked her calmly. "I..." Winnie's hand slid down from his neck, her eyelashes lowered, her eyes chaotic, "We might be seen." "No." He met her gaze directly, her eyes offering no place to hide, and with a gentle press of his finger, there was a soft "click," followed by the sunshade descending on the inside of the window. The car began to move smoothly, gliding silently past the elevator hall, completely ignoring two customers whispering near the entrance. "Damn, a modified extra-long Maybach," one of them muttered. They even pulled out their phones to snap pictures. But little did they know, the true scene worth capturing wasn't the car or its license plate—it was the indescribable moment unfolding inside. Van casually clasped her left wrist, the one with the watch, his index finger pressing into her palm, forcing her pale, soft hand to bend upward, though her slender fingers drooped powerlessly. His breath was hot and deep, his command calm and composed, "Continue." Winnie felt a heat spreading through her body. She shifted uncomfortably to adjust her seat, still trying to reason with him, "You said you wouldn't touch me." Van gave a soft, ambiguous chuckle, whether amused or annoyed was unclear. She was the one who teased, and she was the one who tried to run away, really treating him like he was sexually incapable, allowing her to come and go as she pleased without any harm. "Winnie, business requires integrity." He leisurely pulled her phone from a pocket near her skirt, "1 million, 1 minute, I want it now." The quick command for the alarm was activated, and the next second, a sixty-second countdown appeared on the screen. Winnie's eyes were still wide with confusion, caught between stiffness and forgotten breath; her slightly parted red lips were captured by Van's kiss. He kissed her again. Unlike the uncontrolled and intense kiss after waking up last night, this time it was deliberate; his hand moved from her hip to her waist, his warm palm caressing without kneading. Her silk blouse was so thin it almost seemed to burn, her legs rubbing slightly against him, an unconscious act, not realizing what dangerous move she was making. With her teasing, Van paused briefly, then his kiss deepened and intensified, exploring her full lips before his tongue ventured past her teeth. He entered smoothly, easily, without any resistance. The contact of their tongues brought a flood of moisture and a sweet tingle. He played with her lips and tongue, from gentle strokes to entwining, to finally a fierce sucking. Winnie was forced to open her lips wider, accepting his complete invasion. His scent filled her mouth and nose, leaving her defenseless from body to soul, at his mercy. The sound of their kissing filled the space. Winnie went limp in his arms, her high heels barely touching the carpet, a thought crossing her mind about whether Eric might hear. When the alarm rang, Van paused his actions, keeping his promise. He stopped the kiss, slightly lifting his face, but his lips still grazed Winnie's, touching lightly, like the fleeting kiss of a dragonfly. One minute was indeed not enough. Van steadied the pounding in his heart before slowly opening his eyes. His eyes were inscrutable, revealing no emotions. He looked at the woman in his arms; her face was abnormally flushed, her breathing hot and sweet, her lips, ravaged by kisses, tightly pressed together as if in protest, but her eyes were moist. Winnie hadn't noticed that during the kiss, she had been clutching Van's tie tightly. Despite her body softening, her palm somehow managed to wrinkle his neatly arranged collar and tie. Van turned off the alarm, returning to his composed demeanor. "This kind of business," he paused, lowering his eyes to look at her, "How many people have you done this with, Winnie?" Winnie rebelliously replied, "You are the thirty-first." Van showed no sign of pleasure or anger, paused for a moment, then simply instructed, "Don't do it anymore." His calm demeanor gave no clue whether he believed her or not. Winnie, after being kissed, thought she could get up now. But as soon as she lifted her hips, Van pushed her back down. "Don't move." "What?" she responded weakly, puzzled. "It's not convenient." Winnie, dazed, seemed to understand after a while, lowering her face awkwardly and instinctively. Van didn't give her the chance; his large hand held the back of her neck, pressing her face into his chest. "Don't look." His solid chest was still heaving, the scent of his male pheromones breaking through the cologne like a volcano erupting on an ice sheet. Winnie's face turned beet red; she wanted to scramble away immediately, but the man's grip was too tight; she had nowhere to escape. "The newspaper said—" she swallowed. Van said with an unchanged expression, "You've cured me." Who would believe that?