Chapter 239 Little Vixen!

This was the second time Olive had washed his underwear. After drying the clothes, she looked up at them. Seeing her underwear and Elvis's lying very close, she chuckled.

Turning around, she saw Elvis leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on her. Olive's face flushed with embarrassment.

“Mr. Augustine, why are you being so impolite? You didn't even knock before entering a girl's room!”

Elvis furrowed his brows. “Oh, is it me being impolite, or you? You were just smiling at my underwear like a little nympho.”

Olive had never lost a verbal battle before meeting Elvis. She usually couldn't win against him.

She walked into the bathroom, dropping the bucket, then returned to stand beside the bed in her boudoir. The room was filled with her sweet fragrance.

Elvis stretched his long legs and walked toward her. “Why are you staring at me like that? I feel like you’re treating me like your puppy,” he muttered, approaching her.

Olive jumped into his embrace, clutching his waist. “Mr. Augustine, do you want to be my wolfdog?”

Elvis looked into her eyes and said softly, “Mrs. Augustine, I suspect you’re seducing me, though I have no proof.”

“Then do you like this?” Olive’s small hands moved down his lean waist.

But in a split second, Elvis’s powerful fingers grasped her hands. He stared at her intently and asked, “Where are you touching?”

This was the first time Olive had touched him in that area.

“What are you looking at?” Elvis’s deep voice questioned again.

“The wounds on your body,” Olive replied. “Grandma said you can’t… perform anymore.”

Elvis knew her intentions. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been so proactive.

“Can I see?” Olive asked seductively.

“Mrs. Augustine, aren’t you ashamed?”

Olive's small face flushed with embarrassment.

“I’ll be outside,” Elvis said, releasing her and turning to leave.

“Mr. Augustine, don’t go!” Olive rushed to him.

Feeling her approach, he turned and caught her in his embrace, stumbling onto the bed with her. Olive was on top of him. She chuckled, placing her hands on his expensive black belt.

Elvis lay on the bed where Olive had grown up. He raised his hands, covering his eyes, unwilling to look at her.

Seeing his reluctance, Olive withdrew her hands and crawled off him. Lying beside him, she said, “I’ve already seen it. You’ve been in a coma for two days. I cleaned your body.”

Elvis turned to look at her. Her back was to him; her figure delicate and adorable.

“What did you see?” Elvis’s deep, domineering voice questioned.

“An ugly little caterpillar,” Olive replied.

“What else did you want to see?” Elvis teased.

Olive turned, kicking his thigh several times. He didn’t flinch; he was too strong.

He wrapped his arms around her smooth shoulder, pulling her close. His lips pressed against her long hair, softly kissing it.

“Little vixen,” Elvis murmured.

Olive’s fingers curled, tugging tightly on his shirt. “Did it hurt, Mr. Augustine? Did it hurt when you stabbed yourself?”

“I can’t remember exactly. But at that time, all I thought about was you.”

“Didn’t you think of Pamela? Wasn’t it her psychedelic spray?”

Elvis pulled her hand, kissing it tenderly. “I remembered your pink nail polish. I closed my eyes and imagined your fingers on my belt. I really thought it was you, but when her hands touched my belt, I quickly regained my senses. I was scared and sweating profusely. I remembered you once said that if I went down with another woman, you wouldn’t want me anymore. I was terrified of losing you.”

Olive’s eyes reddened; she was about to cry. “Didn’t you think about the outcome of cutting yourself? I’d rather you cheat than hurt yourself.”

Elvis fiercely kissed her red lips, cupping her face, and murmured, “Olive, I’m yours. Yours alone.”

Olive closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck. Elvis lifted her onto his thighs and kissed her passionately.

Olive stopped, blinking in panic. She pushed him away, lowering her head to stare at his trousers, then crawled down.

Elvis turned, pinning her from behind. He kissed her face and said hoarsely, “Why play with me if you can’t handle the heat?”

“Mr. Augustine, I just think it’ll be difficult for you, you know…” Olive responded calmly.

Elvis reached out and touched her face. “Mrs. Augustine, you think you’re smart, right?”