Chapter 638 Push him down

Now that Olive sat on his lap, she lifted her bright eyes to look at him. Elvis stretched out his large hand, his long slender fingers slipping into her long hair. He slowly lowered his head, his thin lips brushing her eyes. He kissed her eyes, again and again. Olive wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him; the dim light illuminated them, creating an intimate atmosphere.

A moment later, Elvis’s thin lips moved down, slowly approaching her red lips. They were getting closer, about to touch. But then, Elvis suddenly opened his eyes, pushing Olive off his chest. Olive stood, and Elvis strode to the window, one hand on his hip, struggling and confused. “We can’t. You can go,” he said, dismissing her.

Olive understood. He was captivated by Clara’s charm, still unaware of her true nature, and unwilling to betray her. The attraction to Olive caused him guilt, an unacceptable feeling he couldn't overcome. He was the one suffering most.

Olive glanced at him and left. Alone, Elvis felt the need to reflect on his actions. He loved Olive, but why such strong feelings for a servant?

At that moment, a click. The door opened, and someone entered. Elvis didn’t turn, simply pursing his lips. “Didn’t I tell you to go? Why are you back?”

The person behind him didn't answer, quickly approaching, wrapping small arms around his waist, pressing a soft body against his back. Elvis closed his eyes, his throat working. He was a man with physical needs; he hadn’t touched a woman since leaving Imperial. Twice he'd encountered the little maid, feeling intense desire. Just now, he'd wanted to kiss her, to push her down on the bed...

Elvis closed his handsome eyes, feeling a burning in his throat. A small hand on his waist rose, ready to rekindle the fire. He grabbed the hand, wanting to pull the person onto his lap, to no longer suppress himself, to admit his lack of resistance to the little maid.

But a second later, he opened his eyes. The hand was wrong!

He turned to see Olive’s beautiful face. Clara walked over, gave him a mischievous wink, and called out, “Mr. Augustine.” The lust in Elvis’s eyes vanished. He regained his composure. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“I came to see you. I was worried about your injury.”

Elvis looked at her beautiful face—his favorite—but felt something was missing. A moment ago he'd been lustful; now, nothing. He'd been noticing this for a while. His body didn't respond to her. Bodily response, he knew, was the truest indicator.

He pushed Clara away, his handsome eyes cold and indifferent. “I’m fine. You can go.”

Clara felt a shock, the smile freezing on her lips. He’d fought for Olive earlier, yet now coldly dismissed her. What was happening?

“Elvis, let’s break up!” she exclaimed.

Elvis turned, reprimanding her in a deep voice, “What are you talking about?”

“Am I wrong? You’ve been attracted to the little maid. You fought for her, but you’re cold and perfunctory with me. Let’s break up. Go find your little maid!”

Elvis noticed the change in his feelings. He increasingly wanted nothing to do with her. He frowned.

Seeing his lack of comfort, Clara hesitated. She didn’t want to break up. But she felt his heart was with Olive, a loss of control that made her uncomfortable.

She hugged his waist. “President Augustine, you weren’t like this before. It’s because…we haven’t been together long. Tonight, I will sleep with you, okay?” She felt she had to act.

Elvis hesitated, not pushing her away. After all, she was the woman he deeply loved. He told himself that many times.

Clara pushed, and they rolled onto the bed. She reached for his belt. But her hand was caught.

“President Augustine, what’s wrong? Don’t you love me?”

Clara moved, causing a jingling sound. Elvis narrowed his eyes, then released her.

This was her chance!

Overjoyed, she hastily untied his belt. Then she froze. Her hand slid along his chest, her gaze falling to the lower part of his waist. His body lay still. There was no response. He had no physiological need.

Clara recoiled, her face pale. “Mr. Augustine, what’s wrong with you?”

Elvis pursed his lips, got up, and walked to the window. He lit a cigar, his tall body slightly stooped, his troubled thoughts swirling.

Clara watched his handsome back. The cold night wind blew his shirt; his body blended with the night, fog shrouding him like an arrogant emperor. She deeply loved this man. She’d thought this was her moment, but he'd dealt her a crushing blow. His lack of response—how could she become his queen?