Shame once again crept onto Sesil's face, and the chains on his hands were still stuck, making Sesil tremble even more violently in his anxiety.
“Isri! Let go!” Sehir stopped him.
A hint of amusement flashed in Isri’s eyes as he looked at Cesil, his lips curving into a smile.
"What's wrong? Young Master, can't you take it?"
Sehir's pupils widened once again as he stared at Isri: "What nonsense are you spouting!"
Isri's smile widened, and the pressure on his hand shifted: "Young Master understands what I'm saying."
Sehir's brow furrowed in anguish, and he turned his head away from Isri, saying, "I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Don't understand?" Isri stopped what he was doing and said in a slow, deliberate voice.
"Young Master, I've said it before, you are my god, I love you."
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“You’re insane!” Sehir glared at Isri again.
“I’m not crazy, young master.” Isri looked into Cesil’s eyes, his voice gradually fading.
After saying those words, his eyes were filled with disbelief and disgust.
Isri frowned. What was he averse to? Was it being called a god? Or was it love?
Unconsciously, his grip tightened again. Isri held Cesil's ankle tightly, pulled him to the bedside, and stared at the chafed wounds on his knee.
Suppressing his suspicions, Isri lifted the medicine bottle and poured it onto Sehir's knee.
"Ouch! It hurts!" Sesil cried out in pain as the potion stimulated him, struggling to break free of Isri's restraints.
A sharp, needle-like pain seeped into my bones, making all my nerves tense up.
Blood mixed with medicine flowed down his calf to the ground. Cecil was trembling all over in pain, and his voice was weak and feeble.
“Isri… that’s enough!” Sehir struggled to lift his head and meet Isri’s gaze.
Those pale amber eyes, like a cold pool, seemed devoid of any pity, only filled with endless amusement and provocation.
“Young Master, the injury still needs to be treated,” Isri said, opening his mouth, but his hands continued to move.
Isri reopened a brown medicine bottle, and Cecil's eyes widened for a moment before he blurted out.
“Isri!” Sehir called out.
Isri paused, stopping what he was doing. "Young Master, what is it?"
“Enough…” Cecil’s voice weakened, the two words filled with pleading.
Isri curled his lips again, ignoring the trembling ankle he was holding, and poured a bottle of medicine onto the wound.
Instantly, a suppressed scream rippled through the silent room.
"The wound hasn't been treated yet, young master, please don't worry." Isri's eyes flickered with emotion as he spoke.
Because of the pain, Sesil gripped the blanket tightly, beads of sweat constantly dripping from his forehead, and his lips, which were originally slightly pink, had now turned pale white.
With her hands bound together and her feet shackled, Cecil's legs trembled violently, creating a beautifully cruel scene.
The blood slid down his calves, and his body was convulsing, whether from the pain or from panting.
Isri's narrow eyes narrowed slightly, the light and shadow outlining his high nose bridge as he looked at Cesil, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, the veins in his neck seeming to tear at his neck.
Sehir looks exactly like a woman who has just finished a sexual encounter.
Isri hadn't expected that his desire for Sehir would be even stronger in this state, to the point that he wanted to go up and pin him down right now.
Sehir remained silent, only clutching the blanket tightly in his hands, as if waiting for the torture to end.
I don't know how long I endured it, but the pain was still intense. However, after a long time, I had gotten used to it. Then, my heavy eyelids started to droop.
The water vapor kept piling up in front of his eyes until it dripped down from the corners of his eyes, and Cecil's consciousness began to blur.
When Isri finished treating his wounds, he discovered that Sehir had already fallen asleep, clutching his blanket.
"Young Master?" Isri tried calling out.
Sehir did not agree, his breathing remaining steady.
Isri got up, wiped the dirt off his hands, and then walked over to Sehir, gently lifting him off the bed.
But the movement was still a bit too much. Cesil frowned slightly, furrowed his brows, and leaned against Isri's shoulder.
Beneath her disheveled hair, her eyes were bloodshot, and her long eyelashes trembled in the air, still glistening with a few water droplets.
Isri put the man back on the bed without removing the chains binding his hands. Sehir curled up like a shrimp.
Isri bent down and tucked Sehir's hair, which was hanging on both sides of his face, behind his ears. He raised his hand to wipe away the tears that remained in the corners of his eyes. He seemed to have used a little too much force, and the area under his eyes seemed even redder than before.
The imprisoned angels fall before the devil, becoming the most delicious dish on the table, a divine gift that can only be encountered by chance.
His trousers hugged his long, straight legs, and his waistline was so perfect it was astonishing. Isri knelt down on one knee next to Cesil, a smile playing on his lips.
His smile was extremely captivating, completely different from his previous smiles. There seemed to be something brewing at the corners of his mouth, giving people a slightly tipsy feeling at first glance.
Isri leaned forward slightly, carefully lowered his head, and touched Cesil's forehead with his lips.
This long-awaited delicacy, after just one bite, became irresistibly delicious.
Like a well-aged red wine, it is mellow and fragrant, and after the aftertaste, it once again awakens the taste buds and explodes on the tip of the tongue.
In a split second, Isri felt a strong swelling in his waist. He hadn't felt this way in a long time, so Isri frowned and became alert.
But soon, the wariness he felt at the sight of the person in front of him subsided.
If this feeling applies to the young master, he's willing.
As he savored the taste of the god of gluttony, a flicker of emotion crossed Isri's eyes.
That seems pretty good.
Islam stood up, his waist still throbbing, as if that animalistic desire would soon burst through his clothes and run wild outside.
Etiquette must still be observed. Even though his master was asleep, Isri, his throat dry and parched, bowed slightly, turned and walked out, then pressed himself tightly against the cold door.
I was thinking of taking a break before preparing lunch, but this time, not only did it not get better, the feeling was even more pronounced.
The longer I lingered at the door, the more pronounced the throbbing pain in my lower back became, tearing at my desire to unleash itself.
Even through his clothes, Isri could feel his body temperature rising and his desire growing stronger.
A hint of annoyance flashed in Isri's eyes, and the color of his amber eyes deepened. He turned and walked back to his room.
As soon as he returned to his room, Isri headed straight for the bathroom, his lust barely concealed in his eyes. After splashing cold water on his face, Isri turned around and wanted to soak in the bathtub.
Just as I was about to step inside, it felt as if a thread had snapped in my head, and I froze in mid-air.
What would happen if we didn't suppress it?
The words popped into Islam's head and immediately took over his entire brain.
The throbbing pain in his lower back became more pronounced. He had never done anything like this before, and perhaps because it was his first time, his body temperature increased again.
Isri turned off the bathroom light and slowly slid down the door.
The buttons on his collar were really an eyesore, and Isri quickly unbuttoned them, clumsily proceeding with the next action.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Isri had never done anything like this before, nor had he ever seen anything like it. Now he could only act according to the sensations his body wanted, completely bewildered.
When the cold palm touched that flower path, the trembling stamen glistened with moisture, emitting a lascivious fragrance in the darkness.
The slender fingers were like thorny vines, turning the flower path, which had never experienced anything like this before, a deep red. The thorns wrapped around it without restraint, and the barbs pierced the flower path painfully.
Isri frowned, looking at the thing he had tortured until it was red, and couldn't help but click his tongue.
Isri felt ashamed of himself for not being able to do even something as simple as this, and the pleasant feeling he had just experienced vanished.
Islam got up, dressed, and tidied his messy hair before leaving the bathroom and going to the dining room to prepare lunch.
——
Sesil didn't sleep very soundly. Intermittent nightmares kept disturbing and invading the thoughts in his mind. Even after waking up, he still felt physically exhausted.
The ceiling above is made of the finest marble, with each piece carefully selected for its intricate pattern.
Sehir glanced at it and then his gaze fell on the chain on his wrist. Its method of wrapping was very special. After trying to untie it a few times, Sehir gave up and could only prop himself up against the bed board to wait for Isri to come in.
At noon, the old clock downstairs slowly chimed a few times. After Cecil breathed a sigh of relief, he heard the sound of his room door being opened.
Accompanied by the aroma, Islam walked in through the door.
It's pasta and cake!
A glint flashed in Sesil's eyes; he knew what it was just by smelling it, without even looking at it.
Although his appetite had been aroused, he remained outwardly indifferent until Isri pushed the food in front of him.
Sehir threw back the covers, moved himself to the edge of the bed, and looked at Isri, who was standing beside him preparing things.
"Can it be untied now?" Sehir asked.
Isri stopped pouring the tea, smiling, and said, "No."
Sehir glared at Isri, his tone impatient: "Then how am I supposed to eat!"
Isri rolled up his sleeves, a smile playing on his lips: "Has the young master forgotten me?"
“What do you mean!” Sehir looked up at Isri.
Isri bent down, picked up the cup of black tea, and brought it to Cecil's lips: "Young master, may I feed you?"
Sehir shifted his head back and raised his hand in front of Isri: "Wouldn't it be easier for you to untie me?"
Islam paused, put down the teacup in his hand, and spoke softly in a calm but not resistant tone.
“If you are obedient, young master, I will untie them. But if you don’t eat now, you may not see these things again today.”
When these words were spoken, Sehir knew that what Isri said must be true, and if he didn't obey, he would definitely not see these things today.
After a few seconds of stalemate, Cecil relented, looking at the black tea on the plate and opening his mouth: "Help me!"