He Wouldn't Claim Me — Another Man Did-Chapter 66 - 59: Stay

Sitting on his lap, Isla Prescott was in the perfect position to feel the change in his body.

"No, we can’t," she blurted out, quickly springing up from his lap.

Shane Sterling watched her, his dark eyes deepening.

Isla Prescott took his hand and pointed to the mark from the IV needle on the back of it. "Don’t forget you’re still sick. I really don’t want to have to call an ambulance for you."

Shane Sterling scoffed. "Who are you underestimating?"

"Viruses don’t discriminate. Young Mr. Shaw, your overconfidence has already cost you once. Don’t make the same mistake again."

She could say whatever she wanted, but it all boiled down to one thing: she wasn’t willing.

Shane Sterling understood. ’It’s too soon,’ he thought. ’I don’t want to force her.’

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into his lap.

Isla Prescott tumbled back, landing awkwardly and once again brushing against something she shouldn’t have. She sucked in a sharp breath, her breathing slowing as if she were afraid of startling... it.

"I... I’ll go wash the dishes," she stammered, struggling to get up.

Shane Sterling pressed his face against her back, his arms tightening around her waist. "Don’t move. Just let me hold you for a little while."

His voice was husky, tinged with suppressed desire.

’He probably needs some time to... cool down.’

Isla Prescott wasn’t so clueless as to not understand. She sat quietly on his lap, giving him all the time in the world.

After what felt like an eternity, his passion finally subsided, and he let her go.

Isla Prescott got up stiffly, not daring to look back at him. She picked up the bowls and utensils from the coffee table and walked into the kitchen.

Shane Sterling followed right behind her into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Isla Prescott was still a little embarrassed.

He took the bowls from her hands. "Didn’t we agree I’d be the one washing dishes from now on?"

Isla Prescott smiled, her gaze falling on the dishwasher. "Actually, I meant to say this last time... you have a dishwasher in every one of your places."

Shane Sterling looked at her. "Then why didn’t you say so last time?"

She paused.

’Maybe it’s because I thought standing side-by-side, washing the dishes together, was a sweet and fun thing to do.’

"I figured you recognized the dishwasher," she mumbled.

"Of course I recognized it."

"Then why didn’t you say anything last time?"

"Because I like washing dishes with you."

He had said the words she couldn’t bring herself to.

Isla Prescott felt that, compared to her own lukewarm feelings, Shane Sterling possessed an effortless ardor.

It was just two bowls and two spoons, not worth running the dishwasher for.

So they each washed their own.

After they finished, Shane Sterling dried his hands and came over to hug her again. "Stay the night, okay?"

Isla Prescott noticed that whenever he made a request, he would usually tack on a phrase like "okay?" or "is that alright?" ensuring her right to choose was always respected.

’People always said Young Mr. Shaw was wild and unrestrained, a label that seemed at odds with respecting women. But if you actually got to know him, you’d realize Shane Sterling respected a woman’s wishes more than most of the self-righteous men out there. He never tried to establish his dominance by overpowering the other person.’

She had already turned him down once today; she couldn’t bring herself to refuse this request. Besides, she really was a little worried about him being here all by himself.

Seeing her silence, Shane Sterling assumed she was hesitating.

"I won’t do anything to you. If I really wanted to, I wouldn’t have let you go just now." He released her and looked into her eyes. "I know you’re still a bit reluctant about dating me, but when it comes to this, I will always respect your wishes. I won’t touch you unless you give me the green light."

His sincerity made her heart flutter.

"But I didn’t bring a change of clothes," Isla Prescott said.

"You can wear mine."

"What about underwear?"

Shane Sterling paused for a few seconds. "I’ll wash them. Wash them, blow-dry them, and they’ll be ready for you when you get out of the shower."

’He was supposed to be a domineering CEO, yet he came up with such a practical solution.’

’Besides, why would he be willing to do something like that for her...?’

A blush crept onto Isla Prescott’s face. "Forget it. I’ll figure something out myself."

Shane Sterling hugged her, nuzzling the crook of her neck. "So that means you’ve agreed to stay?"

"Mhm. After all, I’m the one who got you sick. I have to take responsibility for you."

---

In Shane Sterling’s nearly empty closet, Isla Prescott found a soft T-shirt that was perfect for sleeping in. Since the villa was a bit remote, getting takeout or express delivery was difficult. As for her undergarments, she ended up using Shane’s practical method—though of course, she washed and dried them herself.

By the time she had showered, washed her hair, and changed, Shane Sterling was already in bed waiting for her.

He had showered in the downstairs bathroom and was wearing a set of deep blue, open-front silk pajamas and his glasses, exuding the air of a sophisticated scoundrel.

"Come here," Shane Sterling said, patting the edge of the bed.

Isla Prescott walked over and sat down beside him.

The T-shirt was loose and baggy, barely covering the tops of her thighs. Her legs were pale and slender, and under the warm yellow light, they seemed to be glazed with a layer of honey. He didn’t even need a taste to know she would be fragrant and sweet.

"You should get some sleep," Isla Prescott told Shane Sterling.

He didn’t move, only asking her, "Which side do you usually sleep on?"

"Either is fine. Whichever side you prefer."

Shane Sterling wrapped an arm around her and pulled her down onto the bed. "I’ll sleep beside you."

The mattress was soft, like sinking into a cloud.

Before Isla Prescott could even brace herself, Shane Sterling had already taken off his glasses, rolled on top of her, and was kissing her.

"You said you wouldn’t do anything," she said, blocking his lips with her hand.

"Didn’t you complain I was a bad kisser? I need some practice before bed if I’m going to improve."

’What a high-and-mighty excuse.’

His hand gently tugged at the hair by her temple as he whispered in her ear, his tone somewhere between a plea and a coax. "Practice with me for ten minutes. Just ten minutes."

Isla Prescott’s heart softened, and she lowered the hand that was blocking his lips.

Shane Sterling understood this as her consent, smiled, and kissed her again.

Their warm breaths mingled, and their heartbeats began to synchronize.

Every gentle pull of his lips was incredibly tender, like the tide washing over a sandy shore. Her mind grew hazy as he deepened the kiss, and it wasn’t until she heard his breathing grow ragged that she patted his arm to remind him, "It’s been ten minutes, hasn’t it?"

’There’s no way ten minutes went by that fast!’

Still, Shane Sterling released her. If he kept kissing her, he was afraid he’d break his promise.

He rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as he tried to even out his breathing. Isla Prescott’s breathing was just as unsteady. After they both lay in silence for a moment, she was the first to slip under the thin covers.

"I’m going to sleep. Good night."

Afraid he might launch another assault, she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep.

Shane Sterling lifted a corner of the covers, slid in, and hugged her from behind, pressing his face to her back to breathe in her scent.

’He loved holding her like this.’

’Her small frame was held entirely in his arms, right next to his heart.’

"This is the first time I’ve ever felt that being sick is actually pretty nice," Shane Sterling said.

Isla Prescott’s eyes fluttered open. She turned over in his arms and reached up to feel his forehead. "You’re talking nonsense. Is your fever back?"

The night was black as ink, bathed in flowing moonlight.

Her eyes were brighter than the stars.

Shane Sterling’s lips found hers again.

It was the lightest of kisses, like a butterfly landing on a newly blossomed rose, afraid to startle even a single drop of night dew.

"What am I going to do? I feel like I could kiss you ten thousand times and it still wouldn’t be enough."