Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

Chapter 215: Chapter 215: Tempt Him! Miss Sherwood Is Being Very Forward Today

Ivy Sherwood looked around but couldn’t find anywhere selling face masks, so she had to give up.

As the pedestrian street grew more crowded, more and more men turned to stare at Ivy Sherwood. Many of their gazes held ill intent—a look only other men could understand, their minds filled with who knows what kind of filth and fantasies.

’I’d love to gouge out those wandering eyes.’

Quentin Blackwood took off his suit jacket and put it on Ivy Sherwood.

"I’m not cold," Ivy said.

But Quentin buttoned it up, then popped the collar, hiding half of her face.

"You’ll wear it even if you’re not cold!"

Quentin was a tall, large man. And while Ivy wasn’t short, she was so slender that wearing his jacket made her look like a little girl playing dress-up in her father’s clothes.

She felt as if she were enveloped in Quentin’s scent. Ivy tugged at the jacket but didn’t take it off.

Ivy couldn’t tell if Quentin disliked the place, but she felt his expression growing colder and colder.

He didn’t say anything, but she could see he wasn’t happy.

’If I keep dragging him around, he’s probably going to get angry.’ So she quickly pulled Quentin away.

Afterward, Quentin drove them back to Norhaven.

Ivy had lost count of how many times she’d been here; the place was thoroughly familiar to her.

After getting out of the car, Ivy walked behind Quentin, clutching his suit jacket as they went inside together.

It was getting late, and many of the servants at Norhaven had already gone to bed.

It was then that Ivy remembered she still hadn’t given Quentin her gifts.

She took the presents she had prepared from her bag. "President Blackwood, I have something for you."

’President Blackwood.’ The title just didn’t sit right with Quentin. He’d much rather she call him ’Uncle’.

When Ivy called him ’Uncle’, her voice was soft and sweet, making him want to tease her. But when she called him ’President Blackwood’, it created a sense of distance.

"I saw this today while I was out shopping and thought it was a nice tie clip. You might not have a use for it, but I wanted to give it to you."

The tie clip in the box was exquisitely crafted and looked luxurious. Although Quentin already owned many, he reached out and took it.

"I’ll accept it."

"And this. I really like this watch, too. I think it will suit you perfectly."

Ivy then opened the watch box. The timepiece was the epitome of luxury. Its design wasn’t ostentatious, but simple and elegant, with subtle details that exuded high-end sophistication.

Quentin used almost nothing but luxury goods; one glance told him this watch was not cheap.

His gaze deepened. ’Did Ivy buy something so valuable specifically for me?’

"Why are you giving me this?"

"For many reasons. You’ve given me so much; can’t I give you something in return?"

Besides, compared to what Quentin had given her, this was practically nothing.

The very first time, hadn’t Quentin given her an ancient painting worth hundreds of millions, not to mention all those company shares?

This couldn’t compare to his gifts, but it was the thought that counted.

"Put it on for me."

On one of Quentin’s wrists were his Buddha Beads; his other wrist originally wore a watch.

He lifted the arm with the watch, took off the expensive timepiece, tossed it casually aside, and then held his wrist out to her.

His fingers were long and elegant like jade, slender and well-defined. The back of his hand was broad, with veins clearly visible beneath the thin skin. Even his hands were as beautiful as a work of art.

Ivy took out the watch and deftly fastened it onto Quentin’s wrist.

’It’s a perfect fit.’ On him, it looked cool and distinguished.

’Looks like I didn’t pick the wrong gift!’

Quentin also looked down at it, his expression softening. He seemed very pleased with the present.

’So this is what it feels like. When someone accepts your gift, you feel happy too.’

Quentin was used to giving things, but he rarely received gifts himself.

It wasn’t that people didn’t try—countless individuals wanted to give him gifts to curry favor—but Quentin never accepted any of them.

"You gave me something so valuable. What do you want in return?"

Ivy had never thought about getting something from Quentin in exchange for the gift. She thought for a moment, then hooked a finger into his collar. Her beautiful eyes were filled with a flirtatious allure—a woman’s most authentic charm.

With a sudden tug, she pulled Quentin down toward her, mimicking his earlier tone. "I don’t want anything in return. I want you!"

Quentin’s eyes darkened instantly, a storm brewing within them. His voice was nearly a rasp. "Is that so? How do you want me?"

"When a woman wants a man, how do you think she wants him?"

These were the very words Quentin had said to her last time.

The corners of her lips curved up, and the reddish tint at the corners of her eyes made her look like a little fox.

"President Blackwood, you’re so experienced. You know how to take off your clothes, don’t you? You don’t need me to teach you, right?"

So proper and serious outside, but now, Ivy Sherwood had transformed back into a soul-snatching siren.

Tempting him, shattering that self-control he was so proud of—it all seemed to take but a single second.

He had originally planned to be considerate since she was still recovering, but now it seemed Ivy was asking for it.

"Miss Sherwood is certainly feeling bold today," the man’s voice was deep. The fingers he pressed against the table were white from the force of his restraint. If he applied that same pressure to Ivy’s waist, he might just snap it in two.

She had come here prepared. It wasn’t as if this was her first time with Quentin, after all.

’Since it’s always so enjoyable, why not indulge while we can? If he gets a girlfriend one day, our relationship will probably have to end.’

Ivy was clear-headed about this; she had no intention of clinging to Quentin.

When the day came for him to finally settle down and start a family, she would leave quietly on her own, without him even having to ask.

Ivy pressed herself against him, hooking a finger under his chin. "Doesn’t President Blackwood like it when I take the initiative?"

Perhaps because of her posture, the spaghetti strap on her other shoulder slipped down, exposing a pale, smooth shoulder to Quentin’s gaze.

Like a blooming rose exuding its fragrance, every part of her was brimming with temptation.

Quentin didn’t want to hold back anymore. He was no Ninja Turtle.

His hand snaked around Ivy’s back, and with a single pull of the zipper, her little dress fell away in a second. His scorching lips descended, giving her no chance to regret it.

Ivy was pressed against the wall, kissed until she was breathless.

Quentin’s kiss seemed more frantic than ever before, as if he wanted to tear her apart piece by piece and devour her whole.

Ivy could barely stand. Quentin carried her to the nearby sofa and sat her on his lap.

His thigh muscles were firm and powerful. Everywhere they touched, Ivy felt a searing heat.

She was left with nothing on, while Quentin remained fully dressed—a veritable beast in a suit.

Just as Ivy felt she was about to suffocate, Quentin finally loosened his grip slightly.

"What I taught you last time, what I just demonstrated—did you learn?"

"Learned what?" Leaning against Quentin’s chest, Ivy gasped for air, her mind a complete blank.

Quentin bit her earlobe, took her hand, and guided it toward his body. He said only three words...