Francisco's mind was still processing the recent events as he threw his coat onto the bed and sank into the couch. The attack on Hazel's house lingered in his thoughts, a rare occurrence where he had missed his prey, all because he chose to save a woman. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, the smoke weaving patterns in the air as he contemplated the events.
His contemplation was abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door.
With a nonchalant response, Francisco uttered,
Francisco
Come,
Knowing well that the door would only yield to his voice and a secret code.
As the door swung open, Emily stood on the threshold, clutching a bowl and towel. Her gaze met Francisco, who was now shirtless and sitting on the couch.
Francisco
What do you want?
He questioned, his tone reflecting a mixture of annoyance and indifference.
Emily
I thought you needed to clean yourself, so I brought hot water and a towel
Emily replied, her voice holding a hint of consideration.
Francisco
Maid can do it
Francisco retorted, dismissing her offer.
Emily, with a light smile, challenged his assertion.
Emily
Francisco, I've been providing you with service for over a year. I can handle this, can't I?
After hearing that, Francisco did not say anything. Emily understood his silence was his approval, so without wasting time she went inside, the door locked again.
Emily placed the bowl on the floor and dipped the towel into it. Emily, draped in an ash-colored silk nightie that accentuated her curves, worked with an air of practiced seduction. The exposed cleavage and the calculated allure of her demeanor were meant to captivate, yet Francisco found his thoughts drifting elsewhere.
As Emily leaned over him, the strap of her nightie slipped down, revealing a tempting glimpse. As she gently rubbed his abdomen with the hot towel, Francisco's mind, surprisingly, wandered to Hazel.
Hazel's image invaded his mind —the way she had sat in a similar position just moments ago, treating his wound with care and expertise.
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