Chapter 20: It is a Pleasure Treatment
"Harold?"
My smirk abruptly disappeared as my whole body froze.
When I looked back, I noticed Rosaluna standing there at the entrance of the door with one hand resting on it.
Rosaluna’s delicate pink eyes—soft as sakura petals in moonlight—shifted from my face to the bed, and then down, down, as her gaze followed the pale curve of our mother’s thigh to where the hem of her gown had risen, caught and bunched above her hips, just enough to expose a sliver of white cotton stretched taut across her mound, parted slightly in sleep. A wet shimmer clung there, betraying the act just committed.
She froze. Her pupils dilated. One hand went to her lips, as if to muffle a gasp.
"W–What are you doing?" She stuttered.
I felt my spine stiffen—not in fear, but the old reflex of needing to think quickly.
Keep calm.
Keep control.
You’ve handled worse, James.
Gently, without urgency, I let go of Isabella’s legs and pulled her gown back down, smoothing it carefully over her hips like tucking a child to sleep. Her breathing remained steady, mouth slack in post-orgasmic softness, lashes fluttering faintly. Whatever storm had gripped her during the nightmare, it had broken, and now she slept in still waters.
I stood, letting the sheets fall into place, and turned to face Rosaluna.