A Flirtatious Beauty Alpha Provokes a Crazy Omega - Chapter 41

Chapter 41: Reward

 

“… Nothing’s wrong.”

 

Jiang Mi shook her head, perhaps feeling she’d overreacted. She lowered her eyes and said softly, “Just rest for a bit and see if that brings your temperature down.”

 

Yan Wei, weary, looked at her. “Jiang Mi, have I ever told you? Your acting is awful when you’re in front of me.”

 

Jiang Mi blinked. “So you’ve never praised me?”

 

Yan Wei paused, suddenly finding it amusing—or rather, adorable.

 

Jiang Mi’s reaction was honestly adorable, right?

 

Like a puppy.

 

“Jiang Mi.”

 

Jiang Mi looked up, awaiting what came next.

 

“You’re very cute,” Yan Wei said.

 

Jiang Mi was silent for a moment, then lowered her eyes and replied with shy gratitude, “Thank you…”

 

Even sick, Yan Wei was… cute.

 

Yan Wei’s hot breaths were unbearably warm. Jiang Mi looked at her for a few seconds before closing her eyes, enjoying the care she was giving.

 

The towel in her hand was pleasantly cool as she gently wiped Yan Wei’s forehead and neck.

 

Yan Wei was only wearing underwear underneath; occasionally, Jiang Mi’s towel might brush against it. Each time, Yan Wei would flinch. Once she managed to avoid, but despite her heavy breath, she realized the real challenge was just beginning.

 

When she reached Yan Wei’s legs, her movements grew even more cautious—afraid to disturb anything.

 

A slight cool trace slid across Yan Wei’s tense calf, and her body shivered almost imperceptibly.

 

Jiang Mi felt sweat invading her own back.

 

She remembered reading that cooling could be done on large arteries—neck, armpits, inner thighs…

 

But did she really have to wipe everywhere?

 

Jiang Mi took a deep breath, determined to try again. As her hand came down once more, Yan Wei’s body jerked violently, her knees pressing inward instinctively.

 

Too hot.

 

Startled, Jiang Mi looked up. Yan Wei, who had seemed asleep, was now watching her—eyes open, fixated amid the rising heat of the moment, her face flushed.

 

“Would you…?” Jiang Mi bit her lip, hand frozen mid-air.

 

Yan Wei’s lashes trembled, her dark, glossy eyes melting with exhaustion and silent intent. Then her legs relaxed, opening slightly—an unspoken permission.

 

Her voice hoarse, Yan Wei said, “Wipe you.”

 

She knew what she longed for, but now, trapped between fever and collapse, even clarity was hard to maintain.

 

The raging heat and ferocity deep inside her surged, yet the alpha’s comforting milk scent soothed her.

 

It pulled and enticed, tremored and comforted her.

 

Jiang Mi could feel her shirt soaked through.

 

If neither of them passed out, things could head somewhere uncharted. Yan Wei was far too weak.

 

Jiang Mi inhaled deeply and said softly, “Go to sleep—have a good rest. You’ll feel better when you wake.”

 

Her voice low and gentle—as if afraid to break the fragile calm.

 

Indeed, Yan Wei was exhausted beyond measure. Her spirit was completely spent; her strength was in the negatives.

 

She closed her eyes and fell asleep almost instantly. But with her fever, she couldn’t rest properly—her brow remained knit in discomfort.

 

Jiang Mi placed her hand on her thigh, gently massaging Yan Wei’s temples. When her breathing grew steadier, Jiang Mi resumed wiping again and again, patiently tending the sweat-laden skin.

 

A cooler, wetter sensation slipped through the thin fabric as she wiped Yan Wei’s leg.

 

Jiang Mi’s hand halted abruptly—surprise.

 

Yan Wei was still asleep, unaware.

 

Jiang Mi withdrew her hand slowly, staring at the slight moisture on her palm. No words—only her pounding heart telling her this wasn’t a dream.

 

She swallowed and heard Yan Wei’s irregular breathing, bringing herself back into focus.

 

She kept wiping—soaking, wringing, laying, wiping—thorough, careful, and silent.

 

Her fingertips, worn by repeated dampness and friction, turned faintly white.

 

Time passed—she lost count. Finally, after her umpteenth gentle wipe of Yan Wei’s forehead, the fever eased.

 

Only then did she realize her spine was stiff, her arms numb. She herself was soaked through with sweat.

 

Jiang Mi gazed silently at Yan Wei. For the first time since falling asleep, Yan Wei was truly vulnerable—eyes closed, utterly soft.

 

A sudden urge passed through Jiang Mi, to reach out and touch her face.

 

She shifted, carefully brushing aside a bead of dry hair from Yan Wei’s forehead. In a whisper, she said, “Sweet dreams… sister.”

 

…

 

Late-night silence was like heavy black velvet enveloping the room.

 

Yan Wei opened her eyes in the darkness. The fever had receded, but she still felt faint. Yet her mind was astonishingly clear.

 

She nearly immediately looked downward.

 

Moonlight filtered through the curtains, sketching a pale beam across the floor. In the dimness, she saw Jiang Mi curled up beside the sofa.

 

She couldn’t make out features, but she watched Jiang Mi slowly sit up in the dark, adapting to the light, and leaning over to place a hand against Yan Wei’s forehead.

 

The temperature under that palm felt cool yet healthy, subtly moist.

 

… She called her that, didn’t she?

 

Jiang Mi tested her temperature again. It confirmed the fever was gone.

 

“You’re better now?” she whispered.

 

“Thirsty,” Yan Wei replied, weak and low.

 

Jiang Mi sprang up, switched on the lights, and fetched a glass of warm water from the tea bar.

 

Yan Wei took it; the water trickled down her throat, and she seemed more lucid.

 

Now fully illuminated, Yan Wei watched Jiang Mi. “Why are you still here?”

 

Jiang Mi was surprised. “You were sick—how could I just leave you alone?”

 

Yan Wei said nothing. Her lips twitched—slightly, barely there.

 

She handed back the cup, attempting to stand. Her legs trembled from exhaustion, nearly unbearable.

 

Quick to support her, Jiang Mi grabbed her arm. “What are you doing? Let me help.”

 

Yan Wei steadied herself with Jiang Mi’s aid, turning to her.

 

In the dim light, her voice was post-illness languid, yet held a slight hook of teasing: “So? What did you want? Are you going to help me take a bath?”

 

Jiang Mi froze.

 

The air seemed to halt.

 

Jiang Mi’s hand tightened reflexively. A blush heated her cheeks in the dark.

 

Then she spoke in a barely audible, serious tone, “I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

 

“Jiang Mi, do you have amnesia?”

 

“I—I don’t.”

 

She closed her eyes, exasperated—why was Yan Wei so sharp?

 

“So? Did you expect something else?”

 

Jiang Mi blushed again. “I’m not…shy.”

 

“Good,” Yan Wei said, regaining color on her lips. “I’m right here outside the door—you just call.”

 

Yan Wei’s expression softened in the dim light, as though asking: do you really want me to?

 

Stepping toward the bathroom, the sound of running water and rose-scented mist filled the air. Memories of “Qin Shui” crept into Jiang Mi’s mind. She pressed against the cool wall, her fingertips curling as each droplet sounded like a drumbeat in her nerves.

 

When the door lock clicked, her breath caught.

 

Yan Wei emerged wrapped in a wet bathrobe—hair dripping. Water trailed down her collarbone into the low neckline.

 

Steam blurred her eyes—a soft red halo around lashes—different from fever blush. It was luminous, dreamy.

 

Jiang Mi held out a towel, voice hoarse: “Here—wipe. You’re still sick.”

 

Yan Wei said naturally, “You do it.”

 

Jiang Mi draped the towel over Yan Wei’s wet neck. Her fingertips brushed the warm skin, still steamy.

 

Yan Wei watched her. The rose-scented steam enveloped both of them. Jiang Mi’s breath faltered. Their eyes met.

 

Yan Wei’s gaze shimmered with hazy intent beyond mere illness.

 

In that frozen moment, Jiang Mi, on instinct, leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Yan Wei’s lips.

 

Soft as a feather landing on still water—ripples fanned silently outward.

 

Jiang Mi stepped back slightly. Yan Wei’s lip corner curved upward in a subtle half-smile, then she spoke:

 

“Jiang Mi… are you afraid of me?”

 

The voice was wet, hoarse—like lightly scratching over the heart’s edge.

 

Jiang Mi shook her head. “No.”

 

Yan Wei said, “I thought not.”

 

She stepped forward, the wet robe brushing against Jiang Mi’s pants. “Then—continue.”

 

The towel slipped from Jiang Mi’s hands, dropping quietly.

 

Jiang Mi, guided by instinct, wrapped her arms around Yan Wei’s waist. Through the damp robe, she could feel the elegant curve of her back.

 

She pressed forward. Yan Wei’s shoulder blades braced against the glass door. The cold permeated the robe and triggered a low moan.

 

Jiang Mi placed her hand between Yan Wei and the door.

 

Breath hardened, breaths and kisses intermingled. Teeth brushed, tongues entwined.

 

She lifted her onto the vanity.

 

Drops slipped down the frosted glass door with the tremor of the moment.

 

They didn’t take long.

 

Yan Wei leaned her head back, chest heaving, wet fringe plastered to her flushed cheeks.

 

She lowered her gaze, blurred and weak, and reached up. Brushing a stray lock from Jiang Mi’s face, she whispered, “Well done…”

 

Pausing, she asked softly, “Was that what you wanted?”

 

Jiang Mi didn’t deny it. “Rest now… sister.”

 

At that, Yan Wei’s gaze cleared, her breath steadied, and she turned her neck—revealing the pale, graceful line of her throat. The most vulnerable point, offered without reservation.

 

Her expression was languid satisfaction, exhausted from illness—but her voice held a calm madness, as if begging to be consumed. She said slowly:

 

“You’ve been good. So, reward time.”