Sylvie, the Slave Girl (Lily Futa) - Chapter 44 (pt. 2)

Sylvie’s eyes closed; she vaguely sensed someone slipping something into her mouth in her hazy state.

Her teeth parted, and cool water flowed from soft lips pressed against hers.

It felt cool, quenching.

She swallowed slowly, wanting more, sucking harder unconsciously.

Wei Qing flinched as Sylvie bit her, her expression twitching.

Her lower body was still bare, her waistline high, her soft c0ck dangling awkwardly between long legs.

She stood by the bed, fetching water, one knee pressing onto the mattress.

Her long hair fell from her neck as she leaned down.

Fine, this medicine better cure her completely, Wei Qing thought.

Her hands, holding Sylvie’s cheeks, loosened slightly.

Some water, unswallowed, trickled down her chin, wetting her knuckles, leaving a cool, wet trail that sparked a clear sensation.

Wei Qing wiped it off, then lifted her to the bathroom.

Both were sweat-soaked, sticky when dry.

The stuff she shot inside needed cleaning too.

“Next time, don’t eat random things…” Wei Qing said.

She suspected the aphrodisiac caused this.

Sylvie didn’t hear, sleeping hazily.

Her fever slowly subsided in her sleep.

…

The next day, the girl’s fever broke completely.

Wei Qing touched her forehead, her expression much lighter.

She clicked her tongue softly.

“Medical miracle,” she said.

Sylvie, propped up by her, opened her eyes slightly, misty, staring blankly before letting out a slow “ah.”

Wei Qing couldn’t help but smile.

“What, did the fever fry your brain?” she asks.

Sylvie’s reactions seemed slow. She touched her face. “…I didn’t die,” she says.

Her voice carried the hoarseness of post-fever.

“No,” Wei Qing says.

“It feels… not so hot anymore,” Sylvie says.

“Because your fever’s gone,” Wei Qing says.

Sylvie stared at her.

The flush on her face had faded, leaving a faint undertone.

Her long eyelashes cast shadows, her pale face thin again after losing the weight she’d gained.

Wei Qing sat on the bed’s edge, long legs crossed, head tilted, staring back at her.

“…” they both thought.

“What’s it feel like?” Wei Qing asked first.

“I want water,” Sylvie says.

“Oh,” Wei Qing says.

Wei Qing went to get water.

As she stood, her shirt’s hem was tugged.

She looked back, her gaze traveling down.

The girl in a nightgown tilted her head up, silver-gray hair fluffy, misty eyes silent, like a clingy cat.

The angle was striking.

Wei Qing’s eyes curved, her lips smiling with delight.

She murmured.

“91,” she says.

Sylvie tilted her head, eyes bright, her faintly red brows focused and docile.

“What?” she asks.

Wei Qing leaned down, soothingly touching her face, kissing the corner of her mouth, smiling.

“Nothing. Can’t Sylvie live without me now?” she asks.

“I’m getting water. Be good, okay?” she says.

Her actions felt natural, her dark lashes and refined features smiling, so close her eyelashes nearly brushed Sylvie’s face.

Sylvie closed her eyes unconsciously, suddenly feeling parched.

This person said yesterday…

She let go. “Go,” she says.

The woman laughed, her expression free of the past days’ anxiety, her brows relaxed.

Her voice, as she stepped out, was unclear, deliberately tinged with mock resentment, light and airy.

“… Now you don’t even call me Qingqing,” she says.

Sylvie thought, “…”

She covered her face, feeling herself heat up again.

The woman liked her.

…

When Wei Qing returned, the girl on the bed had clearly regained some clarity.

Wei Qing handed her the cup.

Sylvie didn’t take it, glancing at her, slowly leaning forward.

Wei Qing sat down.

Sylvie’s hand pressed on her leg for support.

Wei Qing raised a brow, surprised.

The girl lowered her head, her soft, pink tongue sticking out first.

From Wei Qing’s view, it clearly licked the cup’s rim, sipping small mouthfuls from her hand.

The warm water felt good sliding down her throat.

Her lips, wet, looked tender.

Sylvie squinted comfortably, lifting her eyes, her gaze inexplicably seductive.

“Thank you… Qingqing,” she says.

Wei Qing’s lips moved.

She pinched Sylvie’s face, smiling.

“No sticking out your tongue next time you drink,” she says.

“Baby,” she adds.