He tugged at Emily Harris, swaying her back and forth in circles, trying to wake her up—otherwise, how could they get inside? He didn’t dare carry her—not because he couldn’t, but because he was afraid to. Most people living nearby were students; if an acquaintance saw them, he’d never be able to clear his name, no matter what!

In the end, with no other choice, Ben Carter had to imitate what he’d seen people do coming out of bars: one hand pulling, one hand supporting, leading her toward his own place. With all this swaying, he once again experienced the sensation of holding a warm, fragrant beauty in his arms.

At this late hour, the night was silent, with nothing to interrupt them. Although there was a strong smell of alcohol, Ben Carter’s keen nose could still clearly catch the fresh, natural scent coming from Emily Harris. It was a pure, clean fragrance—just as she’d said herself, she rarely used cosmetics.

What made things even worse was that Emily Harris’s body kept leaning into his, soft and boneless like a snake, relying on Ben Carter for support. She simply couldn’t stand on her own. With every step Ben Carter took, Emily Harris’s body would sway against him, her delicate, boneless figure constantly rubbing against his, setting him ablaze with desire, his throat so dry it felt like it was about to catch fire.

Even though it was late and no one could see them, Ben Carter’s face was still burning red, feeling as if a strange fire was raging in his chest, causing odd reactions throughout his body. He thought to himself, “Being a good person really isn’t easy!”

Although the distance wasn’t far, to Ben Carter it felt like one of the longest and hardest walks he’d ever taken. By the time they reached his door, he was drenched in sweat—what a strange feeling.

At the door, he was half-supporting, half-carrying Emily Harris; if he let go, she’d collapse. He didn’t dare release her, but he also didn’t have a third hand to get the key and open the door. After thinking for a moment, Ben Carter propped Emily Harris on a stone bench on the lawn in front of the house, then rushed to open the door and turn on the lights, before hurrying back to help Emily Harris again. Sitting on a stone bench like that in the middle of the night could easily make her catch a cold.

But after being jostled back and forth several times, sitting and standing, and then exposed to the cool night air, Emily Harris actually groggily opened her drunken, hazy eyes. Leaning on Ben Carter, she seemed to want to speak, but as soon as she opened her mouth, before she could say anything, she suddenly vomited with a “wah”—not only soiling her own dress, but also splattering Ben Carter’s clothes. Even though the alcohol was good, everyone knows that what comes back up is never pleasant. A strong stench of alcohol mixed with other odors immediately filled the air. After vomiting, her legs gave out and she leaned against Ben Carter again. Now both of their clothes were completely ruined.

This couldn’t go on. The smell was so strong that Ben Carter’s own throat started to feel bitter; he had to get rid of it right away. With that thought, he held his breath, grabbed Emily Harris’s legs, ignoring the unusual softness and the mess on his clothes, and carried her horizontally in his arms into the house, heading straight for the bathroom. He placed Emily Harris in the bathtub, took off his own dirty clothes first, and prepared to help Emily Harris wash off the mess on her.

But now there was a problem—he was a guy, and had never done anything like this before. Helping a woman undress and bathe—he really didn’t know how to do it. But there was no other way; it was so late, there was no one to help, and he couldn’t just let Emily Harris sleep in dirty clothes. Besides, he called her “Sister Yu.” Forget it, looks like he had no choice.

Gritting his teeth, he unbuttoned Emily Harris’s suit. The suit was covered in vomit and couldn’t be worn without washing. The white shirt underneath was also stained and had to come off. But taking off any more would mean seeing her skin. Ben Carter blushed furiously, his hands trembling as he unbuttoned Emily Harris’s white shirt, sweat dripping down his forehead. He was completely sober now, silently praying she wouldn’t wake up at this moment—otherwise, she’d probably kill him on the spot.

Luckily, Emily Harris was deeply drunk and sleeping soundly. Even with all the movement of undressing her, she didn’t wake up. She even cooperated, raising her arms obediently to help Ben Carter remove the dirty clothes, which nearly scared him to death. He prayed again—please, don’t wake up now.

Once the buttons were undone and the shirt removed, her full breasts immediately stood out, and her white bra came into view, shining against her fair skin. A captivating scent wafted over—this was a woman’s most natural allure. And now, with Emily Harris drunk and making unconscious little movements, she was even more irresistible.

Ben Carter had little experience in this area, and seeing this, he felt a rush of hot blood surge upward, racing to his head. He could feel a warm flow slowly trickling from his nostrils, beyond his control, his heart pounding wildly as if it might leap out of his chest.