"I like it."
Julian Fairchild's breathing gradually became rapid, not continuing the previous topic.
Maeve Lane's reaction was also within his expectations.
Only when he's intimate with her can he convince himself that Maeve is his.
She is his.
No one else should even think about touching her.
The possessiveness in the man's eyes reached its peak.
With a swift motion, Maeve blinked, and her head was already buried in the pillow, her hands held above her head by him.
No one knows what Julian's strange habit is; every time they did that, the next day her birthmark would definitely have bite marks and bruises.
Her ankle was grabbed by the man, the robe slipped down, hanging on her waist.
...
A night of chaos.
Their clothes scattered on the ground.
The sheets were wrinkled, filled with traces of passion.
But no one was on the big bed.
The sound of breaking echoed in the game room.
