She was drunk like this.
She didn't even know who he was, but she kept insisting on taking him to bed.
If the man who carried her off the car were to enter her room, would she also invite him to her bed without a shred of clothing, just like she was doing now with a complete stranger?
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
But he couldn't do anything to her.
Lyra Smith opened her foggy eyes, looking as if they were washed with water. She blinked and took away his hand from her chin. Instead of releasing his hand, she rubbed her cheek against his open palm like a cat.
Morris Jackson tried to pull his hand back, but she held it tightly: "Morris Jackson, why are you so cold-hearted..."
His pupils suddenly contracted as he stared at her.
Lyra Smith muttered under her breath, holding his hand: "Cold-faced, like a coffin board, even in my dreams you're arrogant, cold, and unwilling to let me do as I wish...mmm..."
The rest of her words were silenced.
