Morris Jackson came to Lyra Smith's side.
He placed his hand on her shoulder, pressing down, neither too lightly nor too heavily, and asked her, "What's wrong? Can't you sleep?"
Lyra raised her hand and pointed at her buttock, "I fell and it hurts."
Morris's gaze landed on the spot she was pointing at.
She had just emerged from the bed, still wearing the nightgown that Sophia had changed her into. Her seated position accentuated the plumpness of her buttocks, and her already slim waist looked unbelievably soft under the dim light.
He leaned over slightly, his voice gentle beyond belief: "Let me have a look."
"Here." Lyra was obedient and proactive, lifting her nightgown and asking, "Can you massage it for me?"
Morris Jackson: "..."
She had no idea how enticing she looked at that moment, not only completely unrestrained but also brazenly asking him to rub her.
A fire ignited in Morris's eyes as he stared at her, burning his heart.
