Knowing that the woman in front of him was like poison, Michael Gordon still couldn't resist rubbing himself against her, attempting to quench his thirst. His hot, disordered breath brushed against Ivy Aretha's pale and rosy cheek, tickling her like a warm, loving touch on her cheek.
"Michael…"
It was as if Ivy had been infected by him, her voice laced with a slight rasp. If it weren't for her extreme control, she would probably have appeared coy and shameless.
"Hmm!" Michael hummed, rubbing his cheek against her neck and couldn't help but touch her ample breasts. They had grown even bigger due to her pregnancy, and the sensation was even more pleasant. "You're uncomfortable too, you want it too, right?"
Ivy really wanted to slap him to death!
Damn it, of course, she knew that they couldn't do anything at this time, but not only had he brought trouble upon himself, but he had also harmed her.
