Greg Jensen hadn't fallen asleep yet. Chelsea Wolfe's movements naturally couldn't escape his notice. He smiled faintly and then closed his eyes to enjoy.
When the passion ignited within him, he finally threw off the covers and began to get to the heart of the matter.
The evening breeze was gentle, and the willow branches in the courtyard were sprouting new buds.
The slender trunks, like the waist of a young girl, swayed with the breeze, striking against the wall lamps.
The crisp sound of the branches hitting the glass had a rhythmic beat.
"Mr. Wolfe, please..."
In the next bedroom, Doris Locke dreamed it seemed she was doing something shameful. At the beginning, she resisted a little, but later on, she let it happen naturally.
But just when she was indulging in it, she suddenly realized that the person was actually Barry Wolfe.
She woke up abruptly, her eyes wide with shock. "I... How could I dream about that guy?" she wondered aloud.
