Emily stretched languorously as the massage ended, giving Wang Daniu a deep, meaningful look.
Then she smiled broadly and said, "So, the best method is to make him a dead man, isn't it?"
Emily wanted money, supreme power, and a normal married life.
Therefore, Obama had to die.
When Obama returned to the villa in the evening with gifts, Emily—who normally did not cook—was bustling about in the kitchen.
The house was filled with the aroma of food.
Seeing Obama enter, Emily affectionately took the items in his hands and gave him a lingering French kiss.
"Honey, see how long it has been since you've had dinner at home with me," she said.
"You're not allowed to leave tonight, stay with me, okay?"
"Since my wife has asked, how could I refuse?" Obama looked at his petite wife adoringly,
and then playfully patted her pert buttocks.
Leaning close to her ear, he said in a fawning manner, "This is a novelty I specially bought from the capital."
"Look, do you like any of them?"
