Oscar’s knocks gradually became heavier and furious. “Amelia Winters, open the door!” he commanded.

It wasn’t until he knocked ten consecutive times that the door finally clicked open from the inside.

Amelia, dressed only in a bathrobe, was standing behind the door, her hair wet and her cheeks slightly flushed. She was, needless to say, a picture-perfect example of temptation.

Oscar’s eyes darkened with desire in a blink of an eye. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and scrutinized her from head to toe.

Amelia noticed the difference in his behavior, yet she remained distant when she spoke. “Mr. Clinton, I’m tired.”

his foot. He lowered her onto the couch in the room, his large, calloused hand

his broad chest

one who enjoyed meaningless

her stomach. But she still wore a smile on her face to conceal it. “Mr. Clinton, you don’t have to keep reminding me. I know it better than anyone else that our marriage’s merely a transaction. I’m not delusional. I love your money, you enjoy my body, and occasionally I’ll help you to get rid of unwanted

up any

by a wave of fatigue. The thought of dealing with Oscar Clinton was completely overtaken by her

lifted her without warning, gently placing her on the bed

an hour later when the bed stopped creaking and their heavy panting gradually slowed down in

inhaling his distinct masculine scent. She failed to conceal the weariness in her eyes for her body

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