She fumbled with the buttons, peeling his shirt off with an urgency that betrayed her calm facade.
The lean muscle that danced beneath his pale skin was now laid bare before her, causing her heart to race and her breath to catch. In a swift motion, she redressed him, her fingers lingering on his pants, heavy with thought.
"You acted so boldly, removing my pants with such bravado. Now, what's with this innocent act?" His lips were pallid, almost devoid of color, and his words were laced with a biting edge.
Gwendolyn paused, her teeth clenched in frustration as she yanked his pants down, revealing inch by tantalizing inch.
How fair and firm his muscle was!
Those long and powerful legs were made for hard labor, perhaps tilling the fields.
Howard leaned against the bedpost, eyes tightly shut, resigned to his fate. Her cool and gentle fingers brushed against his skin, sending shivers down his spine.
"Give me your hand."
Gwendolyn wrung out the towel, cleaning the bloodstains along his arm. The needle marks were conspicuous, surrounded by a halo of bruised skin. It was a deliberate act to draw so much blood.
Howard's dark gaze swept past her face as he suddenly grabbed her wrist with a quick twist. With a forceful pull, Gwendolyn tumbled into the expansive bed.
Before she could rise, he was upon her, his hot breath grazing her cheek as he growled, "What did Bainbridge offer you?"
His grip on her chin forced her to meet his gaze, her clear and almond-shaped eyes misting over.
"I don't know him."
So he didn't trust her.
And now, this proud and composed gentleman finally revealed his ruthless claws. His right hand traced her soft waist, fingers pressing into the hollows of her hips.
"Do you know how they used to interrogate female spies?" His voice was cold, barely concealing a hint of roguishness.
She knew!
Either way, she couldn't escape the torment, the relentless torture.
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