She didn’t want Otis to get to Luther all because of her.
Perhaps, whenever it came to the most critical moment, instinctively, she would want to protect him.
It was ridiculous yet pathetic.
She could never, ever let go of him.
The more dangerous it was, the clearer she could be inside.
Four years on, she hadn't changed a bit.
"Is that so? In that case, it's all the more reason for us to be allies."
"And, I know what you want." Otis looked around deliberately and lowered his voice, "Want evidence of Charlotte's guilt, don't you? Then you've come to the right person. Baby, I have everything you want, and it's up to you, to satisfy me."
Joyce's long eyebrows tightened and she was extremely disgusted by his ambiguous words.
Did Otis mean that the evidence of Charlotte's guilt was hidden in this villa?
"Baby, we've just wasted too much time. If we don't hurry, it's going to be dawn. Be good and try to get some rest before dawn so I can let you rest for a while."
Otis made a sudden effort and pushed her down on the bed.
His strong legs were pressed against her legs, and she could not move at all.
In front of her, he unbuttoned his shirt slowly.
He seemed to have kept it slow on purpose, as if to prolong this pleasure of controlling everything, tormenting the prey, and enjoying the fear of the prey.
Finally, he took off his shirt and casually dropped it on the floor, revealing the strong muscles on his chest and abdomen.
"Click—" Immediately after that, he loosened his belt and pulled it straight out. He looked wicked enough, with a hint of bloodthirsty tyranny.
Joyce held her breath, her heart trembling.
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