Vincent's robe slipped off, revealing his tanned skin, with beads of sweat glistening and tracing down to the secretive triangle of his body.
Dorothy blinked and an idea suddenly popped into her mind.
If Vincent posed as a model for a painting, he would look incredible.
As Dorothy thought about this, her cheeks flushed. Embarrassed, she lowered her head and nestled closer to Vincent, letting him guide her onto the bed.
"Does your foot still hurt?"
Vincent asked, his fingers brushing over her ankle.
A warm sensation climbed up her calf, and Dorothy's body slowly awakened to the memory of that night. The blissful feeling left her unable to distinguish between passion and affection.
She knew full well that their marriage was a sham and that once she uncovered the truth about her father
