What were they doing in there?
Oscar's mind was instantly filled with images of high-speed dune buggies.
Inside the room, Violet pinned Wesley against the door, breathing heavily, her last shred of reason desperately fighting against her wild impulses.
It was torture—she was burning up!
"President Merritt, can I... can I ask a favor?"
At that moment, Wesley felt like a still pond suddenly lashed by a violent storm—his entire body tensed like a bowstring pulled to its limit.
"You want me... to help you?"
"Haaah—" Violet exhaled hotly. "In this state, I can't give myself acupuncture."
If her condition weren't so dire, she wouldn't have asked such a thing of him.
"Look, if you help me this time, I promise—when you want a divorce, I'll sign the papers without hesitation. How's that?"
