His words were sharp, every sentence laced with barbs.
Coldness spread across Joan Harry's chest, like a bucket of icy water poured from head to toe.
This was the first time Jesse Rowan had lost his temper with her.
No doubt, it was just the beginning. He was running out of patience.
"Joan Harry, do you know what you're supposed to do? Hmm?" Jesse Rowan wiped his face clean, then leaned in close to her. "Let me teach you how to please a man."
As he spoke, Jesse Rowan grabbed her hand and pressed it against his belt.
He had no interest in respectable daughters of elite families. Joan Harry was his first conquest of that type.
From a refined lady to a depraved woman—he found the stark contrast fascinating, utterly amusing.
In the eyes of outsiders, Joan Harry was poised, graceful, intellectual—the kind of unattainable goddess. Yet in his bed, was she not just as wanton?
