The light quickly dimmed, and Isabella Weaver finally felt a bit more at ease, yet she still clutched the towel tightly.
Harry Hunter lowered his head to kiss her, her lips filled with the scent of wine and fruit, carrying a sweet, refreshing aroma that swept over Harry's entire being.
Despite drinking so much without getting drunk, he found himself wanting to lose himself after savoring her lips.
He wanted to pull off her towel, but didn't expect her grip to be so firm.
Harry coaxed her softly, "Baby, how do you shower with the towel on?"
"Just like this..."
"Throw the towel away, be good."
"Then turn around, don't look at me."
"The lights are so dim, I can't see anything."
Isabella still hesitated a little; she always felt like Harry's gaze was like fire, making her whole body heat up when he looked at her.
In her moment of hesitation, Harry abruptly pulled off her towel and held her under the shower.
