Isabella Weaver flushed slightly: "I'm a bit tired from the flight, you should leave."
"That's why I can't leave, you don't need to move, let me do it."
With ill intent, Harry Hunter gave her a light pat on the butt, stripped her clean, and carried her into the bathtub.
The steam swirled, the lights were gentle, he was very passionate.
Isabella quickly melted into him, becoming one with him, forgetting everything around, drifting with him in the water.
By the time Harry carried her out of the bathroom, she was so soft all over that she had no strength left, her cheeks a rosy red that lingered for a long time.
Harry really liked her in this state, like a tender bud washed by water, blooming with delicate petals, alluring and beautiful.
He wiped the water droplets off her body, and somewhere began to stir again.
Isabella lay softly against him, feeling the change in his body, she bit his chest lightly, threatening him: "Don't try anything funny, or I'll cry."
