Wrong Marriage and Sweet Love

The proximity made Joyce recall the scene in the car where he put his arm around her. She can’t help but feel hot in the face.

“Just because I can shoot doesn’t mean I can fight. Otherwise you would have been taken down long ago.” A woman’s strength was naturally inferior, and with him who was strong enough, she was completely unable to move.

“How long have you been learning to shoot?” He asked.

“Six years.” She wasn’t shy about it.

Luther’s pupils contracted, six years, just six years of emptiness. What the hell had she been doing for those six years? And where did she learn to shoot?

He let go of her, and there was an unreadable complexity in his eyes.

Today, because of her, he was out of danger. He believed for the moment that she was harmless to him.

Luther was a little tired and reclined in bed. Having lost blood, he needed to rest and adjust.

Joyce sat up from the bed, poured herself a glass of water, and asked him, “Do you want some water?”

He closed his eyes and nodded gently.

Joyce handed over a glass of water.

He didn’t pick up.

Did he want her to feed him? Joyce was surprised. Forgot about it. Since they would be divorced tomorrow, she had no choice but help him for the last time.

She brought the glass to Luther’s lips, tilting it slightly to let the water flow into his mouth.All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

The knot in his sexy throat rolled.

“How can we sleep with only one bed? Or you can give me the car key and I’ll sleep in the car.” Joyce suggested.

Luther said lightly, “How do you sleep with a broken car glass?”

Joyce pretended a unnatural smile. What should she do, sleep in the same bed with him?

“What are you worried about?” He snorted, “I’m tired. Plus, what do you think I’d do to a woman who’s getting a divorce with me tomorrow?”

Well, she had to do it.

Joyce went into the bathroom to wash up and rinse off briefly.

When she came out, she saw that Luther had fallen asleep.

The light in the room was dim. He was actually quite good-looking when he was asleep with less coldness and sharpness on his face. His eyelashes were like a fan casting shadows. And his high nose, thin lips. All of them was quiet and harmless.

She tried to recall the man from that night, but she did not see the face and did not have any impression of the outline.

The only thing she can be sure of was that he had an injury on his leg.

She was nervous.

Should she confirm it while he was asleep?

She glanced furtively at him and approached him on tiptoe. Then she bent down on her knees. She would have rolled up his trouser legs, but the cut was too snug to roll up. She cannot make a judgement.

What to do?

The sound of his even breathing came from him. It seemed that he was sleeping quite well.

Hesitantly, Joyce was bold enough to come forward.

With a “click” sound, she unbuckled his belt.

A flush spread over his cheeks. It was so embarrassing that she had never done anything like this before.

She gently tried to remove his pants, taking them off a little, and then a little more.

However, at that moment, Luther opened his eyes abruptly. The dark eyes were like a deep and bottomless abyss. He can see her nervousness and blush. Then, there was flame burned in his cold eyes.

She was so good at it. Her hands were so soft, stimulating his weak nerves.

Before his breakdown, he jerked the quilt over his legs to hide the fact that he had lost control.

Joyce was startled by the sudden movement.

“Woman, do you really think I can’t do anything with this small injury?”