The woman holding him did not speak, but tightened her grip, as if she wanted to drag him to lie down with her.
The thunder outside the window gradually died down, but the rain was getting louder and louder. It poured down on the eaves.
Draven looked down at her and pursed his thin lips. After a long time, he couldn't bear to look at the faint scar again and tried to pull up her clothes.
As soon as his warm fingers landed on her shoulder, the woman lying on the bed suddenly opened her eyes and sat up straight.
"What are you doing?" She stared at him.
Draven's hand was still in mid-air. When he met Cierra's gaze, he didn't know whether to retract it or not.
After a while, he withdrew his hand and looked away. "Your clothes are in a mess. Tidy them up."
Cierra got up very suddenly. The white shirt slipped down from her shoulder, and the looming whiteness made people dare not to look at it in the darkness.