Amelia Clarke's face flushed red, and she hastily held down Owen Moreland's hand that had touched the skin on her chest, turning her head to glance at the kitchen, from which the sound of running water could be heard, though it was unclear what Grace was doing inside.
"There are other people at home."
The girl's voice was coy and shy, soft and gentle, which traveled from the man's ears straight into the depths of his heart, her skin under his touch was incredibly tender and smooth.
Amelia Clarke felt the burning heat from the man's palm; she wanted to resist, but for some reason, she felt utterly weak.
Her heart trembled violently, and she could only bite her lip to keep herself from making any noise.
The cell phone suddenly vibrated.
It was Owen's.
Amelia Clarke seized the opportunity of him reaching for his phone to try to stand up and go upstairs, conscious of the other people in the house, this man was too uninhibited.