Maxwell Peary's entire body stiffened, all sensation concentrated on a certain hardness in his lower abdomen.
By his ear was Nia Mitchell's timid voice.
"Hey! Maxwell Peary, put me down, or I'll start crying!" she warned.
UGH. He took back what he had said earlier. If this was her idea of timid, then what would she sound like when she was truly furious?
A twitch formed at the corner of Maxwell's mouth. Just as he was about to let go of her, she started to struggle.
It was the kind of struggle that had no chance of succeeding.
Maxwell categorized this struggle as a tantalizing resistance.
So, without any need for further restraint, he directly threw her onto the soft, large bed, and his hot body pressed against hers.
Many years later, Nia Mitchell, after a vigorous round of exercise, lay on the bed as if dead.
Despite being utterly exhausted, she asked a question that had been haunting her for years.
Why, even though she had resisted, had he never let her go?
