The words made the burning desire in Bjorn Dixon instantly blossom into joy.
He tapped Elsie Eames' nose and said softly, "You're such a little rascal..."
Five minutes.
For Bjorn Dixon at that moment, it felt like enduring five centuries of agony.
"Darling, here I come..."
Just as he was about to speak, he recalled Elsie Eames' reminder.
He quickly shut his mouth.
Arriving at the door of the room.
Indeed, the door was ajar, with a gentle push, he slipped inside.
On the bedroom bed, wearing a mask, and adorned in an evening gown, Elsie Eames was twisting her body. Seeing her intoxicated, blurry-eyed appearance, she seemed somewhat muddled.
Did she get drunk this fast?
Bjorn Dixon wanted to ask but thought better of it, not wanting to spoil the ambiance Elsie Eames had carefully created.
Could it be intentional?
Thinking of this, he noticed that the hem of Elsie Eames' evening gown had already been lifted, exposing more than half of the scenery beneath.
