Caught in the act, Mortimer Quincy wasn't the least bit embarrassed. "The massage is more effective up close."
Holly Winslow: "..."
'Hmph. He sounds so prim and proper, but everything he does is so shameless.'
She irritably slapped his hand away. "Says who?"
"Master Quincy," Mortimer Quincy shamelessly dubbed himself.
Holly Winslow: "..."
She felt his hand reach the clasp of her bra. A moment later, it came undone. She: "..."
She quickly scooted away from him. "Forget the massage. I'm afraid I won't be able to get out of bed tomorrow."
His wife knew exactly what he was implying. Mortimer Quincy raised an eyebrow, then began to undress, preparing for some "exercise."
Holly Winslow: "..."
In the end, she couldn't escape their two-person exercise.
Thanks to that "massage" from Mortimer Quincy, Holly Winslow's back was successfully "broken." The next day in class, her lower back ached in waves, and she kept kneading it from time to time.
