Because Martin didn't give her a chance to speak again.
As soon as she leaned over, Martin grabbed her little hand, wrapped it around his waist, and said, "Don't you even look at me? I've been running back and forth in this windy and snowy day. Have I lost weight? Am I injured?"
Lila struggled slightly, but her hands were held so tightly that she couldn't pull them out. She could only chuckle and rub her head against Martin's chest, which felt even hotter than she remembered. His solid chest was rising and falling, and she seemed to hear the sound of thumping. Her heart also began to jump in panic, as if there was a restless little rabbit hiding inside.
"Don't you miss me at all..." Martin's tone was like that of a resentful woman in the boudoir. His big palm was dry and hot, and he led her small hand, wandering restlessly under the quilt.
"Thinking...thinking..." Lila's throat was dry, and she managed to squeeze out a few words, humming and whimpering. She didn't know if Martin heard it clearly.
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