The warm yellow light filled the room, making everything seem too bright. The faint hum of the air conditioner, the soft patter of rain outside, and the subtle sounds of swallowing filled the space, creating an atmosphere of uneasy tension.
Wen Yifan tilted her head, trying to push through a strange feeling that clouded her mind. Her thoughts felt slowed, and she couldn’t quite grasp what Sang Yan was saying. All she could focus on were his movements, and they kept pulling her attention away.
His body was firm, enveloping her like a silent cage, and a familiar scent, one she couldn’t resist, lingered in the air. The droplets of water from his wet hair slid down his skin, a cool reminder of the rain outside.
It was almost enough to make her feel at ease. Yet the occasional chill broke through, bringing a sense of clarity.
Her gaze became unfocused as she stared at the light overhead. Slowly, it shifted downward, and she noticed that his clothes were still neat. She touched his head gently, her voice unsteady.
Wen Yifan: “Sang Yan, you didn’t turn off the light…”
Sang Yan lifted his head, looking down at her under the bright light. His features were sharp, his lips colored deep and moist, his expression tinged with something unreadable. He looked every bit the conqueror.
Sang Yan: “Turn off the light? How are you going to see me if I turn it off?”
Wen Yifan couldn’t respond. Instead, he released her wrist, the hem of her clothes falling back into place, his voice soft but amused.
He leaned back, pulling her wrist toward him. She was caught off guard and found herself half-lying on top of him.
In the process, the injury on her right leg brushed against his pants, and a faint sting spread through her.
Her face tightened in discomfort.
Sang Yan: “Did I touch your wound?”
(He noticed her reaction and immediately sat up.)
“Come here, let me take a look.”
Wen Yifan: “It barely touched. It doesn’t hurt.”
Sang Yan held her knee and looked down at her thigh, where the wound had yet to fully heal. A few days had passed, but the injury was still raw, with two deep cuts that had darkened and remained tender.
Her skin was so pale it seemed to glow, and the injuries appeared all the more shocking under the light.
For a brief moment, Sang Yan realized how careless he had been. He hadn’t considered her discomfort or thought about the intimacy of their actions. He pulled back slightly, regret showing in his eyes.
Sang Yan: “Let’s sleep.”
(He said flatly.)
Wen Yifan was taken aback. It seemed he had no intention of continuing. Sang Yan gently pushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his gaze lingering on her with regret.
Sang Yan: “I’m going to take a shower.”
Wen Yifan remained silent, feeling a strange mix of emotions. Her skin still carried the lingering sensation of his touch, yet everything had abruptly stopped. A sense of longing, just moments before, seemed to have vanished without a trace.
She stayed seated, confused and disoriented. Was it her, or was it Sang Yan?
He had initiated everything—he had held her, kissed her, touched her—but now he seemed to be stopping for no reason at all. She felt passive, like a tool being used without her consent. Remembering his earlier words, Wen Yifan couldn’t hold back her question.
Wen Yifan: “Do I still have to pay you?”
Sang Yan: “Huh?”
Wen Yifan: “I feel like if I’m still paying for this service, I’d be at a loss.”
Sang Yan paused, not expecting such words. Wen Yifan attempted to shift away from him, but his hand pressed firmly against her.
Sang Yan: “What did you say?”
He looked at her, his expression incredulous. He pulled her closer, holding her waist firmly.
Sang Yan: “Tell me. In what way are you at a loss?”
Wen Yifan, heart pounding, suddenly regretted her words. Not knowing how to backtrack, she doubled down.
Wen Yifan: “Your service doesn’t even meet the standard for charging…”
Sang Yan’s lips curled into a faint smile. He guided her hands, bringing them down to the hem of his shirt.
Sang Yan: “What would meet the standard?”
Wen Yifan, still held by him, found her hand sliding up his body, guided by his touch. Her ears burned, and she was at a loss for how to respond to his teasing.
Sang Yan continued to guide her movements, inch by inch, until they reached his collarbone.
Sang Yan: “Done looking?”
Wen Yifan: “Ah...”
Sang Yan: “What’s the next step?”
His voice dropped to a near whisper, and the heat between them deepened.
Sang Yan: “You should enjoy it.”
(He whispered.)
The words made Wen Yifan’s mind go blank.
Sang Yan: “My lady.”
She sat still, unable to think clearly, feeling lost in the tension. Sang Yan’s voice, now lower, pulled her out of her thoughts.
Sang Yan: “Why aren’t you kissing?”
Wen Yifan: “…”
Sang Yan: “You spent money and won’t even touch it? Don’t you feel like you’re losing out?”
His invitation was clear, and Wen Yifan couldn’t help but fall into the trap. She lowered her head and kissed his throat lightly. His heat seeped into her, and she could feel his impatience growing.
Sang Yan’s breath grew heavier as she continued, his restraint fraying.
Unable to hold back any longer, he kissed her forcefully, and his hand moved over her body, claiming her.
The positions shifted, and before long, she lay on the bed. In the dim room, Sang Yan reached over and turned off the light, grabbing something from the bedside.
The soft sound of packaging tearing filled the room, and everything around her blurred except for Sang Yan.
His patience was palpable, kissing her lips softly, before slowly—deliberately—moving closer to her. The pain of the initial contact made her wince, but there was no thought of retreat.
In his arms, she didn’t want to pull away.
Outside, the rain grew heavier, the drops falling in a frantic rhythm against the window. As if in sync with the storm, Sang Yan’s movements grew more urgent. The suppressed desire he had carried for so long now poured out, consuming him.
Wen Yifan: “Sang Yan, it hurts…”
His voice softened, snapping back to reality.
Sang Yan: “Where does it hurt?”
She clung to him, unable to speak, her eyes filled with tears. Sang Yan’s voice was low but insistent.
Sang Yan: “If you don’t tell me, how will I know where it hurts?”
She remained silent.
Sang Yan: “Not going to talk?”
(He leaned closer, nibbling her ear.)
“Then endure it.”
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