The man tightly holds her waist, and every slight movement leads to his hand tightening further, locking her within his grasp, rendering struggles futile.
The warmth of his hand gently pats her back, and his thin lips graze her neck, moving upwards slowly. His deep voice reaches her ears, with breath hot against her earlobe.
"Behave, An'an, just be good..."
This intimate term makes Ling Qingan freeze instantly.
An'an?
How long has it been since Wen Jichen called her by that name?
Was it since the Ling Family went bankrupt? Or since she fled from him without second thoughts?
He used to call her that often, when waking her, when coaxing her to sleep, when she was happy or angry, when she pouted—almost all the time.
His voice was deep and enticing, the two words spilled from his throat, glossed over his lips, like aged wine, rich, intoxicating, easy to drown in.
But now it feels like another lifetime.
