Zhao Mingyuan pushed open Yan Yan's door when the morning light was slightly bright.
He stood by the bed, looking down at her sleeping profile. The rain outside the window had stopped, leaving only the sound of water dripping from the eaves, one drop at a time, like some kind of countdown.
- He should have finished it last nite.
"If you're awake, don't pretend to be asleep." He said coldly, his fingers already pulling off his tie.
Yan Yan's eyelashes trembled, and she slowly opened her eyes. Her gaze was very calm, without panic or resistance, she just quietly looked at him, as if she had already accepted her fate.
This compliance made him even more irritable for some reason.
He leaned over, his palms supporting him on either side of her ears, and his other hand roughly tore open her nightgown. The sound of silk tearing was particularly harsh in the silent room.
"Today is the third day." His voice was low, as if he was reminding himself, "Don't waste time."
In the morning light, her skin was like snow clams soaked in milk, and with his touch, a coral-colored tide rose.
But when he really covered her, he found himself out of control.
Her breath, her slight trembling, the faint red at the corner of her eyes when she pursed her lips - all turned into invisible threads, wrapping around his heart layer by layer. The expected storm had turned into a tangle of vines under the moonlight at some point. His fingertips sank into her scattered black hair, lingering behind her neck, and the kiss was longer than usual.
"Don't hold back." His palm was pressed against the curve of her waist, but when he touched the shallow teeth marks on her lips, he suddenly froze. "Does it hurt?" As soon as the words left his mouth, the air froze.
He immediately covered up the mistake with a more ardent temperature, but he was stunned when he traced her waistline - that skin was more delicate than Suzhou embroidery, and more warm and moist than warm jade.
The last wave came crashing down, and he held her slender ankles, but at the moment when the tide of passion surged, he suddenly raised his hand to cover her eyes. In the darkness, those broken breaths had a place to hide.
In the last moment, he almost forgot who he was.
——It turns out that occupying a person will also make oneself occupied.
Zhao Mingyuan got up and buttoned his shirt with his back to her. His fingers were a little stiff, and the strange heat in his chest lingered for a long time.
The morning light climbed onto the messy bedclothes, illuminating the red marks on Yan Yan's wrist. Zhao Mingyuan caught a glimpse of that red mark while fastening his belt, and suddenly remembered the blood jade bracelet he had seen at the auction - it was also like this, encircling the white wrist, and the more she struggled, the more beautiful it became.
"I'll have the butler make you some bird's nest soup tonight." He threw down these words before slamming the door, but at the corner of the hallway he felt the hair tie in his pocket. The fragrance mixed with a strand of her long hair, which was tightly wrapped around his platinum cufflink.
The sound of rice paper being torn came from the direction of the studio, but Zhao Mingyuan stared at his palm in a daze. The temperature of her waist still lingered there, like a fire that was about to go out, burning him so that he had to admit that men and women were still different.
She lay quietly in bed, like a shell from which the soul had been extracted.
Zhao Mingyuan had already left, but the air still held the scent of cedar and desire that clung to him. She slowly curled up, her fingers unconsciously gripping the bedsheet, her knuckles white from the force.
It was not only the physical pain, but also the humiliation of being torn apart. She should have been numb, but she still carved new scars in her heart.
She reached out to touch her collarbone, where the marks of his bite still remained, slightly hot. The moment her fingertips touched it, she suddenly pulled back her hand, as if she had been burned.
She slowly sat up, the silk sheet slipping from her shoulders, revealing the ambiguous red marks on her skin.
When her feet touched the ground, she frowned slightly, held onto the edge of the bed for a while, and then barely managed to stand up.
She went to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and vigorously scrubbed his scent from her body until her skin was red.
The eyes of the person in the mirror were empty. She reached out to wipe away the fog, but she couldn't wipe away those marks.
"Why do I still care?" She thot she had already prepared herself mentally, but...
He stood in the study, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the ice long since melted, the liquor flat and tasteless.
He should have been at the office, but he was standing here, staring out the window.
He had always been calm and self-possessed, but today, at the last moment, he covered her eyes, as if afraid that she would see thru his depravity.
He loosened his tie in annoyance, picked up his car keys and prepared to go to the company.
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