Wang Yun's lips found Diao Chan's, a tender yet fervent kiss that deepened with the weight of their looming parting, his hands roaming her exquisite form with a reverent hunger that belied his years. "Your soft curves, your scent—like orchids and musk—how can this old man bear to let you go, Chan'er?" he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with reluctance and a tender ache that trembled in the stillness. The thought of losing her gnawed at him, unbidden images flashing through his mind—Diao Chan cradled in the hairy, coarse arms of Dong Zhuo, that bloated, repulsive brute, her lithe body pawed at, her full breasts kneaded by his rough, meaty hands. A strange heat stirred in Wang Yun despite the pang of loss, a twisted arousal born of jealousy and longing, his breath hitching as his fingers trailed downward, finding the moist warmth between her thighs. He slipped inside her, teasing and savoring her silken heat, his torment mingling with a primal need to claim her one more time.
"And Lü Bu," he rasped, his voice roughening with a darker edge as he envisioned the towering warrior, "so tall, so striking, his massive manhood thrusting into your delicate little flower." The words hung heavy in the air, a confession of both dread and fascination, his fingers pausing within her as the image seared his mind—Lü Bu's fierce dominance overwhelming her fragile beauty, her gasps echoing beneath his unrelenting desire. Wang Yun's heart clenched, torn between the cold necessity of his plan and the fierce possessiveness that roared within him.
Diao Chan bowed her head, a flicker of melancholy shadowing her luminous eyes, her long lashes veiling the storm of emotions within. She understood the turmoil warring in Wang Yun's heart—his love for her, his jealousy, his reluctant sacrifice—and her own fears mirrored his, though she cloaked them in quiet resolve. Her breath caught softly, the faint tremor in her frame a silent testament to the weight of her fate, yet she pressed closer to him, seeking solace in the warmth of his touch.
Wang Yun's voice dipped, a shadowed edge slicing through as he drew back his hand, calculation flashing in his eyes before a wave of unspoken tenderness—and a sting of envy—swallowed it. "Indeed," he murmured, the word thick with resolve, "Dong Zhuo, that bloated lecher, and Lü Bu, all striking sinew, will devour you—savoring every inch, lost to their relentless lust." A bitter growl rumbled low, his love for Diao Chan warring with the cruel necessity of his plot, each syllable a wound carved into his heart, sharpened by the thought of their hands claiming what he coveted. Yet, gazing at her—her luminous beauty aglow in moonlight, her fragility a silk enchantment—he steeled himself; her triumph in his scheme outweighed any selfish pang. He drew her close, their bodies melding in the quiet, a fleeting imprint of her warmth against his soul before dawn claimed her for the trap.
In that fleeting stillness, their thoughts diverged yet converged in a silent understanding, the air between them thick with unspoken truths. Wang Yun's expression softened, a rare vulnerability breaking through his stern facade as he reached out, his fingers threading through her silken hair, lingering at the tips as if to cradle time itself—a wordless farewell etched in the tenderness of his touch. Diao Chan's luminous eyes shimmered with a blend of shyness and defiance, her lashes fluttering like the wings of a captive bird. "Rest easy, Father," she whispered, her voice a sultry promise that curled around his heart, "I'll make them crave me beyond reason."
A faint smile tugged at Wang Yun's lips, though worry lingered in the depths of his gaze. He knew her beauty was unparalleled, a celestial allure that could ensnare any man, yet Dong Zhuo's mansion brimmed with temptresses, his palace overflowing with lovely concubines vying for his favor. Beauty alone couldn't sway Lü Bu from his master—a warrior whose fierce loyalty rivaled his burning lust—yet his adoptive father, Dong Zhuo, dangled a parade of beauties to chain his allegiance. Only Diao Chan's silken snare would unravel that bond. The plan, he resolved, must be flawless, every move as precise as a blade's edge. But as he looked upon her, his Chan'er, radiant and resolute beneath the weight of their shared burden, his heart clenched with a tangle of pride and dread.
On the bed, their bodies pressed close, shadows intertwining beneath the silvery moonlight, their forms melding into a single silhouette against the dark. Flesh and soul fused in that stolen moment, and Wang Yun knew tonight's intimacy would shape the chaos to come. "May it all unfold smoothly, my Chan'er," he breathed, his voice a low murmur heavy with longing and foreboding, his breath warm against her ear.
"For you, Father, I'll see it done," she replied, her voice a velvet caress, resolute despite the reluctance tugging at her spirit. Her words stirred him, a vow that deepened the fire simmering beneath his restraint, her loyalty a balm to the ache of their parting.
As the night deepened, Wang Yun climbed atop her, his lips claiming hers with a fervent need that spoke of desperation and possession. His hands pinned her arms above her head, the gesture both commanding and reverent, her wrists delicate beneath his grip. His touch glided down, brushing the tender hollows of her armpits—a fleeting tease that drew a soft gasp from her lips—before cupping her full breasts with a hungry reverence. He kneaded them gently, thumbs circling until her nipples stiffened beneath his palms, their rosy peaks a testament to her yielding desire. His mouth followed, hungry and searching, latching onto her with a desperate thirst as he pictured her slipping from his grasp into the arms of those merciless titans. His thumbs grazed her armpits again, holding her firm as he anchored himself in her softness, while his hardened length slid into her welcoming heat. They moved together, their rhythm a dance of possession and surrender, each thrust a silent claim, each sigh a shared lament, until their silhouettes dissolved into the enveloping dark, the world fading until only their entwined souls remained.