The warm yellow light illuminated the room, making it seem overly bright. The faint hum of the air conditioner, the soft pattering of rain, and a suggestive sound of swallowing filled the air.
Wen Yifan tilted her head slightly, trying to withstand the strange and indescribable sensation. Her thoughts seemed to slow, and she couldn’t focus on what Sang Yan was saying. All of her attention was drawn to his actions, leaving her mind in a haze.
Sang Yan’s body was firm, enveloping her like a silent cage, exuding a familiar scent that she found irresistible. There was still moisture clinging to him, droplets of water occasionally sliding down from his wet hair, leaving a cool trace wherever they landed.
The warmth was almost enough to pull her down, yet the occasional chill brought a fleeting clarity.
Wen Yifan’s gaze was unfocused as she stared at the overhead light, then slowly shifted downward. She noticed that Sang Yan’s clothes were still neat. She placed her hand on his head, her voice trembling, “Sang Yan, you didn’t turn off the light…”
Hearing her, Sang Yan lifted his head.
Under the bright light, the man’s skin appeared pale and cold, his lips deep in color, glistening with moisture. His sharp brows and narrow eyes, tinted with desire, made his already striking features appear even more intense, like a brazen conqueror.
“Turn off the light?” Sang Yan let go of her, and the hem of her clothing, which he had pulled up, fell back into place. His voice was low, tinged with a hint of laughter, “How are you going to see me if I turn it off?”
“…”
With that, Sang Yan leaned back, his whole body collapsing onto the bed. He tugged at her wrist, pulling her towards him. Caught off guard, Wen Yifan leaned forward, half lying on top of him.
In the midst of this, the injury on her right leg brushed lightly against his pants, causing a faint sting.
Wen Yifan instinctively frowned.
Noticing her reaction, Sang Yan’s expression paused. He released her wrist and glanced down, suddenly realizing what had happened. “Did I touch your wound?”
Before Wen Yifan could reply, he was already sitting up.
“Come here, let me take a look.”
Wen Yifan spoke softly, “It barely touched, it doesn’t hurt.”
Sang Yan didn’t respond. He held her knee, staring at the wound on her thigh.
It had been three or four days already.
Several of the wounds had scabbed over, their color darkened. But because of the moisture, some were slightly swollen, with only two deeper cuts showing faint traces of blood. Her skin was so pale that it reflected the light, making the injuries appear even more severe and shocking.
In that instant, Sang Yan felt like he truly was the “beast” he had called himself earlier.
Her leg injury hadn’t healed.
And she had just shared those distressing experiences with him.
He hadn’t even considered whether she would be averse to such intimate contact.
After a moment, Sang Yan straightened up, the desire in his eyes still present but tinged with a hint of regret. His lips tightened into a straight line as he looked into Wen Yifan’s eyes. He said flatly, “Let’s sleep.”
Wen Yifan was taken aback.
It seemed he had no intention of continuing. Sang Yan slowly brushed aside the stray hairs on her forehead. His dark eyes, deep as ink, lingered on the marks he had left on her. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“…”
Wen Yifan looked back at him.
At this moment, everything felt absurd.
Her body was still damp and sticky, every inch of her skin seemed to carry his scent, as if she had been gently teased by feathers all over, yet it had ended just like this.
The inexplicable longing he had stirred up within her—
Also vanished, silently and without a trace, leaving her with no sense of resolution.
Wen Yifan remained seated on him, her gaze unwavering.
She couldn’t tell whether there was something wrong with herself, or with Sang Yan.
It was he who initiated everything.
It was he who held her, kissed her, touched her.
And in the end, it was also he who, inexplicably, stopped because of something trivial.
Wen Yifan felt like a tool, passively enduring, without the right to offer even the slightest opinion. Remembering Sang Yan’s earlier words, she pursed her lips and couldn’t help but ask, “Do I still have to pay you?”
Sang Yan didn’t catch on immediately: “Huh?”
“I feel like if I’m still paying for this service,” Wen Yifan’s eyes, naturally alluring, still carried a lingering trace of passion. She sniffled softly, her words slow, “I’d be at a loss.”
“…”
After speaking, Wen Yifan moved her leg, attempting to get off of him.
In the next instant, his hand pressed down on her.
Wen Yifan looked up, meeting his amused gaze. “What did you say?”
“…”
As if not expecting to hear such words, Sang Yan’s expression turned incredulous. He held her by the waist, pulling her closer. He enunciated each word, “Tell me, in what way are you at a loss?”
With the proximity, Wen Yifan held her breath, slightly regretting her impulsive comment.
Not knowing how to respond, she decided to double down: “Your service doesn’t even meet the standard for charging…”
Upon hearing this, Sang Yan’s lashes lifted slightly, and the corner of his lips curled. He held her again, returning them to their previous position. This time, his movements were gentler than before.
He guided her hand, sliding it downwards, stopping at the hem of his shirt.
“What would meet the standard?”
“…”
Every action that followed was led by Sang Yan.
Wen Yifan’s hand, held by him, pushed his shirt up, revealing his firm, chiseled abs. His voice was low and husky, carrying a clear temptation: “Do I have to show you this?”
He continued upwards.
“Or maybe this?”
Wen Yifan could feel her hand being guided across his body. Her ears began to burn, and aside from listening to his teasing, she had no idea how to react.
Until they reached his collarbone.
Sang Yan looked at her, his tone almost provocative, “Done looking?”
Wen Yifan hesitated for a moment before uttering an “ah.”
“What’s the next step?” Sang Yan pressed her head down, his lips against her ear, his voice lowering as if he were whispering, “—You should enjoy it.”
Those words made Wen Yifan’s mind go blank.
Accompanied by the next two words from him: “My lady.”
…
Wen Yifan sat there, unsure how to respond. She lightly licked her lips, staring at the man’s throat and collarbone in front of her, completely still.
Sang Yan’s voice lowered, “Why aren’t you kissing?”
“…”
“You spent money and won’t even touch it, don’t you feel like you’re losing out?”
His words were like an invitation, and Wen Yifan couldn’t help but fall into the trap. She lowered her head and kissed his throat lightly. He held her by the waist, and she could feel his heat.
Sang Yan’s breath became heavier, every action of hers feeling like a torment, constantly testing his patience.
Soon, he could no longer restrain himself. He lifted her head, biting down hard on her lips.
His hand slid down, touching every inch of her body.
Unconsciously, their positions switched. Wen Yifan lay on the bed, and under his guidance, she felt as if she had spent a fortune to hire a top male escort for the night.
At the last moment, Sang Yan reached over and turned off the light, grabbing a box from the bedside table.
In the dim room.
Wen Yifan heard the sound of tearing packaging.
Everything around her seemed to blur, with only the person before her remaining clear.
Sang Yan moved with gentle patience, kissing her lips soothingly, and then slowly, inch by inch, he entered her. She felt a sharp pain and a soft whimper escaped her lips, but there wasn’t even the slightest thought of retreating.
She disliked the touch of any man.
Except him.
In front of Sang Yan, Wen Yifan only wanted to be closer to him.
The sound of rain outside seemed to grow louder, beating against the window. From a slow drizzle to an urgent downpour, the falling raindrops intensified, spreading through the endless darkness of the night.
Sang Yan held her tightly, his movements growing heavier as if wanting to claim her entirely for himself.
Years of suppressed desire at that moment transformed into a dark, violent need, unraveling and devouring his sanity.
The next second, Sang Yan heard Wen Yifan’s soft, nasal voice.
“Sang Yan, it hurts…”
He snapped back to reality, his voice hoarse, “Where does it hurt?”
Wen Yifan’s eyes were red as she clung to his back, unable to articulate.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Sang Yan lowered his head, kissing her chin. His actions slowed, but the harshness in his words didn’t diminish, “If you don’t tell me, how will I know where it hurts?”
Wen Yifan remained silent.
“Not going to talk?”
He tilted his head slightly, leaning close to her ear, nibbling on her earlobe.
“—Then endure it.”