The warm-hued light fell quietly in the bathroom.

Zhou Jin quickly released her teeth, turned her head, and pressed a gentle kiss to the underside of his jaw.

A current-like numbness ran through Jiang Hansheng’s fingers, traveling up his arm and straight into his chest.

The tenderness in his eyes grew clouded and indistinct, and he called her name in a low, unclear voice: “Zhou Jin.”

He had always been exceptionally skilled at concealing his emotions, yet now his expression could not help but betray a helpless vulnerability — the look of a man being held entirely in someone else’s hands. He was also skilled at reading other people’s thoughts, yet right now he could not read Zhou Jin at all.

He could not say whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. The reason he could not see Zhou Jin clearly was because she was far, far too close to him now.

Zhou Jin did not open her eyes. Her hand pressed against the back of Jiang Hansheng’s neck as she kissed his cheek and jaw, slowly, inch by inch.

She slipped her hand inside his clothing and touched his burning skin.

He was very healthy.

Zhou Jin could not fathom how the word “drugs” could ever be connected to someone like Jiang Hansheng.

As if to verify something, she bowed her head and pressed her lips to his chest. Through the fabric, her scorching breath traveled downward, little by little, until it came to rest against his abdomen.

The muscles of his stomach were not exaggerated, just taut, rising and falling faintly with his suppressed and measured breathing.

Zhou Jin sank to her knees. Jiang Hansheng’s breathing immediately lost its rhythm.

He furrowed his brow slightly, his hand moving to stroke her hair. He steadied his breathing and asked her: “Zhou Jin, what are you doing?”

Zhou Jin caressed him with one hand and looked up at him. His eyes were dark as ink, his face still white as polished jade — yet his ears had gone completely, thoroughly red.

So had his thin lips: vivid, glistening, entirely her doing.

Zhou Jin recalled the nickname the anti-firearms unit had given him, and thought — it really did fit: “The State’s Little Rose.”

He had asked. Zhou Jin said nothing and answered him instead with her actions.

The hand still resting on top of her head had not yet withdrawn. Unable to bear it any longer, his fingers slipped into her hair and tightened, gripping, his voice rough and low: “Don’t.”

Zhou Jin paid no attention. Jiang Hansheng closed his eyes involuntarily, his rapid, urgent breathing easing into a soft, contented murmur of pleasure.

Jiang Hansheng instinctively resisted letting himself sink any further.

All of it felt too unreal.

Just as he had questioned Jiang Cheng that first night he and Zhou Jin shared a bed after their marriage — now Zhou Jin was right before him, and even as she worked tirelessly to soothe him, Jiang Hansheng remained acutely, lucidly aware of one thing: Zhou Jin had done this before.

How many times?

Once, twice — or too many to count?

Jiang Hansheng’s eyes grew heavy and dark. Even as his rational mind reclaimed the high ground, he recognized that he was becoming obsessive about this, yet he could not stop himself.

The hand gripping Zhou Jin’s hair applied the faintest additional pressure.

Zhou Jin tilted her face up and asked, genuinely curious: “You don’t like it?”

She liked it — she liked listening to the low, restrained sounds he made when aroused, those murmurs and breaths held in and pulled back, a kind of sensuality particular to men.

Jiang Hansheng could not get a single word out. He reached down, gathered Zhou Jin by the waist, and pulled her back into his arms.

Zhou Jin did not think too much of it. She went along with the motion and bit his already-reddened ear.

She pressed on in a soft voice: “Let me ask you again — do you like me?”

Jiang Hansheng nodded. His hands moved over her body, up and down, and he said quietly: “I do.”

Zhou Jin continued: “Since when?”

Last time at the convenience store, Jiang Hansheng had said it started from their blind date, and she had never pressed him further on it. Because in her memory that was indeed how it had been — the two of them had only gradually come into each other’s lives after that first meeting.

Now, a different answer had begun to form in the back of her mind.

Wang Pengzhe would not have told her about Jiang Hansheng’s past for no reason. And Jiang Hansheng himself had no need to give up so much for the sake of an unrelated case.

Unless —

Jiang Hansheng said nothing. He bowed his head and kissed Zhou Jin deeply, the pressure shifting between light and heavy as he nipped at her lips.

Zhou Jin could barely breathe, let alone speak. Jiang Hansheng cupped her and lifted her onto the vanity counter.

As her body rose into the air, Zhou Jin’s legs wrapped around his slender waist on instinct.

Jiang Hansheng fought to hold onto the last thread of his reason, struggling to keep buried the secret in his heart — a secret that, once spoken, would weigh on her heavily, would perhaps even make her shudder.

As if resigning himself to fate, Jiang Hansheng spoke in a low, slow, unhurried voice: “Zhou Jin, I love you. From the very first moment I saw you, I wanted you to be mine.”