He may not have much experience, but after over a week with Yaxi, he's picked up on a few things: her libido runs hot, her tricks are plenty, yet she's all bark and no bite. She comes on strong when she teases him, but with just a fraction of his strength in return, she's a dripping mess. He suspects that when he touches her down there, following her cues, her fumbling betrays her—she thrashes around cluelessly, no idea how to chase her own pleasure.
A strange emotion stirs in him, but he still reaches into a small box tucked among the pleasure toys and pulls out a black pair of underwear.
The piece is intact, woven entirely from black lace, teasingly sheer.
Chen Ling frowns, lifting three fingers, and with two, he gingerly sifts through the rest in the box.
White ones, red ones, silk ones, cotton ones, thongs, bodysuits.
…
A heavy feeling settles in Chen Ling's chest. Leaning on his crutch, he trudges toward the bathroom with weighted steps.
He knocks three times, starting with "I'm here," but before he finishes, the door flies open with a whoosh.
Then he's yanked inside, underwear and all, stumbling until he braces himself against the washing machine.
A loud bang—the door slams shut behind him and locks in a flash.
The one who dragged him in radiates aggression, a far cry from the timid girl trapped by him at the door or stammering for her underwear moments ago.
Chen Ling's eyes lock onto Yaxi, his gaze darker than ink.
She stands before him in just her bra and panties. Under the light, her stunning body glows—smooth and fair, curves unfolding in all the right places. Her breasts and hips are perky and plump, her stomach flat, her legs straight.
The nude-toned bra cups her full breasts, and as Yaxi props herself up with her arms, her right breast presses left, the two melding together, quivering with each move in a ripple of flesh.
Her panties are barely there, clinging tight to her sex and round buttocks, flesh spilling over the edges. Her hips twist slightly to the right, striking a sultry pose, and just below are the thick, soft thighs he's kneaded countless times, tapering down to sleek calves.
Chen Ling's pulse races.
He knows this body could unravel any man, leave him defenseless and drowning in desire. It's as flawless as a scene from an adult film, as timeless as Aphrodite in oil paintings or marble statues. In this moment, he's no different from any lust-driven mortal, aching to claim her.
But what truly sets his heart pounding is the bold, brazen confidence she exudes once her clothes come off.
Her hair's pinned back, her eyes glinting with mischief and allure, stripped of the loneliness, grief, and self-disgust that once shadowed her solitary walks through school.
Chen Ling's Adam's apple bobs, though his voice stays steady: "You're playing me."
"You started it." Yaxi has no clue about the storm raging in his mind this past minute; she's too busy pressing forward with her scheme.
She rises on her toes, mimicking how he once acted at the dinner table—pinching his chin with two fingers, then licking his Adam's apple. Chen Ling's body shivers faintly, and only then does she speak: "Chen Ling, I command you to bathe me."
Chen Ling's breath quickens; he grabs her hand, flicks his tongue across her fingertips in a teasing counterstrike, and answers: "Alright."
Whatever game she wants to play, he's in.