The cold moonlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling into the lavish yet chaotic living room, now steeped in an ambiguous tension.
On the expensive woolen rug, a delicate, butter-yellow silk nightgown—soft and intimate—lay discarded carelessly, like a tender flower battered by a sudden downpour. At that moment, it was pinned beneath a rugged, weighty metal belt. The cold glint of the belt buckle reflected the pale moonlight, forming a stark contrast against the fragile softness of the nightgown.
Beside the broad armrest of the sofa, a pile of men’s clothes lay strewn: a sharply tailored black suit, a dark gray silk shirt, and on top, a pair of briefs tossed haphazardly.
Next to the pile, a slender, porcelain-white ankle dangled limply, toes curling slightly.
As the moonlight shifted, it illuminated the figures entwined deeper on the sofa.
The girl’s seaweed-like hair cascaded in disarray down her back, a few strands clinging to her neck and the delicate curve of her shoulders. Her eyes were shut, long lashes trembling violently, her delicate willow-leaf brows furrowed deeply—her expression unbearably pitiful.
Her soft pink lips parted slightly, releasing muffled, melodic whimpers, like the plaintive cries of a kitten.
She arched her swan-like neck, exposing the fragile lines of her throat and shoulders to the cool air. The moonlight clearly illuminated the fresh, rosy love bites scattered across her skin—undeniable evidence of the man’s earlier affections.
Her spine curved into an achingly delicate arc, an intoxicating blend of innocence and desire. Her flawless skin glowed under the moonlight, her shoulder blades like a pair of butterfly wings poised to take flight.
The only thing disrupting the pristine vulnerability of her bare back was the possessive grip of a man’s large hand.
His palm was broad and powerful, fingers long and defined, firmly wrapped around the narrow span of her waist.
Now, as if displeased by her retreat, his thumb dug into the soft dip of her waist, fitting perfectly in his grasp.
“Mmm—” Her arched neck stretched even further, her brows knitting tighter. The whimper trapped between her lips suddenly grew more desperate, laced with a broken sob.
Her small hands, which had been lying weakly against his chest, suddenly lifted, fingers scrambling to clutch at the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and back.
Then, her slender, jade-white fingers tangled in his thick black hair.
Even the texture of his hair was unyielding—the short strands prickled against her tender palms, sending faint stings through her skin.
She wanted to push away the scorching breaths that tormented her, but her feeble resistance was like an ant trying to shake a tree—utterly futile.
In her helplessness, her rounded nails could only leave faint pink trails across the hard planes of his back.
She felt the last of her strength drain away.
Her legs gave out completely, no longer able to support her weight.
Her body went limp, collapsing like a fallen leaf sinking into quicksand.
“Wuwu…” A sob of frustration finally broke free.
In that cry was the bitterness of her own helplessness, and an even deeper fear—like a lamb that had wandered into a wolf’s den.
She had only meant to reward him a little… so how had it escalated to this?
The searing kisses finally left her pliant, pretty lips—if only for a moment.
The man lifted his head, his deep, husky voice brushing against her ear like velvet: “Baby, don’t cry.”
His large hand remained locked around her slender waist, while the other stroked her smooth back in a soothing rhythm.
“You’re the one who ran out of strength.”
“And you’re the one who started this fire.”
The trailing tone lifted slightly, carrying a lazy, teasing satisfaction: "Can't blame me for this."
...
The night deepened, thick and endless as ink.
