When the clock struck nine-thirty, they returned to Qinghe Bay.
As soon as Sang Lu changed into her slippers, she headed straight for the bedroom.
The restaurant they dined at that evening had an open kitchen.
The advantage of an open kitchen was being able to witness every step of the chef’s cooking process—from the sizzle of ingredients hitting the pan to the meticulous plating, all the way until the steaming dish was served, whetting one’s appetite.
But the downside was equally obvious.
No matter how powerful the exhaust system was, the greasy fumes were unavoidable.
Sang Lu pinched a strand of her hair and sniffed it, immediately wrinkling her nose.
"I’m going to take a shower first. My hair reeks of oil, and I can’t stand it—I feel all gross."
As she spoke, the man still changing his shoes by the entrance glanced up at her, puzzled.
Did she smell like oil?
He hadn’t noticed at all.
In the car earlier, all he’d caught was the faint, sweet fragrance clinging to her.
It was lovely.
Feng Yan kept his thoughts to himself, responding with a simple, "Mhm."
He casually placed the takeout bag in the kitchen and added,
"I’ll take a shower too."
He’d been traveling all day and had just arrived in the city.
Covered in the grime of the road, he might’ve picked up some odors himself.
She was so particular about cleanliness—he didn’t want her thinking he was sloppy.
He headed to the gym’s bathroom.
......
Forty minutes later.
Sang Lu stepped into the living room, fresh and fragrant.
Her gaze flickered over the empty takeout containers left on the dining table before shifting to Feng Yan, who was lounging on the sofa.
He’d changed into a black short-sleeved T-shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders, paired with dark gray sweatpants that hugged his long legs. His posture was relaxed, legs slightly apart as he leaned back, his proportions effortlessly striking.
Sang Lu blinked, suddenly realizing the stark difference in their showering speeds.
And she hadn’t even gone through her full skincare routine tonight—just applied some hair oil and skipped the body lotion because of the heat.
She’d thought she’d been quick, but Feng Yan had not only finished showering but also eaten a meal, and his short hair was nearly dry already.
"You shower so fast," she couldn’t help remarking.
Hearing her voice, Feng Yan turned his head.
His gaze lingered on her slender, bare legs beneath her nightgown, and a wave of heat prickled at his throat. He replied with another quiet, "Mhm."
Sang Lu sat beside him and picked up the Switch, handing him a controller.
"Want to play a round? I’ve been practicing while you were away. I’ll definitely beat you today."
As she stretched her arm toward him, the still air stirred, carrying her sweet scent toward him.
Her arm hovered mid-air as Feng Yan hesitated for a few seconds before finally taking the controller.
His voice was low when he answered, "Sure."
Sang Lu studied him.
???
Weird.
Why was he being so curt again?
They’d been chatting just fine in the car earlier.
Or… did he not believe she could win?
Her eyebrows arched challengingly as she confidently powered on the console.
"Come on—no going easy on me."
Feng Yan’s voice was rough. Another single word: "Mhm."
Sang Lu focused entirely on the game.
It was a fighting game, and she’d studied the combos online, mastering the timing for special moves.
There was no way she’d lose today!
Half an hour later…
She flopped back against the sofa.
What was going on?
She hadn’t won a single round!
Feng Yan’s character was relentless—before she could even finish her combo, he’d pin her down and pummel her.
Sang Lu glanced at him and found his eyes dark and intense.
For a moment, it felt like he was the character he controlled—cold, sharp, and simmering with something fierce, as if building up rage.
"Want to keep playing?"
He suddenly turned his head and asked.
No.
She didn’t.
She didn’t want to get pinned and beaten again.
Just as she started shaking her head, the man beside her stood abruptly. An arm hooked around her waist, effortlessly lifting her off the sofa.
Sang Lu stiffened, eyes widening.
She stared at Feng Yan in confusion.
His biceps flexed slightly as he carried her with one arm, barely straining, while his other hand casually held her slippers. His steps were steady as he headed toward the bedroom.
The crisp, clean scent of him mingled with her sweet fragrance, wrapping around them both.
"What are you doing?" Sang Lu’s voice wavered slightly.
Feng Yan tilted his head, sharp eyes glinting under the light, his jawline stark and striking.
"You said you didn’t want to play. It’s late—I’m taking you to bed."
Sang Lu parted her lips, about to protest, but ultimately stayed silent.
He seemed… intense.
It gave her the strange feeling that if she said anything, she’d end up pinned beneath him again.
Her arms looped around his neck, fingers brushing the short, coarse hair at his nape.
She studied his face, searching for any hint of emotion beneath his cool expression.
Under the weight of her dark, luminous gaze, the heat in Feng Yan’s throat grew more pronounced.
Her soft arms around him, her warm body pressed close.
With every step, the friction of fabric.
The gentle rise and fall of her chest against his with each breath.
A restless, gnawing tension spread through him, simmering under his skin.
His brow furrowed as he gritted out,
"Stop squirming."
Sang Lu froze. "..."
So unfair!
She hadn’t moved at all!
Well… unless her racing heart counted.
She averted her eyes and muttered stubbornly,
"I’m not moving."
Her voice came out softer than intended, breathy at the edges.
Feng Yan’s Adam’s apple bobbed sharply, the tendons in his neck tensing.
He didn’t reply.
Sang Lu didn’t either.
The moment they entered the bedroom—
She was deposited onto the bed, and Feng Yan’s towering frame loomed over her, caging her beneath him.
Sang Lu: "?"
Feng Yan’s gaze was heavy, unreadable as it trailed down her face.
Paused at the delicate column of her throat.
Then locked back onto her eyes.
Sang Lu’s pulse stuttered—this was the first time she’d seen something dangerous in his expression.
His dark eyes burned with something primal, clashing with his sharp, cold features in a way that sent a shiver down her spine.
Her heartbeat grew erratic.
Slowly, realization dawned.
"You— mmph—"
Before she could speak, his mouth sealed over hers.
The kiss was relentless, like a storm held back too long, finally unleashed.
Deep, consuming, his tongue claiming hers with bruising intensity.
A large hand gripped her waist, fingers digging in almost painfully.
Just as Sang Lu thought she might break, his hold loosened, sliding beneath the hem of her nightgown.
His palm scorched against her thigh.
She shuddered.
Gradually, the fabric rode higher.
And higher.
Until it was stripped away entirely.
The bedroom filled with sounds that flushed her cheeks.
His breaths were searing, every place his lips touched igniting.
Unconsciously, moisture gathered at the corners of Sang Lu’s eyes, her fingers twisting into the sheets.
Under the dim glow of the lamp, Feng Yan watched her face.
Noticed the glimmer of tears clinging to her lashes.
His movements stilled.
Already crying…
Then if he…
His gaze darkened further, body taut as a drawn bow, heat spiraling out of control.
Torn between soothing her and wanting to see more.
What was he supposed to do with her?
In a daze, Sang Lu opened her eyes and found his piercing stare fixed on her.
Her heart lurched, cheeks burning.
Why did he always watch her so intently?
Even now—
Sang Lu averted her gaze from his intense, unwavering stare, letting her eyes drift downward instead.
Why was he still fully dressed?
So unfair.
During the game, she’d been pinned down and overpowered.
And now… she was pinned down again.
Helpless to resist.
She lifted her eyes, shooting him a faintly resentful look.
The silent standoff seemed to freeze the air between them.
As he took in her flushed eyes, the damp, glistening lashes fixed on him, Feng Yan’s thoughts were overtaken by a single, overwhelming urge.
His breathing grew heavier, his temples throbbing.
He wanted to possess her completely.
To make her his—and his alone.
The primal surge of desire, the need to claim and dominate, eclipsed everything else.
