Qin Yuhe’s tone was calm, steady, and gentle, his gaze toward her as placid as an ancient well, yet Song Xinya felt a dangerous sense of pressure.
“A friend.”
Qin Yuhe’s expression darkened. His fingers went to the collar of his white shirt, unbuttoning one button.
A male friend.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have answered so vaguely.
Vagueness was nothing but a cover-up.
He walked toward the double bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he moved.
By the time he reached the head of the bed, the white shirt was fully undone, revealing a seamless line from his chest to his abs.
He set the jar of peanut butter on the nightstand, the glass bottle hitting the solid wood with a crisp clink.
Song Xinya’s heart trembled along with the sound.
Qin Yuhe withdrew his hand, turned, and walked toward the bathroom.
Soon, he emerged in a bathrobe, his black hair already towel-dried, clumping together in damp strands.
Qin Yuhe lifted the covers and climbed into bed, bringing with him the fresh scent of a shower.
Song Xinya’s nerves suddenly tensed all over.
Qin Yuhe lounged against the headboard, one leg stretched out, the other bent—his posture casual, carrying a hint of rakish elegance.
His slender fingers picked up the peanut butter from the nightstand, spinning the jar idly in his hand.
Watching him, Song Xinya swallowed hard.
Qin Yuhe turned his head to look at her. “Ever played peanut butter play?”
Song Xinya already guessed what kind of “play” he meant…
She mumbled, “Who would play with peanut butter in bed? Only someone twisted enough would think of that. I’m normal—I’ve never done it.”
With a click, Qin Yuhe opened the peanut butter lid.
“Never played? Perfect. Tonight, you’ll play with me.”
He pressed his lean, powerful body over hers.
In his hand, he held the open jar of peanut butter.
Song Xinya let out a panicked squeal, her cheeks flushed, like a startled fawn. She flailed her arms and legs, hitting and kicking him wildly.
“No, no—if peanut butter gets inside me, could I get a gynecological infection?”
She reached under the pillow and pulled out a small pink bottle. “Use this. I bought it—I bought it at the supermarket.”
Qin Yuhe took the pink bottle from her hand. White peach and oolong fruit flavor.
“You said you didn’t buy any.”
Song Xinya pouted. “I was just joking with you.”
Qin Yuhe glanced at the glass jar. “Sure you don’t want to try the peanut butter?”
Song Xinya: “No. Who wants to use peanut butter? That sticky, gooey feeling—might as well use sesame oil.”
Qin Yuhe: “Maybe try sesame oil next time?”
Song Xinya: “…No. I’m not a cucumber salad that needs sesame oil poured inside me.”
She wasn’t as nervous now; her mind was starting to perk up.
Why was Qin Yuhe so fixated on peanut butter or sesame oil play?
Had he done it with other women before and had an amazing experience?
The thought made Song Xinya’s mood sink.
Even though she told herself that even if it were true, it was his past, and she had to respect that, she still couldn’t cheer up.
She loved him.
She was jealous of every woman who had slept with him.
Just thinking about his hot, hard male body, his powerful thrusts, his deep and possessive dominance, his sexy, low moans—all enjoyed by other women—made her heart ache.
Song Xinya realized she had developed a possessiveness over Qin Yuhe.
The sheets rustled as she turned her back to him, her voice cold: “I’m tired today. Don’t want to. Sleep.”
Qin Yuhe stared at her, his dark eyes heavy.
Women were indeed a fickle species—no lie there. She had just agreed, and in less than a minute, she changed her mind again.
Qin Yuhe opened the pink bottle, squeezing out a long strip of transparent gel. Slowly, he massaged it with his fingertips, coating each finger in a thick layer.
The scent of white peach and oolong filled the air in the room.
He slipped his fingers under her nightgown.
His skill was extraordinary. In just a few moves, she couldn’t take it anymore, whimpering and surrendering, her whole face burning like a little furnace.
Song Xinya silently cursed herself for being so weak.
She had just insisted she didn’t want it, and in an instant, she was trembling beneath his fingers.
She was shy, embarrassed, at a loss.
She turned her head away, refusing to look at him.
Qin Yuhe kept moving one hand while using the other to turn her flushed face toward him, meeting her eyes.
Under the lamplight, his features were exceptionally striking, his eyes dark and deep. When he stared at her like that, it felt as though he could suck her soul away.
Her heart raced under his gaze.
Suddenly, he pinched her hard.
She let out a sharp, sweet, sugary cry with her red lips.
She scolded him, “What are you doing?”
Qin Yuhe: “What do you think? I’m giving you service—the least you can do is show me a good face.”
Song Xinya, a bit spoiled and willful, said petulantly, “I didn’t ask you to serve me.”
Abruptly, the wind and rain stopped. All movement ceased.
Qin Yuhe: “Fine. I’ll listen to you. No more service.”
Song Xinya was at a peak right then, her whole body like a little furnace, blazing with heat.
When he suddenly stopped, she was left hanging, unsatisfied.
It was unbearable.
She wanted to just flip over gracefully, turn her back to him, and leave him with a cool silhouette—like before.
But she couldn’t do it now.
Her body felt empty, like a void aching to be filled.
Reason was eventually pushed back by desire, and she yielded to him.
She looked at him with shimmering, tearful eyes, full of pitiful longing.
In the dim yellow light, his sharp, deep features were clear. He watched leisurely, taking in every expression on her face.
He leaned in close, his thin, hot lips lightly pecking the tip of her nose. His breath fell on her lips.
“Beg me.”
“Beg me, and I’ll give it to you.”
She was the fish on the chopping block; he was the seasoned fisherman. She had no choice but to be at his mercy.
She could tell he was deliberately toying with her today.
She didn’t know what she had done to provoke him in the past couple of days, but he kept “tormenting” her in this way, in this very matter.
After a brief pause, the little furnace inside Song Xinya wasn’t burning as fiercely. She wanted to turn over and give him a cool, detached back.
But he made a sudden move with his hand, and the little furnace blazed up again.
He was masterful at this, effortlessly skilled.
Song Xinya gasped, breathing rapidly, and said the two words softly: “Please.”
“Please, Brother Crane.”
Qin Yuhe’s dark eyes deepened, his gaze growing hazy and thick.
The night was deep, and the room was far from quiet.
Having learned from last night’s eavesdropping, the second-floor bedroom windows were tightly shut.
On the double bed, the smoky gray sheets were like a deep sea at night. Song Xinya was like a fish tumbling and struggling in the surging waves—a slippery fish, rising and falling in Qin Yuhe’s grasp…
