What made her feel good!
She hadn't even asked him for it, and he was already volunteering to make her feel good.
Being pleasured.
One moment she was applying body lotion to her legs, the next she found herself hoisted onto the vanity table.
Song Xinya panicked, her hands bracing against the vanity behind her, her full chest rising.
"Wait..."
The lamplight reflected in Qin Yuhe's dark, clear pupils, carrying a scorching heat.
"What for?"
Song Xinya: "I'm not ready yet."
Qin Yuhe: "What do you need to prepare? Bath, shower, change clothes—you've already done all the foreplay for getting into bed."
Song Xinya's back pressed against the mirror, the touch icy cold. Because her body was leaning at an angle, both her legs were lifted midair in his hands, her hips not fully seated, her center of gravity unstable, making her feel as if she might slide off the vanity at any moment.
Along with that, her heart was unsteady, racing fast.
Song Xinya: "This is the vanity table!"
Qin Yuhe: "Do you think I can't tell this is the vanity table?"
She knew he understood what she meant—don't do it here.
She also knew his deliberate retort meant he was set on doing it right here.
These past few days, he had been domineering in these matters.
Song Xinya looked up and saw his Adam's apple barely move, sharp and angular beneath a thin layer of skin, rolling into a sensual curve.
Her face was as red as if she had a fever.
"Don't mess around."
Qin Yuhe's eyes fixed on her without blinking, straight and intense, carrying a certain predatory determination.
"Define 'messing around.'"
Song Xinya: "It means..."
Her gaze drifted down from his Adam's apple.
Because he had just carried her and she had struggled, her movements had swept open his bathrobe, revealing his solid chest and faintly visible abs.
"The wound on your abdomen hasn't had its stitches removed yet. You can't exert yourself."
Qin Yuhe: "Did I say we're going at it for real?"
He was usually aloof and restrained, but when talking to her in private, he was always so raw and direct.
Song Xinya still hadn't gotten used to the explicit words that could slip out of him anytime.
She looked at his hand gripping her thigh—his long, slender fingers, one by one, sinking into her soft flesh, pressing down into long, shallow indentations.
He said he wouldn't do it, but he wouldn't let her go either.
Song Xinya: "What do you mean?"
Qin Yuhe: "Same as yesterday."
Song Xinya understood and asked, "Why not on the bed?"
Qin Yuhe: "Unlocking a new location."
Song Xinya: "It's not even the real thing. Do you need to unlock it too?"
Qin Yuhe: "I'll make it up to you for real in this spot later."
Song Xinya felt like she had fallen into another verbal trap of his.
His palm roamed freely over her thigh, carefully feeling the texture of her skin. Already smooth and delicate, the freshly applied body lotion made it even slicker, impossibly tender.
"Why the sudden urge to put body lotion on your legs?"
Song Xinya: "It's a bit dry today, so I applied some."
Qin Yuhe: "Is that really the reason?"
Song Xinya: "What else would it be?"
Qin Yuhe: "It better be."
He had been acting a bit strangely these past few days.
Song Xinya: "That makes no sense."
Qin Yuhe pinched her thigh, and her snowy skin bloomed with a vibrant red like winter plum blossoms.
"Ahh~" she screamed.
He mischievously pinched her again.
Both her legs, left and right, were marked with matching plum-blossom red, perfectly symmetrical.
Song Xinya trembled as if electrified, moaning, "Don't do that..."
The soft moan escaped her throat, delicate and feeble, less like a refusal and more like a drunken invitation.
Tiantianquan had said it right once—Song Xinya was especially coquettish in front of Qin Yuhe, pitifully charming and soft, with that delicate vibe.
Women generally admire strength. Qin Yuhe was powerful, sharp, and noble—whether in looks, family background, or personal ability, he was a cut above the rest. In front of him, Song Xinya felt like a person standing in a vast, boundless desert, always a little insignificant, with a natural sense of submission and obedience toward him.
This psychological sense of submission and obedience manifested in her external body language as a soft, alluring fragility.
Song Xinya's breath quivered, physiological tears welling up in her eyes. She looked at him with glistening, watery eyes, like a seductive fox—charming, moving, and full of allure.
Qin Yuhe pressed his firm body between her legs, leaning in another inch.
"Look at you, how is this not wanting it? You're practically begging me to give it to you."
His hand began to wander downward...
The bedroom was lit with a dim, amber light, the atmosphere intimate. Her legs, freshly washed with shower gel, exuded a subtle rose fragrance.
Qin Yuhe was a man of his word—if he said he would make his wife feel good, he would make sure she did.
When Song Xinya was thrown into the clouds, her mind a haze, her arms supporting her on the vanity went limp. Her body collapsed, knocking over bottles and jars scattered across the vanity.
Toner, lotion, body cream, sunscreen, face masks—all fell off the vanity.
The white plush carpet on the floor cushioned the fallen items, preventing a mess.
But Song Xinya, lying on the vanity, was a complete "mess"...
---
The next day, even the sun burning her backside couldn't wake Song Xinya up. She slept straight through until two in the afternoon.
On her days off, Song Xinya felt like she spent half her time in bed.
Either sleeping in it or being worked over in it.
The culprit's routine remained unaffected—Qin Yuhe still got up at six in the morning to start his workday.
When Song Xinya went downstairs to the first floor, she saw Qin Yuhe working in the living room.
She asked, puzzled, "Why aren't you working in the study?"
Qin Yuhe lifted his gaze from the computer, turning his head to stare at her steadily. "So I can get a glimpse of you."
Waking up to sweet talk made for a pleasant mood.
Song Xinya's lips curled up. She clicked her high heels as she ran to his side, wrapped her arms around his neck, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
Qin Yuhe was pleasantly surprised. "Rare—no post-event temper today after waking up."
Song Xinya buried her face in his neck, nuzzling and rubbing, pouting as she murmured, "I'm still mad."
Qin Yuhe: "What's the reason for being mad? That I made you feel too good?"
Song Xinya bit his neck lightly. "You're always showing off how great you are."
Qin Yuhe: "Am I not great?"
Song Xinya: "Ninety-nine percent great."
Qin Yuhe: "What's missing for the last one percent?"
Song Xinya: "Afraid you'll get cocky."
She rubbed against his neck—lips, cheeks, nose—affectionately brushing his skin.
Qin Yuhe felt like a cute little fox was nestled on his neck.
After clinging to Qin Yuhe for a while, Song Xinya finally remembered to glance around the living room.
"Where did the four little ones go?"
Qin Yuhe: "I kicked them to the servants' quarters."
Song Xinya: "CEO Qin, so ruthless."
Qin Yuhe: "Strict father raises proud offspring."
Song Xinya laughed heartily and said, “Taking advantage of a little kid by calling yourself their daddy.”
Then she thought about it—Song Tingye and Song Tingyou were among the four little ones too. If those two called Qin Yuhe “Daddy,” wouldn’t that mean she’d have to call him that as well? “Then I’d have to call you Daddy too.”
Qin Yuhe drawled languidly, “Yeees—”
Song Xinya leaned over and bit his neck again.
As she turned to leave, he reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into his embrace. He then sucked a small mark—a little hickey—onto the other side of her neck.
The two of them were locked in a playful embrace, flirting, when Song Tingyou walked out of one of the rooms and looked up to see—
Qin Yuhe’s hand reaching into Song Xinya’s skirt as she let out a soft, teasing giggle.
