"Where do you miss me?"
Just four simple words, and the moment Song Xinya saw them, her fingers holding the phone gave a sudden tremble, and her mind wandered somewhere else entirely…
A hospital, a ward, the door locked from the inside. A woman with a curvy, voluptuous figure stood barefoot on the floor, her hands gripping the iron railing at the foot of the bed.
Her slender waist arched downward, forming a tantalizing curve with her round, lifted hips.
The man stood behind her, his tall, lean-built body radiating pure aggression—muscles swollen with blood, veins bulging on his large hands as they clamped around her soft, delicate waist.
Wild. And sexy.
A hospital room—meant for patients to rest and recover—was now filled with the rhythmic creaking of the iron bed frame, the woman's sweet, coquettish moans, the man's low, hoarse breathing, and the fierce, scorching collision of bodies… sticky and unmistakable.
The damp, tangled images flashed through Song Xinya's mind in an instant.
Her heart pounded violently, trembling with uncontrollable excitement.
It had been a long time since the last time.
Maybe it was because she'd gone without for too long, or because Tiantianquan had brought up that kind of subject earlier tonight, or perhaps because of the wine she'd had—whatever the reason, Song Xinya was feeling a little restless.
She hadn't even seen Qin Yuhe in person, just the four words he'd sent, and almost immediately, her body's instincts were awakened.
Her legs, which had been standing straight, pressed tightly together.
Song Xinya pressed a hand to her chest, took a deep breath, and replied to Qin Yuhe:
"My heart is missing you."
Qin Yuhe's message came right back:
"And your body doesn't?"
Song Xinya suspected Qin Yuhe had installed a camera in the hallway. Feeling guilty, she looked up and glanced around in every direction.
"My body doesn't feel anything."
Qin Yuhe: "Is that so?"
Song Xinya: "Yep, that's right."
Qin Yuhe: "Mrs. Qin, you're sexually frigid."
A crow flew over Song Xinya's head.
She looked down at her legs, pressed together and rubbing against each other.
She was frigid?
What an international joke.
She was the opposite—she was sexually fiery.
Song Xinya: "I'm not frigid. I'm a normal person."
Qin Yuhe: "A normal person who happens to be frigid."
Song Xinya obviously couldn't take a photo of her legs pressed tightly together and send it to him, so she had no choice but to carry that label on her back.
Qin Yuhe was currently watching the footage from the bedroom through his surveillance app.
The neatly made bed on the double mattress didn't have a single crease, and the spacious room was completely empty.
"Not home yet? Is it because you're working overtime again today?"
Song Xinya: "Stand in front of the door and say 'Open Sesame.'"
Qin Yuhe looked at the bedroom door on the monitor and said, "Open Sesame."
The tightly shut door was suddenly pushed open, and Song Xinya walked in. She wore a white V-neck sleeveless dress that showed off her tall, elegant figure—graceful and refined, like a white peony blooming in the moonlight, fresh and otherworldly.
She bent forward, tilting her upper body, her eyes curving sweetly as she waved at the camera.
"Mr. Qin, I'm back."
In the fairytale "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves," whenever someone shouted "Open Sesame" at a cave full of treasure, the stone door would open, allowing the person to go in and take all kinds of riches.
Thus, "Open Sesame" is often used as a metaphor for the key that unlocks the door to wealth.
Qin Yuhe looked at the vivid, sweet smile on the screen and felt that he, too, had opened a door to treasure and found something precious.
This precious thing—her.
His deep, stern features softened, infected by her sweet smile, and a smile curved at his lips.
The truth was, today had been incredibly busy for him. He'd been dealing with government officials, negotiating profit distribution with various winning bidding companies, and on top of the resort project, there were also some thorny financial matters at his venture capital firm that required him to negotiate with foreign capital magnates.
All day long, his schedule was packed to the second, every minute filled with work. Even meals were squeezed into ten minutes during meeting breaks.
This kind of high-intensity work—busy, urgent, stressful—had run from six in the morning all the way until midnight, eighteen straight hours. Even a machine would break down. But this was Qin Yuhe's normal life.
He'd taken over the family business before he even turned eighteen, and this was how he'd always lived.
It would be a lie to say he wasn't tired at all.
But all the exhaustion dissipated the moment he saw her sweet, smiling face.
Qin Yuhe leaned back in his chair, the back of his head resting against it, his sharply defined chin tilted slightly upward, his eyes locked on the surveillance screen.
"Yaya, fifteen more days…"
Song Xinya didn't understand. "Fifteen more days for what?"
She walked over and sat down beside the camera, leaning her upper body toward its big glass eye.
Inside the V-neck, a deep, alluring crevice—deep enough to drown a face buried in it.
Qin Yuhe's fingers slid to his impeccably tied tie, yanking it down with a sharp pull, then unbuttoned two more buttons, revealing his smooth collarbones and the outline of his solid chest.
"Fifteen more days, and the wound on my abdomen will be completely healed…"
This time, Song Xinya understood. Her cheeks flushed hot, and her gaze darted away.
What was she supposed to say?
She couldn't very well say, "Oh that's wonderful! Your abdominal wound is finally healed! Then we can go at it however we want—so happy!"
How crude.
She was a lady, after all.
So a brief response would do: "Congratulations, then."
Qin Yuhe: "Congratulations to you too—no more lonely nights waiting in an empty room."
"...I'm not waiting alone in an empty room," Song Xinya said.
Qin Yuhe: "Then let's use the phrase 'consumed by loneliness.'"
That sounded even worse than "waiting alone in an empty room."
Song Xinya: "Who's consumed by loneliness? Who's longing for anything? I sleep just fine by myself. I never even think about that kind of thing."
Qin Yuhe asked, feigning ignorance: "That kind of thing—what kind of thing is that?"
Song Xinya gave an obviously evasive answer: "That kind of thing is watching the cartoon Peppa Pig. It's very innocent."
Qin Yuhe: "Your thought process is like a winding mountain road with ninety-nine curves—even a GPS would get lost navigating it."
Song Xinya blinked, looking pure and innocent: "What? Did I answer wrong?"
Qin Yuhe gave a faint smile. "You're a married woman, and you don't even understand the simplest matter between husband and wife. That's a failure on my part as your husband. Once my abdominal wound is fully healed, I'll teach you properly—on the bed, or on the sofa, in the kitchen, in front of the mirror, on the dining table—I'll give you a good lesson."
Song Xinya felt a line pop into her head: Oh no. Barbecue'd.
She'd played dumb, and he'd turned it right back around on her.
Sofa, kitchen, in front of the mirror—those places she could barely accept—but the dining table? Was she food?
Song Xinya swallowed nervously. "It's late. I have to work tomorrow. I'm going to bed."
Qin Yuhe: "Go ahead."
Song Xinya asked, "Aren't you going to sleep?"
Qin Yuhe: "I don't want to sleep. I just want to sleep with you."
