A man’s waist and abdomen were hard, solid, and burning hot.
Song Xinya wanted to stand up, but his hands were gripping her lower back, while his waist and abdomen pressed firmly against her hips. He was behind her, the bed in front of her, trapping her between them so that she couldn’t get up.
She remained on her knees, leaning forward.
She felt shy and embarrassed.
Song Xinya’s face flushed, her red lips burning. “I wasn’t waiting for you.”
Qin Yuhe’s voice rolled into her ear from behind. “If you weren’t waiting for me, were you waiting for another man?”
“There is no other man. You’re the only man I have.”
Those words greatly satisfied Qin Yuhe’s possessiveness, and he found them extremely pleasing.
A drawn-out, upward-inflected “Mm” escaped him in delight.
Although there were only the two of them in the room, Song Xinya still felt terribly embarrassed in such a position.
She bit her lip with her pearly white teeth and asked, “Can I stand up now?”
Qin Yuhe answered crisply, “No.”
Song Xinya wanted to ask why not and what he intended to do, but she was afraid that doing so would only awaken his desire to actually do something. She bit her lip and kept quiet, obediently remaining on her knees and leaning forward.
Her figure was already slender and graceful. In this position, the slender parts looked even more delicate, while her rounded curves appeared even more pronounced. The smooth, winding line of her waist and hips was intensely alluring.
Although a thin layer of pajamas separated them, Qin Yuhe’s thumb seemed to have a radar of its own, pressing precisely into the dimples at Song Xinya’s lower back.
He liked her waist.
Not only because it was fair, delicate, slender, and beautifully shaped, but also because there were two perfectly symmetrical, round dimples in her lower back.
Whenever they made love, he liked to lick those round dimples.
The finger at her waist was like a dangerous viper crawling through a forest, sliding over the leaves and making the thin foliage tremble.
Song Xinya’s knees were beginning to ache.
She had originally planned to sneak the book The Domineering Emperor’s Gentle Caresses: The Sweet Little Princess Can’t Take It beneath the bed while Qin Yuhe was still away, so that he wouldn’t misunderstand and think she was always reading erotic novels.
But just as she had dropped to her knees, before she could even throw the book under the bed, Qin Yuhe had returned.
Song Xinya hadn’t wanted the book to draw Qin Yuhe’s attention again, but she had no choice. If the book didn’t make an appearance now, she would be pinned to the floor tonight, her waist gripped as she was made to kneel endlessly.
With a thud, Song Xinya tossed the copy of The Domineering Emperor’s Gentle Caresses: The Sweet Little Princess Can’t Take It, which had been blocking her from view, beneath the bed.
Qin Yuhe glanced at it from the corner of his eye. “You’re reading erotic novels again.”
Song Xinya: “…”
Damn it. She knew he would misunderstand!
Qin Yuhe said, “Looks like I didn’t satisfy you last night. We’ll continue tonight.”
He reached out to lift the hem of her nightdress.
Song Xinya let out a startled cry.
Seriously? Her diversionary tactic had not only failed to distract Qin Yuhe, it had actually awakened the beast in him!
“Not now. I really can’t. Qin Yuhe, please let me go.”
“Why not?”
“It hurts.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“My knees.”
“Only your knees?”
He chuckled. “If it’s only your knees, changing positions will solve the problem.”
Song Xinya: “…It still hurts.”
Qin Yuhe let out a helpless laugh. “Really?”
“Really. I’m not lying to you. Right now, all I can think about is having your baby. If it didn’t hurt, why would I ever refuse the one thing that could help me conceive?”
Such a delicate little thing.
Qin Yuhe released the hand pressing down on her waist.
He bent over, slid one arm beneath her waist and abdomen, and lifted her up from the floor.
Song Xinya rose to her feet and sat on the edge of the bed. Looking down, she saw that her knees were red.
Qin Yuhe’s warm fingers covered them, carrying the coolness of the pain-relieving ointment he had applied. He bent his long legs and knelt between hers, working gently and patiently as he spread the ointment over her entire knees.
He spoke, the heat of his breath falling against her knees. “Why does your skin turn pink after the slightest bump?”
Song Xinya: “…You mean my knees?”
Qin Yuhe lifted his eyes, his provocative gaze fixed directly on her. “What do you think?”
Heat rose into Song Xinya’s cheeks. “You were talking about my knees.”
Qin Yuhe chuckled and arched an eyebrow without exposing her.
After finishing with the ointment, he was about to close the container when he noticed her hands braced against the edge of the bed.
Her hands were beautiful—fair, soft, slender, and elegant. But now, the backs of both hands looked as if pieces of skin had been scraped away, exposing the blood-red flesh beneath.
Qin Yuhe’s brows instantly drew together, and his gaze turned cold. “Who hurt you?”
The injuries had been caused when Sheng Changpu scratched her as Song Xinya grabbed her by the throat.
At the time, Song Xinya had heard Sheng Changpu say that Qin Yuhe’s hands would never recover. Furious, she had reached out and seized Sheng Changpu by the neck.
She could not bear to hear anyone say anything bad about Qin Yuhe.
Even after Sheng Changpu had torn two pieces of skin from her hands, she had held on to Sheng Changpu’s neck and refused to let go.
Healing Qin Yuhe’s hands was her goal.
Seeing him recover was her lifelong wish.
She wanted to do this for him.
She was willing to do this for him.
Until she had succeeded, she did not want to reduce it to a few weightless words. That would not be enough.
More importantly, if Qin Yuhe found out that Sheng Changpu had hurt her, he would never agree to let Sheng Changpu treat his hands.
What man with any pride would forgive someone who had harmed his wife?
What man with any pride would willingly accept help from someone who had hurt his wife?
Song Xinya replied, “I twisted my ankle while walking, and my hands scraped against a wall, so I lost a couple of patches of skin.”
Qin Yuhe stared at the damaged skin on the backs of her hands, at the blood-red flesh exposed beneath. His chest felt tight, as if a mass of soaking-wet cotton had lodged inside it.
When he had charged into a sea of flames to rescue her younger sister, a piece of timber had pierced his abdomen and the skin on both his palms had been burned away. He had not thought it was particularly serious then. He had simply endured it and forced himself through the pain.
But now, seeing two patches of skin torn from Song Xinya’s hands, his heart clenched again and again.
His voice emerged from his throat, muffled and hoarse.
“Song Xinya, you’re hurt this badly. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not that serious.” Song Xinya hurriedly held out both hands and flexed her fingers in the air. “Look, I can still move them.”
Remembering how he had once rushed into the flames, leaving both hands burned and bloody, she said, “Qin Yuhe, when your hands were burned, that was serious. Compared with you, this little injury of mine really isn’t anything.”
Qin Yuhe dipped his fingers into the ointment and applied it to the wounds on the backs of her hands, his touch as light as gauze.
“You can’t compare yourself to me.”
“Why not?”
Qin Yuhe’s long lashes lowered, each one distinct. The lamplight outlined them in a golden silhouette, lending solemnity to his expression.
“If I hurt myself, I won’t feel sorry for me. But when you get hurt, my heart aches.”
