“You’re already so wet.” He whispered in her ear, his fingers toying with her, the sheer beauty of his features amplifying the already overwhelming sensuality of the moment. The fact that her boyfriend, with a face like that, wanted to make love to her was almost too much to bear.

“I’m not wet,” Xia Yao turned her head, trying to escape the hot puffs of breath against her ear, but the low timbre of his voice still sent a blush creeping up to the tips of her ears.

“Not wet?” He chuckled softly, unsure if she was trying to fool him or herself. His long, well-defined middle finger pressed fully against her, and he inexorably rubbed against her entrance.

After one knuckle, his ring finger followed. He then withdrew his fingers, holding them before her misty black eyes. 

"You're not wet? Then what's this?" 

The long, elegant fingers, glistening with the moisture gathered from between her folds, shimmered l3wdly in the light. As he parted his fingers, a shimmering strand of ar0usal stretched between them, unbroken. It was as if he’d plunged his fingers into a ripe peach, pulling them out coated in its sweet, almost decadent nectar, wet and sticky.

Zhou Ye was tormenting Xia Yao tonight. He wasn't usually so relentless, typically allowing her to avoid uncomfortable truths. She didn’t know what to say, her eyes downcast, fixed on anything but him, the picture of being wronged. 

The sight of her vulnerability on the bed sent a wave of dizziness through Zhou Ye. He wanted to drown in her shame, his erratic kisses trailing from her earlobe to the hollow behind it, then down to the delicate skin of her neck. 

"Baby, I love you." His voice was a husky whisper, his fingers curving around her ribs, digging into the soft flesh of her waist, kneading her body.

The endearment startled her, leaving her momentarily dazed. No one had ever called her that before. Raised by her grandmother after her mother's death, this was the first time anyone had used such a tender nickname, especially while declaring their love. 

Even during his confession that afternoon, he hadn't said "I love you" with such intensity. Their breaths mingled, heavy and intertwined. As his lips and tongue explored the delicate curve of her neck and collarbone, Zhou Ye pressed his aching er3ction against her, the tip nestled against her s*x, the soft down of her pubic hair providing friction. 

"Put your hand here." 

"What?"

Zhou Ye lifted Xia Yao's legs, holding them together, then guided her hands down to her thighs. He adjusted her fingers, her middle fingers now resting on either side of her p*ssy, gently exposing it. The position was mortifying; her entrance was completely exposed to him, yet all she could see were her own knees and thighs. 

Her delicate folds, glistening with ar0usal, parted invitingly towards his c*ck, a shimmering strand of desire trailing from her opening towards her back. Xia Yao’s toes curled with embarrassment, her fingers brushing against herself as she hesitated, wanting to pull her hands away.

Kneeling on the bed, Zhou Ye straightened, one hand on her waist, the other gripping his er3ction. He watched the opening between her legs as he ground his c*ck against her, a flush creeping up his neck. 

The back of his neck, long and pale, was bent with the motion, the line of his spine prominent, his broad shoulders powerful, his abdomen sculpted. He rubbed his rod against her, hard, but didn’t enter, the friction sending shivers through her as he moved against her, a rhythmic rise and fall. Her opening, already slick with ar0usal, grew even wetter as he teased her. He felt that with just a little more pressure, he could sink completely inside.