Yaxi never knew that Chen Ling could be so vindictive.
She had only taken off his coat, yet he went so far as to strip off her sweater, leaving her in nothing but a tight white undershirt.
She didn't like herself, nor her body. She had never worn so little and let anyone see her like this.
Chen Ling towered over her, gazing down, while Yaxi, defiant, turned her head aside. But she didn't realize that she—who always hid herself in loose coats—looked so alluring once stripped down, enough to stir a man's darkest desires.
Yet the one undressing her was Chen Ling. His expression was unreadable, lips pressed tight, his eyes scanning her with cool indifference.
The girl's hair was a tangled mess, her pouting lips parted slightly as she panted. Her skin wasn't pale, but it flushed easily, turning red at the lightest touch. Her neck, grazed by his tongue, had blossomed into a soft pink. It was long and slender, the dip at her collarbone deep enough to pool water.
His gaze trailed lower—Chen Ling's eyes lingered.
The low-cut top clung tightly to her white breasts, the deep cleavage tempting one to slide a broad hand inside to explore its depths. A button, lost in the chaos, had popped open, flipping the collar aside and granting Chen Ling the rare sight of pure white lace cradling her full, fleshy breasts.
Chen Ling's Adam's apple bobbed as he recalled the crude boys at school—the ones he'd dismissed as crooked melons and cracked dates—who loved to rate girls' figures.
Suddenly, he despised himself. It turned out that when faced with a girl's body, he was no better than they were.
He tried to steady his ragged breathing, but in his mind, his hand had already slipped beneath her neckline, cupping her snowy breasts and kneading them without restraint. They must be as smooth and soft as tofu—could he hold one fully in his hand? What color would her nipples be, what would they taste like? Would she beg him not to favor one side over the other?
Chen Ling felt heat surging in his lower body, his erection already straining against his abdomen.
He forced his eyes downward, a fire blazing within him.
He didn't know if all girls had waists this slim, but Yaxi did. The shirt, tucked into her pants, hugged her waist, bunching into folds where it met her trousers. The white fabric was slightly sheer, revealing the small, delicate navel perched above her soft waist.
"Have you ever touched your own breasts?"
Chen Ling couldn't hold back—he blurted it out.
Something snapped in Yaxi's mind; unable to grasp his meaning, she bit her lip.
"Looks like you have." Chen Ling's long, knuckled finger tapped her translucent navel, circling it slowly.
"You liked me once—so, did you think of me while you touched them?" He didn't notice how rough his voice had grown.
His fingertip slid upward, teasing her waist into a faint twitch. It tickled like a feather, taunting her without offering relief. It glided to the edge of her chest, tracing the curve of her swollen breasts.
"In your dreams, did I grab your breasts hard and knead them, making you arch your hips and beg me to fuck you?"
Chen Ling's index finger finally reached her cleavage, slipping in gently and sliding up and down.
"I wouldn't fuck you, so you used your tits to grip my cock, letting me fuck them instead."
As he spoke, he added his middle finger into the groove, mimicking the thrust of sex—sliding in and out. Over and over. The impossibly soft flesh of her breasts clamped around his fingers; when he pulled back, it seemed to cling, unwilling to let go. He played her chest like an instrument, a depraved melody, losing himself in it, his pain forgotten.
Yaxi, startled, turned to the side, but this only squeezed her breasts tighter together. Her waist cinched, her hips tilting back and up.
A body so beautiful it was impossible to suppress desire.
"Just fucking your tits could make your juices flood the floor. So what happens if I fuck your pussy—would they drip out for Lu Ziyang to see?"
Chen Ling felt his malice spiraling out of control; he was turning her own threats against her.
He thought back to days he'd barely noticed before—times he'd gone to find Lu Ziyang and seen her through the window, sitting primly at her desk, reading. Lu Ziyang often crossed lines, touching his desk mate too freely, and Chen Ling had called him out on it repeatedly. But Lu Ziyang would shrug and say, "Yaxi's the closest to me in class—she doesn't mind."
How close were they, exactly?
Could it compare to this—him pinning her down, watching her tremble with arousal?
Lu Ziyang would never see her like this, and a smug, triumphant glint flashed in Chen Ling's eyes.
"No…" Yaxi whimpered.
"No what? Oh, you're so slutty—you don't want Lu Ziyang to see." Chen Ling held her close, his breath hot and low in her ear. "Then let him hear."
He yanked her pants down in one swift motion.
The world spun. Yaxi felt herself lifted and set back down, her legs forced apart. When her eyes fluttered open, the mirror revealed everything: her top a disheveled wreck, her bra slipped so low her nipples nearly peeked out, her bare legs splayed by Chen Ling's hands. She slumped against him, her face a mix of seduction and unfulfilled longing, as if she were shamelessly begging to be fucked—utterly lewd. Her white lace panties bore a dark, wet stain at the center, and in the mirror, the fully dressed Chen Ling stared intently between her thighs.
Her face flushed crimson in an instant.
"Hey, salesperson, what's that noise in the fitting room? Should we check?" Lu Ziyang had just heard something crash inside and worried they might actually be up to no good. He could only turn to the clerk for help, hoping to ease his growing panic.
He'd been keeping track of time—ten minutes had passed. Couldn't they change clothes in ten minutes?
Xu Xiaoyi might've gotten tired from shopping and sat down to rest.
"Lu Ziyang, I'm not one to talk, but even dogs know to mind their own business. Stop yelling—you're disturbing them."
Lu Ziyang felt wronged. If he didn't interrupt, who knew what they'd get up to in there! One of them was your ex-boyfriend, for crying out loud.