His voice was low and somber as he reminded her of the absurdity of what he had just done.
"You were hugging a girl you just met as a hostess in a bar, and you almost kissed her. Is it okay as long as she looks like him?"
Chu Wuyang leaned against the edge of the bathtub, her lips trembling, but she couldn't utter a single word.
Yang Jinchu finally turned and left.
He walked extremely fast, as if if he stopped for even a second longer, he would lose control and tear apart all his restraint and gentleness.
The moment the door closed, he uttered a low, cold remark.
"You should reflect on your actions and calm down."
Chu Wuyang didn't look up.
She sat in the warm water, her soaked clothes clinging to her skin.
The water in the bathtub rippled gently, and steam rose in the air.
But it did nothing to dispel the chill emanating from her.
Her fingertips were trembling, and a chill ran through her chest.
She tilted her head back and buried her face in the mist, as if that would wash away the humiliation of the phrase "that duck" in her mind.
She felt ridiculous.
It was so funny that I wanted to laugh, but in the end, while I was laughing, tears started to fall.
How did she become like this in just one year?
Suddenly,
Consciousness is like being sucked in by ripples in water, being drawn little by little into some kind of whirlpool.
She doesn't seem to be alone anymore.
She heard the sound of water behind her, and the next second, someone lifted her up from behind by the waist.
It was a familiar force—distinct knuckles, a burning palm.
"...Jingmin?"
She called out softly, as if instinctively.
The warm breath brushed against her ear.
The man didn't respond, but instead pressed down heavily on her, biting her lips and kissing her while issuing a fierce warning.
"First Dance of the Sun!"
"If I see you seeing other men again..."
I'll strangle you!
His voice was low and hoarse, and he enunciated each word as if he could truly tear her apart.
Chu Wuyang felt numb all over.
He pushed her into the bathtub, water splashing everywhere. She instinctively resisted, yet couldn't help but succumb.
She knew his kisses, his scent, the way his palm gripped her chin—cold, possessive, and intense.
My lips hurt terribly from being bitten.
Every breath, every pressure, every movement felt like it had happened a hundred times in a dream.
But this time it was so real that she couldn't even distinguish between dreams and reality.
Then it went black.
It's completely black.
When I opened my eyes again, sunlight streamed into the room, and the bathroom was long since cooled down.
She lay on the sofa, her clothes intact, her hair wet, and she was only covered by a towel blanket.
It was as if nothing had happened.
She was stunned for several seconds, her reaction was even a beat slow.
Could it be... a dream?
She jumped up suddenly.
She rushed into the bathroom almost like a madwoman, locked the door, turned on the light, and began to strip off her clothes one by one in front of the mirror.
They examined my chest, neck, inner thighs, and even under my collarbone.
No,
It was spotless, without even a trace of red.
She touched the corner of her lips, somewhat dazed, but there was no wound.
Given Jingmin and her countless times, how many times wouldn't he deliberately leave marks on her body?
But that kiss, that growl, that force that almost crushed her... it was all too clear.
She stood stiffly in front of the mirror, her wet hair plastered to her pale cheeks, motionless.
After a long while, she finally smiled, a self-deprecating laugh escaping her lips.
Could I be that thirsty?
She stared at her naked reflection in the mirror, watching her chest rise and fall with her breath, and the lingering passion in her eyes.
Then he suddenly laughed, and his laughter was a little wet.
She murmured, "...How could this be?"
She must be really crazy.
Even in my dreams, I can bite myself until it hurts.
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