Chapter 33 Progress Between Lan and Cheng (2)

Her lips were seized in a brutal kiss, the taste of tea mingling with tobacco invading her mouth, fierce and unrelenting. He bit down on her lips with such sudden force that she barely had time to comprehend whether it was a kiss at all, or why it hurt so much.

Their eyes met—more the hungry gaze of a raptor tearing apart its prey than any lover’s glance. He ravaged her lips, merciless and wild, dragging her mind back from its haze. She began to struggle fiercely, flailing like a trapped butterfly. “Mmm—” Go away, go away!

But Mo Zhicheng suddenly seized her flailing hands, pinning them above her head, his mouth crashing down again, more savage, his assault robbing her of breath. She stared up at him, wide-eyed, seeing the excitement that flashed in his eyes—it had nothing to do with love, but rather the thrill of a man conquering a woman. “Mmm—”

Desperate, she bit down on his lip, hard and merciless. Yet he did not let go, instead gripping her neck and pinning her more tightly to the tatami. She gasped for air, but he only bit her back, the taste of blood—hers and his—mixing, metallic and raw, at the corners of their mouths.

His wet tongue slid along her teeth and gums, agile and relentless, savoring the iron tang. In a fleeting moment, Ye Linglan clamped her teeth shut, desperately guarding the last boundary she could hold.

Mo Zhicheng frowned, freeing a hand to grip her jaw and force her to look at him, his gaze icy, “No woman has ever dared treat me like this.” His voice was frigid as winter, but his breath scalded her skin, the contradiction making her shudder. She gave no reply, as if all strength had deserted her.

He looked at the woman before him, her breath ragged, tears shimmering in her eyes, reflecting the light like trembling pools of water. He was ensnared by those eyes, cupping her cheek and lowering his head to claim her lips once more. His tongue traced the edge of her mouth, coaxing and tempting, while his hands moved to tear open her expensive qipao. Her pale, elegant neck was exposed for all to see, and terror seized Ye Linglan. She shrieked, panic-stricken, her voice hysterical.

Seizing a moment when he was distracted, she summoned all her strength and shoved him away. Ignoring the pain, she scrambled to her hands and knees, desperate to reach the door—just half a meter away—if only she could escape…

But Mo Zhicheng caught her by the ankle, dragging her back across the floor. She clung to the tatami with all her might, but he gripped her arms, yanking her upright and throwing her down onto the tea table. Porcelain crashed and shattered in a cacophony of destruction.

He leaned over her, and she fought like a wild thing, beating at his shoulders and pushing him away. Her hand landed sharply across his face with a resounding slap.

Thump, thump—

Her heart pounded wildly, the air in the private room thick and stifling. Stunned, she stared at her stinging right hand. She had struck him.

Mo Zhicheng’s brow furrowed; he retaliated, slapping her hard across the face. Her head slammed against the corner of the tea table—another crash—and the world swam before her eyes, pain threatening to choke the breath from her curled, delicate body.

He saw clearly as her left cheek began to swell, and watched as she hugged herself, trembling like a leaf, no longer resisting. He was taken aback. He had never struck a woman before, but in his fury he had lost control. He turned away, his hand slowly curling into a fist. She should not have defied him like this, should not have opposed him. Yet already, regret was flooding his heart.