Chapter 61: The Turmoil in Lan City
He bowed his head, his warm lips gently brushing against hers, pecking her over and over with soft kisses, murmuring, “Why won’t you smile?” His brows knitted as he continued, “Why won’t you smile at me?” All around her ears was the man’s ragged breathing and ceaseless whispers, repeating the same question again and again without the slightest impatience. But she felt the darkness closing in, a vast emptiness engulfing her vision. In the end, where their hearts were joined, there was a searing, wrenching pain. She gasped for breath, and clear, silent tears slid from the corners of her eyes, shattering the tranquil silence of the room.
Yet the man above her noticed nothing; he was wholly absorbed in kissing her lips, her neck, her collarbone. Her skin was pale as a peeled lychee, glistening with dew. He bit and kissed her, refusing to let go, refusing to stop. He lifted his gaze to her, his eyes glazed with drunkenness, but he seemed bewitched, cradling her face in his hands. The faint scent of milk lingering on her skin was as seductive as a forbidden fruit, curling around his senses. Unlike his earlier roughness, his touch now turned gentle, almost tender. He kissed her brow, the bridge of her nose, and finally her bloodless lips. The icy light in his eyes was tinged with a heat that was impossible to describe—a confusion of emotions, both spoken and unspoken.
He looked at her, taking in her pain, yet his lips still caressed her sharp chin. Mo Zhicheng closed his eyes, one hand circling her waist, his heavy breathing like fire, threatening to consume her. He was like a guilty child, murmuring, “Smile for me, won’t you?” His quiet, hoarse voice repeated, “You’re so beautiful when you smile. It’s as if nothing in the world can compare with that single glance.”
His fingers slid beneath the hem of her white shirt, baring a black lace bra that made her skin look as white as snow. Her soft curves rose and fell with each desperate breath. The sight of her, flawless and fragile, was enough to drive anyone mad with longing.
“Please…” Her broken voice echoed through the darkness, “Don’t… please, don’t…”
—Please, don’t… please, don’t.
Her voice sounded as though it had been scraped raw by a blade, nearly hoarse and shattered. The air was cold, but the man’s body covered her like a burning blanket. Watching the flush of pink tremble with her harsh breathing, he pinned her hands to either side, closing his eyes as he took her trembling softness into his mouth, kissing and sucking without restraint. It was as if her pale body was the most exquisite feast. He buried his face in her, lost in drunkenness or something else, whispering, “I won’t let go. I’m telling you, tonight I won’t let you go.” His deep voice was like a demon from the depths of hell.
With glistening tears in her eyes, Lily of the Valley stared up at the white-lit ceiling, its delicate carvings blurring before her. She could feel his damp kisses trailing over her body, just as on that drunken night. How many times could she push him away? How many times could she escape? Yet she still clung to her last thin boundary, holding onto the man she cherished in her heart, her beliefs, her love. But she was afraid—afraid she might never have him again. What kind of feeling was that? Despair, perhaps. Just as now, she was like a lamb before the butcher, unable to escape the iron grip of the man above her.
She wept, her tears forming brilliant streams that blurred her vision. The man’s lips trailed over her bare shoulder and back, his warm mouth brushing away the fine beads of sweat on her skin, finally coming to rest over her aching heart. His gentle kisses there left her soul encased in ice.