The darkness dulled her vision but heightened her other senses. And those thin lips of Wen Zenian’s were perfect for kissing—only when they were sucked into her mouth did she realize just how soft they were.
Meng Ning gently pushed at her. “Wait a second.”
“Wait for what?”
Wen Zenian murmured the question against her lips, but her actions were anything but restrained. Her slender arms braced against the sofa as she hovered above. Meng Ning could make out the lines of those arms in the dim light. “Are you wearing an evening gown?”
“Mm. I just got back from a banquet.”
Meng Ning fell silent for a moment, letting Wen Zenian gaze down at her from that propped-up position.
Every time she returned to the island after time off, everything felt unreal. Her earlier dream had been so empty, but Wen Zenian’s sudden kisses stirred a warm current deep in her heart—
Wen Zenian had said she’d come back, and here she was.
In this dream, Wen Zenian kept her promise.
Meng Ning nearly needed a moment to absorb that wave of tenderness before she could embrace the intimacy to come. Wen Zenian didn’t rush her. Instead, she simply propped herself up on her elbows and gazed quietly at her.
Meng Ning filled the silence with small talk. “What style is your evening gown?”
“Do you want to see it?”
Wen Zenian’s silken voice sounded like sweet nothings. “Lights on.”
It took Meng Ning a second to realize the command was for the voice-activated system, not directed at her. In that instant, every light in the adjoining living room that opened onto the terrace flickered to life.
Wen Zenian was breathtaking, almost painfully so. She wore a sleek black off-the-shoulder evening gown that hugged her torso tightly, accentuating the generous swell of her chest, while the skirt flared out dramatically below her waist. On anyone lacking her poise, the style might have seemed garish, but on Wen Zenian, it was perfection—like an ink-black flower unfurling in bloom.
Her eye makeup was subtle, but the blue-toned red velvet lip gloss commanded attention, making her porcelain skin glow even brighter.
Meng Ning stalled for time. “You always dress to the nines for these galas. The contracts on the table must be worth a fortune.”
“No.” Her diamond earrings sparkled against the soft curve of her earlobes. “I just wanted to be the most beautiful woman in the room.”
Her eyes were so deep, Meng Ning felt her thoughts scatter for a moment.
“You look like a gift, wrapped up in that gown.”
Wen Zenian tilted her head. “Want to unwrap your present?”
The teasing lilt in her voice enchanted Meng Ning. She only phrased things as questions when she knew the answer was yes.
Meng Ning’s slender fingers drifted upward on instinct, seeking the zipper of the evening gown. But Wen Zenian shook her head with a soft “mm-mm,” the second sound rising in pitch like a gentle denial.
“Pull it down,” Wen Zenian instructed.
Meng Ning grasped the skirt and tugged slowly.
The blue-toned red velvet lip gloss worked wonders; it made Wen Zenian’s skin seem even fairer, highlighting the elegant rise of her collarbones.
Meng Ning realized she didn’t have to wait for the warmth in her heart to ebb. Instead, a fresh surge of desire crashed over her like a towering wave.
Without unzipping it, the gown could only slide down to her waist. That was when Wen Zenian said, “Stop.”
Meng Ning sensed that Wen Zenian had a masterful sense of pacing.
She always revealed just a little at a time. Last time, it had been her stockings; this time, her upper body. With the evening gown draped around her hips, she evoked Venus with her arms still modestly crossed—preserving an air of composure and nobility, as if she hadn’t surrendered to the tide of passion. Meng Ning’s eyes, by contrast, had lost their clarity.
Wen Zenian’s skirt pooled like scattered petals, and she longed to be the bee drawn to gather nectar.
Her skin was impossibly soft, making the sheer stockings feel almost coarse by comparison.
Wen Zenian’s lips weren’t just perfect for kissing; right now, they parted effortlessly, spilling out ragged breaths and Meng Ning’s name.
In that same beguiling tone, she murmured, “Meng Ning.”
Her arms trembled where they braced against the sofa, but she held firm, granting Meng Ning free rein.
When Meng Ning moved to wash her hands, though, Wen Zenian said, “Take off the Buddha beads.”
“What?” Meng Ning refused outright. “No.”
“I don’t like anything between us. Not even a string of Buddha beads.”
“But you always keep your clothes on too.” Whenever Wen Zenian wanted her.
“But this time, you want me. So I make the rules.” Wen Zenian was a born negotiator; she could make anything sound perfectly reasonable.
Meng Ning hesitated. “…Anything but the Buddha beads. Please.”
“Then I have to say no. You don’t get to have me.” Wen Zenian’s movements were languid and inviting, but her tone turned coolly detached. “Only I get to do as I please with you.”
Wen Zenian rose to wash her hands, then returned with the small blue box.
Meng Ning felt herself improving. The first time, she’d nearly suffocated. The second, she’d fought back tears. By the third, when Wen Zenian reminded her to “breathe,” she even found herself instinctively tracing the small ridge between Wen Zenian’s brows.
Wen Zenian furrowed her brow in unison, her lips pressed together slightly, as if sharing every sensation.
Wen Zenian wasn’t the cuddling type of lover; she was too intensely absorbed.
Meng Ning got up to clean herself. When she returned to the living room, she found Wen Zenian reclining against the sofa back, looking utterly spent as she always did afterward.
There was something irresistibly contradictory about her. She was too reserved to let Meng Ning touch her freely, yet utterly unselfconscious in displaying her beauty. She lounged there without a care, the evening gown still bunched at her waist.
Meng Ning took in the sight and swallowed the question on the tip of her tongue: “What about tonight’s story?”
She was always the one being ravished. So why did she always feel like the one who’d gotten hers and split?
Silence settled over the room.
When her heartbeat hadn’t yet steadied, Meng Ning knew it was best to tread carefully—lest she blurt out what was truly on her mind. “Do you even get any satisfaction out of this?”
“What?” Wen Zenian’s half-lidded eyes fluttered open, still flushed with color.
Meng Ning clamped her mouth shut.
After a short rest, Wen Zenian negotiated. “You don’t have to stay the night. But could you wait while I take a quick bath before you go? I had a few too many drinks at the gala—I’m beat. I’ll read you tonight’s story while I soak.”
Meng Ning hesitated for a beat.
Wen Zenian curved her lips. “I’m not asking you to join me. What’s got you so tense?”
“Who’s tense?” Meng Ning relented. “Fine.”
The night stretched endlessly before dawn. They had plenty of time.
Wen Zenian stood, adjusting her evening gown back into place, then headed for the bathroom. As she passed Meng Ning, she leaned in close to her ear. “I’ve had a crush on you since I was a teenager.”
“Do I get satisfaction now? Seeing you frown like that… I…” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, the final words dissolving into warm breath against Meng Ning’s skin—enough to set her ears ablaze.
While Wen Zenian filled the clawfoot bathtub, Meng Ning clasped her hands behind her back and leaned against the frosted glass door.
Common sense said filling a tub took twenty minutes or more. But at C Hotel, the vintage clawfoot tub brimmed with steam in mere moments. Wen Zenian’s slender fingers trailed through the water, dispersing the scent of essential oils.
Intellectually, Meng Ning knew it was thanks to the hotel’s high-end filling system. Still, everything here felt dreamlike, suspended between reality and illusion.
Time lost meaning. Logic bent and broke.
With a flick of the wrist, clouds formed; with a turn of the palm, rain fell.
These few minutes were just enough for Meng Ning to lose herself briefly in the aftershocks of Wen Zenian’s confession.
That admission was strange—brimming with raw desire, yet laced with quiet affection.
Wen Zenian hadn’t denied her preference for being on the receiving end. But with Meng Ning, she took genuine pleasure in giving.
It was as if the emotions of her youth had carried over, granting her that long-delayed fulfillment.
But.
The sound of Wen Zenian stepping into the tub snapped her from her reverie. She turned to look. Wen Zenian’s figure had submerged, leaving only her graceful neck above the water.
A single strand had escaped her usually impeccable updo amid the earlier fervor; now, damp with steam, it clung to the nape of her swanlike neck.
She hadn’t removed her makeup. In the bathroom’s elegant, minimalist decor, only her red lips stood out vividly; even her brows and eyes seemed softened by comparison.
Whatever brand of lip gloss she used, it was smudge-proof.
She’d said she always wanted to be the most beautiful woman in the room. Meng Ning thought she truly was.
Wen Zenian picked up the envelope from the nearby low table with one hand and slid out the sheets of paper. Droplets from her fingers dotted the page, blooming into soft stains. If those drops had been pale pink, they might have resembled peach blossom petals, lending a touch of romance to the plain stationery.
As she shifted, her body swayed slightly. Her straight, pale collarbones broke the surface briefly before sinking back. She hadn’t started reading yet; her gaze drifted to Meng Ning, a hint of a smile in her eyes—though her lips hadn’t curved.
Meng Ning’s fingers curled behind her back. “What?”
Wen Zenian shook her head. “Shall I begin?”
“Mm.”
Wen Zenian always read while translating on the fly, so her pace was leisurely. Meng Ning’s attention split three ways: one part immersed in the story, another drifting with the steam-scented mist clinging to Wen Zenian’s damp hair strands.
The third part drowned in the faint smile that had flickered in Wen Zenian’s eyes moments before.
People had praised Meng Ning’s looks since childhood.
She had a dainty heart-shaped face, fair skin, delicate features from her cheekbones to her nose, long lashes—quintessential Eastern beauty. The compliments had always washed over her without leaving much impression.
But that look from Wen Zenian just now made her feel truly beautiful.
A third of her mind pondered why.
Perhaps others’ praise was mere objective observation. Wen Zenian’s gaze, though, held a sense of true cherishing.
It made her feel precious.
Lost in the thought, Meng Ning glanced at her again.
Wen Zenian reclined halfway in the tub, her arm raised a touch higher to hold the letter comfortably. She was usually so poised and proud. Only in these afterglow moments, softened by the hot water, did a hint of sensuality soften her eyes.
Any trace of that earlier solemnity and tenderness seemed vanished.
Wen Zenian suddenly looked up. Meng Ning hadn’t time to look away. Their eyes met, and Wen Zenian asked, “Why are you staring?”
Meng Ning opted for playful honesty. “Because you’re gorgeous.”
Wen Zenian looked pleased, though her expression remained restrained. Her tone toward Meng Ning softened further. “Then I’ll read the last line for tonight?”
“Mm.”
Wen Zenian lowered her eyes to the paper. “If something seems too good to be true, it probably isn’t.”
Meng Ning’s heart skipped a beat.
