The silk nightgown was delicate and soft; when it was lifted, the warm, yielding touch brushed over the skin of her thighs.

Meng Yanxi kissed her lips, his scorching breath rapid and rough. One hand pressed on her shoulder, the other roaming wantonly.

Jin Zhao’s mind was a wash of white.

Waking up to such a scene—or rather, being awakened like this—made her subconsciously afraid. But very quickly, that sliver of unease was completely drowned by the pleasure the man teased out.

The light was dim and dark; she could only make out the figure pressing over her. His hair was a little mussed, the familiar, sharply defined contours and the scent of cold mountain pines and mist.

Instinctively, she gripped his forearm.

The man’s forearm tensed, hard as stone. She could clearly feel the veins jumping along his arm, even through the skin of her palm, sensing the searing blood surging through his body.

She had meant to make him stop, but it only seemed to encourage him; he grew even more unrestrained.

Outside, it seemed to be raining, the murmuring sound of water falling, drip by drip.

On the rosewood cabinet in the bedroom, the bouquet Luo Heng and the others had given them stood in a crystal vase.

There were red roses, baby’s breath, phalaenopsis orchids… This season had no gardenias, yet somehow they had found some. At dusk they had still been pure white buds; deep into the night, they quietly bloomed, revealing tender pink stamens.

Moistened by the rain, the gardenias spilled their fragrance through the entire room.

Jin Zhao suddenly let out a soft cry, her fingers tightening around his forearm.

The man bent over her shoulder and laughed low by her ear, utterly wicked.

“Why are you so enthusiastic today?”

He nibbled her earlobe, teasing her intimately.

Jin Zhao hadn’t yet come back to herself; she didn’t hear clearly what he said. Her eyes were moist and unfocused, her chest heaving violently as she gasped in disarray.

Meng Yanxi supported her waist with one hand, and with the other tore open the layer of fabric on her that had been soaked through, tossing it casually to the floor beside the bed.

He rolled over and covered her.

The skirt was bunched above her chest; when it slipped down occasionally, he found it in the way and, without much thought, helped her remove that thin silk nightgown altogether.

Only then did she see clearly that there was already nothing left on him.

His body seemed even more sensual in the darkness. Stripped of light, shadow, and her own built-in filter, only those taut muscle lines remained, flowing and bluntly striking her.

Jin Zhao’s gaze slid down of its own accord, from his collarbones to his chest muscles, to his eight-pack abs, along the beautiful V-shaped mermaid lines, to the place that had originally been wrapped in a bath towel.

Her eyes felt burned. She drew in a sharp breath and, in alarm, shifted her gaze away.

The man chuckled dully by her ear, wicked to the bone.

“How are you still this shy? When every time we get to the end, you cling to me and won’t let go.”

This time Jin Zhao heard him clearly, and her heart immediately sank halfway.

The man’s kisses moved downward inch by inch, to her chest, her ribs, all the way down…

She suddenly cupped his head and stopped him, gently but firmly.

Meng Yanxi lifted his head.

Jin Zhao’s gaze had regained its clarity. She looked at him quietly, her nose already a little sour.

Her lips moved, and she asked softly, “Meng Yanxi, did you mistake me for someone else? Look carefully—who am I?”

“What nonsense are you talking about? How could I possibly mistake you?” Meng Yanxi gave a low laugh, leaned back down, lightly biting her lip, and said hoarsely, “You’re Jin Zhao, Lingling, my beloved little feather.”

Her emotions were like a roller coaster. It was only after hearing him call her name that Jin Zhao felt her heartbeat again.

She didn’t dare imagine how heartbroken she would be if Meng Yanxi were really treating her as someone else at this moment. Just the thought of him possibly liking someone else was already unbearable to her, let alone him doing something this intimate with another person.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on it, because the very next second, Meng Yanxi added in a low voice by her ear, “I think about fucking Lingling every day.”

His tone was bad—malicious and rough.

With a boom, Jin Zhao felt all the blood in her body rush to her face.

So Meng Yanxi was actually like this in bed? What about the cold, abstinent image he was supposed to have?

But she very quickly realized it wasn’t like that.

No—really not.

His hands roamed over her body with undisguised fondness, all kinds of instinctive ways of pleasing her, making fireworks explode in her mind again and again, leaving her with no room to think.

It was only at the very last step that she managed, with great difficulty, to retrieve a sliver of rational bottom line.

“Meng Yanxi, put it on…” She grabbed his forearm, her voice still trembling.

“No need. In a dream, it’s fine.”

The man laughed softly, coiled and ready.

Jin Zhao’s scalp went numb.

“No—it’s not a dream…” she breathed.

At the same time, Meng Yanxi realized it too.

Unlike the ticklish, through-a-shoe kind of pleasure in his previous dreams, this time, with just a shallow touch, he was happy enough to make his scalp tingle.

It was a strange sensation he had never experienced before—she was so real and vivid, completely different from the illusory longing in his dreams. He snapped fully awake, his entire body freezing.

From thinking he was in a dream to being completely awake, Meng Yanxi took only one second—or less than one.

Yet before that, he had been muddleheaded for at least half an hour.

He had wantonly and recklessly done all kinds of excessive things to his girlfriend, flipping her over and over… Aside from the final step, everything that could be done and shouldn’t be done, he had done to her.

For one brief second, he had even thought, despicably, about pretending he hadn’t woken up and continuing until the end.

But very quickly, he saw the unease and hesitation in her eyes, hidden beneath the hazy joy.

She was clearly very happy—but that was only on a physical level. Physical pleasure could not replace her reason.

Perhaps she felt it was too fast—after all, they had been together for less than a month. Perhaps she was uneasy about his current lack of clarity. No matter what, as long as there was even the slightest bit of uncertainty in her heart, he could not despicably try to numb her with bodily pleasure.

Deliberately numbing reason itself was deception.

He immediately withdrew, got out of bed, picked up the bath towel from the floor, and wrapped it around himself.

Meeting her puzzled gaze, he bent down and lightly kissed her brow, soothing her gently. “Did I scare you? I’m sorry. I thought I was dreaming again.”

Jin Zhao’s face reddened as if blood might drip from it.

She had originally thought he had sobered up. She hadn’t expected that more awkward than being drunk was the fact that he thought he was dreaming—and that she was merely the Jin Zhao in his dream, someone he could treat however he pleased.

So really, what kind of messy dreams had he been having before?! And again… just how many times had he done it, to be practiced to such a degree?

“Don’t be afraid. I’m awake now. I won’t do anything else.”

He didn’t know how to properly comfort her. He seemed to want to hold her, but at this moment, any kind of skin-to-skin closeness would instantly take on a different meaning, and in the end he stopped himself.

After a long silence, he finally said helplessly, “You keep sleeping. I’ll go sleep on the sofa.”

Meng Yanxi left the bedroom.

Jin Zhao bit her lip and silently pulled the blanket over, covering her head.

This was too humiliating.

She had said it was too fast—too fast would lead to trouble, didn’t she! And sure enough, trouble came!

She just never imagined it would be such a ridiculous misunderstanding.

Meng Yanxi, this man, this man really… Jin Zhao didn’t even know how to curse him anymore. In any case, he had truly infuriated her.

She gripped the corner of the blanket tightly, burying her head like an ostrich, her fingernails even turning red.

“Bang—”

The sound of a body slamming into a solid wood cabinet suddenly came from the living room.

The sky hadn’t yet brightened. At four or five in the morning, all was silent, and the man’s sharp intake of breath was clearly audible.

Earlier, in order to prove to himself that he wasn’t dangerous, Meng Yanxi had fled in a sorry state. He hadn’t turned on the light, and in his panic, his knee slammed into the cabinet, the pain piercing to the bone.

Jin Zhao’s heart tightened. She immediately threw off the blanket and got out of bed, casually draped a coat over herself, and hurried out.

“Meng Yanxi—” she called out anxiously.

Hearing her voice, Meng Yanxi’s anger flared even more. He didn’t even know what he was angry about, or who he was angry at, and warned her with restraint, “If you don’t want to be taken right here tonight, then stay inside and sleep properly. Don’t come out and provoke me.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

The foot she had just been about to step out of the bedroom quietly withdrew.

But this night—there was no need to think about it—sleep was impossible.

One lay awake on the bed; the other lay on the sofa, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

Meng Yanxi didn’t know what kind of punishment he was inflicting on himself. Jin Zhao felt she was a little innocent.

Meng Yanxi felt his sense of morality was too strong—too ruinous.

Jin Zhao felt Meng Yanxi was truly too bad. Clearly it was he who had drunk too much, acted coquettish and green-tea-like to keep her there; after sobering up, he treated it as a dream and almost did that to her… No, she couldn’t think about it. If she thought again about the images of him doing this and that to her, she really would never forget them.

The young couple, each harboring their own thoughts, lay with eyes open until dawn.

Dawn broke, and with it came the unavoidable awkwardness.

Jin Zhao had no classes today. She lay calmly in bed pretending to sleep, planning to get up only after Meng Yanxi left.

But once again, she underestimated Meng Yanxi’s sense of morality. He was exactly the type who looked like a foul-mouthed bad guy on the surface, but was actually very responsible.

Even though Meng Yanxi had done something embarrassing last night and even crashed into a cabinet—arguably the most wretched moment of his life—he still didn’t run away to avoid it.

Close to nine o’clock, Zhuang Yu called looking for him, and he turned it down.

From the bedroom, Jin Zhao heard him vaguely say, “Something came up. Another day.”

Zhuang Yu said something else on the phone. Meng Yanxi fell silent for a moment, then said, “No time. Have Lu Jingyue go in my place. If that doesn’t work, go find my dad.”

Only then did Jin Zhao realize that Meng Yanxi was determined to wait for her to come out. There was no hiding.

She took another disposable pair of underwear from the wardrobe, got dressed properly, and pulled open the bedroom door.

Meng Yanxi was sitting on the sofa. Hearing the sound, he lifted his eyelids and looked toward her.

The daylight was bright. All the sensuality and intimacy hidden in the darkness the night before had vanished. Yet when their eyes met, neither of them could return to their former innocence. Some things had happened—though not completely—but once they had happened, they existed, and could never be forgotten.

The man stared at her, his Adam’s apple rolling unconsciously twice.

Jin Zhao awkwardly tucked her hair behind her ear and said softly, “I’m heading back.”

Meng Yanxi didn’t speak.

When she reached the sofa, he suddenly asked, “Will you come again?”

Jin Zhao felt the words themselves were scorching to the ears. She had no idea what was wrong with him—to actually say them out loud without feeling his mouth burn.

Annoyed, she shot him a look, her face red. “I’m not coming. Your place is like a wolf’s den, too dangerous.”

Meng Yanxi had still been a little awkward, but her glare seemed to work like fighting poison with poison. Someone with a thick enough skin relaxed instead.

Leaning back against the sofa, he lifted his eyelids and looked at her with a half-smile. “It’s not dangerous like last night every day.”

Jin Zhao: “……” He actually had the nerve to say that.

Meng Yanxi stood up and walked toward her.

As if possessed, those sensual scenes from last night pressed in again along with his approach.

Jin Zhao lowered her head and retreated two small steps.

Meng Yanxi stopped in front of her, lowered his gaze to study her, his tone full of appeasement. “I’ll promise not to drink anymore, okay?”

Jin Zhao was a little surprised and looked up. “You still remember?”

Before going to sleep last night, she had told him he wasn’t allowed to drink anymore.

She had thought he was drunk and wouldn’t remember anything. She hadn’t expected him not only to remember, but to remember even such a small detail so clearly.

Seeing her dazed expression, Meng Yanxi couldn’t help laughing softly. “What are you thinking? I was just drunk, not amnesiac.”

Jin Zhao blinked innocently. “Isn’t it said that people forget a lot of things after getting drunk?”

Meng Yanxi snorted. “Nonsense. That’s just an excuse weak men use when they don’t want to take responsibility. Otherwise, ask him to borrow two thousand yuan—see if he still remembers to pay you back when he wakes up.”

Jin Zhao: “……”

Bro, if you keep talking like this, I won’t even dare to kiss you in the future—I’m afraid your mouth will poison me to death.