When their lips met, Wen Yin felt as if her breath had stalled. Minutes—no more than a few—left her lightheaded; her legs threatened to give out. If Shao Yinan’s large hand around her waist hadn’t been there to steady her, she would have slid to the floor.
Somebody kept knocking at the door outside, insistently—like they would never stop until it was opened.
Wen Yin’s slightly upturned, doe-like eyes fluttered open. The clear irises were blurred with a haze; her lashes like silk, tiny sparks glinting in the pupils where a shadow was reflected. Her gaze drifted toward the door as if she were deciding whether to answer it.
Shao Yinan seemed to notice her distraction. He reached up and tilted her chin with two fingers; his thumb caught her jaw just so, pressing at her earlobe with warm fingertips.
When they parted, a lock of hair fell across her cheek and Wen Yin’s face went an even deeper crimson, as if she might bleed from it.
Shao Yinan showed no embarrassment. He brushed his thumb over her damp, rose-tinted lips, and his voice—low and roughened—carried a hint of gravel.
“Ah Yin, I told you—don’t look at him. Look at me.”
Before the words finished, he bent and left a feather-light kiss at the corner of her mouth. The look they exchanged was full of something unpredictable—an ache, a possessiveness that seemed to shadow everything he felt.
“I… I was looking at you,” she stammered.
Always—always looking at you.
His ambiguous gesture had scattered her composure. She turned her eyes away awkwardly, as if one more glance into those peach-blossom eyes would swallow her whole.
“So, punishment’s over. Now you’ve got to deal with the strings of admirers you’ve been racking up.” He spoke the last part with mock sorrow, then filled his own eyes with a pitiable expression that made him look like a little dog about to be abandoned.
Wen Yin nodded, thinking of the two men outside. Her gaze cooled. She placed her slender, pale fingers on the doorknob; the metal was cold under her skin and took some heat from her face.
Xiao Mo and Jiang Shihuai watched the knob move twice, hope blooming on their faces. But in the next heartbeat, everything fell silent.
Shao Yinan had wrapped her from behind, his breath rough against the fair column of her throat, tickling. Then, with a delayed realization, Wen Yin felt something warm and wet press to the base of her neck. Her face flamed.
A damp prickly sensation, a smudge of pain and moisture, bloomed there.
“Ah Yin, I don’t want them to see you like this.” He stopped, burying his furry face against her neck, clinging like a possessive dog.
Wen Yin reached back to smooth his hair and soothe him. “I’ll just explain things to them,” she said, voice a little stiff from inexperience. This was the first time she’d ever had to placate someone like this; she managed only a dry, tentative, “Be good.”
She didn’t see the storm brewing in his eyes as he hid against her throat—too much churning beneath a calm surface, all of it turning into a fierce, private jealousy.
When Wen Yin opened the door, Jiang Shihuai and Xiao Mo’s gazes fell on her at once.
There was no one behind her now, but the gloss on her lips and the fresh red on her neck stabbed their eyes. Adults all, they knew what a mark on the neck meant.
“Wen—Yin!” Jiang Shihuai’s normally smooth demeanor snapped. A vein throbbed on his temple; he’d lost his gentle composure in an instant.
Xiao Mo’s face darkened with disgust; the look in his eyes was cold. Was Wen Yin really that casual?
Jiang clenched his fists so tight his knuckles blanched. He wanted to drag her aside and teach her a lesson—weren’t they just starting to date? How could she be so shameless? He hadn’t even realized she was like this before.
He didn’t even know why he was so angry—whether it was jealousy or humiliation—but the sourness and fury rose up anyway. Xiao Mo’s expression was equally sour, though he kept his temper slightly better.
A lazy, elongated voice floated from the doorway; Shao Yinan’s silhouette materialized in the three men’s line of sight. His white shirt was undone at the chest, the fabric gaping and exposing hard lines, two buttons apparently torn free as if impatient fingers had been at work. A loose thread dangled.
He leaned against the wall beside Wen Yin, all languor and danger, eyes sweeping over the two men with none of the warmth they might have expected.
“Ah… it’s Teacher Jiang and Teacher Xiao, huh?” Shao Yinan drew out the last word, deliberately showing the reddened mark at his throat. The smudged color on Wen Yin’s lips had spread just enough to confirm what had happened in that room and both Jiang and Xiao understood immediately.
Wen Yin’s glance flicked down to the mark on his chest. Her eyes danced with meaning and her mouth twitched into a small smile—but she said nothing. She wanted to see how far Shao Yinan could play the part. Right now, he looked like a spoiled aristocrat, all lazy insolence.
Tired of their hostile stares, he stepped forward until he stood before them, meeting their gazes head-on. Sparks flew beneath the surface, then dissipated with a quiet chuckle from him.
“What do you want?” The two men’s faces were dark; they said it in unison, each refusing to yield ground.
“Is that so?” Shao Yinan’s voice was airy, but his eyes were sharp as knives, clearly sizing them up. He moved closer to Wen Yin and slid an arm possessively around her waist.
“You can see—Ah Yin is not exactly in a state to receive visitors.” He emphasized the words “not exactly” and the color drained from both Jiang and Xiao’s faces.
They gritted their teeth, threw him one last furious look, and stormed off.
Shao Yinan bent and met Wen Yin’s smiling eyes. “So, how exactly is she ‘not in a state’?” he asked, tone teasing.
Wen Yin lifted her chin, the sultry tilt of her voice coaxing. Her lashes fluttered; her gaze slid deliberately down to the faint mark on his chest.
“While you’re at it, Mr. Shao, you should clear this up with me.” The scent of lilies seemed to follow her as she rose on tiptoe and whispered into his ear. Her voice was small but intoxicating, the kind that could steal a soul.
“Which of my lipsticks did you steal?”