Chapter 18 Midnight
Late at night, deep asleep.
A cold fragrance drifts in a lingering melody.
The room’s moderate coolness brushes against the skin, making space for closeness.
Someone behind her pulls her into a firm embrace, with damp kisses tracing delicate patterns on the side of her neck.
The man’s body is warm but not overheated.
His body heat presses against the skin of her back, seeping through gradually.
Wen Bairan’s heart is awash in a rising tide, with waves of sensation lapping urgently at her nerves.
So warm.
A faint, tingling itch in her dream scratches at her jaw, making her tilt her head back instinctively and murmur, "So itchy..."
A large hand climbs up her chest, cupping the soft curve of her cheek, turning her head back as his dry lips claim hers.
The man kisses with masterful skill, reaching almost the deepest part of her throat.
Her tongue goes numb from his sucking. She whimpers, grabbing his hand, her breath catching. "Mmm..."
The feelings swelling in her chest are too overwhelming, ready to burst.
Tears glisten and tremble on her eyelashes. She feels as if she’s about to be shaken from her dream. "Song... Song Xu..."
"Yeah?" The man’s breathing is heavy but not rough.
He’s always been like this.
As if holding even the strongest emotions in.
Yet the more restrained he is,
the sexier he seems.
He commands her, "Say my name again."
"Song Xu..."
"Again."
"Song..." Her voice is too raw to form words.
A low, almost mocking laugh escapes the man’s throat.
……
Forty minutes later, Wen Bairan is completely awake.
Pain.
Soreness.
Exhaustion.
There isn’t a single part of her body that doesn’t ache.
In the bathroom, Wen Bairan doesn’t bother with a towel. She studies her reflection in the mirror for a long time—the left side of her hip, near the center, is alarmingly red.
Damn it!
Song Xu must be a total freak. He pinched her so hard earlier that it still stings fiercely. Looking at how red it is, it might even bruise purple by tomorrow.
She grits her teeth, furious. Barefoot, she storms into the room to confront him.
"Song Xu, look what you’ve done!"
Song Xu leans against the headboard, smoking a cigarette after sex.
Calm and collected, like he owns the place.
Wen Bairan’s movements are too sudden and frantic in the dim light. She calls his name as her pale form charges at him.
Her stance seems meant to choke him, but if it misses, it looks like a tease.
Song Xu’s eyes darken. With his left hand, he raises the cigarette, while his right grabs her soft, slender arms. His long legs, freed from the sheets, hook behind her knees with his instep. His lean waist exerts force as he pins her down onto the bed.
Wen Bairan’s world spins. Her head feels dizzy from the impact. In her daze, her hands are forced above her head. The moonlight outside spills across her smooth skin, and she feels his gaze sweep over her from head to toe. His gaze feels like it has hooks, scraping over her skin with a mix of shame and arousal.
Song Xu has one knee pressed down against her hips, not using force. He takes one last drag of his cigarette. "Why would I need to see what I’ve done?"
His narrow eyes squint slightly. His knee presses against her slowly, and the woman instantly loses her anger. She stops struggling, a flush returning to her face as she stares at him with a dazed, defiant look.
He smirks. "Still looking?"
"......"
Wen Bairan lets out a weak whimper. "Let me go."
Song Xu is a gentleman.
At least, he is when they’re apart.
He releases her, withdraws his leg, and kneels with his long legs straddling her knees. Facing her, he twists his narrow waist backward and exhales the last puff of smoke toward the headboard away from her. The cigarette butt is tossed into a crystal ashtray, where it continues to burn quietly.
Bathed in the moonlight, the man’s robust physique appears like a work of art in every inch.
As he turns, the explosive strength of the muscles around his waist and abdomen hardens like iron, the bulging veins on his lower abdomen pulling taut like the most resilient ropes.
For the first time, Wen Bairan realizes that a person’s waist can embody both immense strength and flexibility.
She swallows involuntarily.
Song Xu turns back, unaware of her expression—buried in the sheets, a mix of shame and desire. He leans in to kiss her, but she refuses. Instead, he brushes the hair from her shoulder and bites down, leaving a lingering fragrance on his lips.
"I’m going to shower."
The man gets out of bed and enters the bathroom.
Soon, the sound of water echoes.
Wen Bairan struggles to crawl to the headboard, burying her face weakly into the pillow with a sigh—
Lust clouds judgment, lust clouds judgment.
But you couldn't really blame her.
Song Xu was just too intoxicating.
A meaty/fleshly allure.
When gentle, he was like a sunlit sea—dazzling, with waves gently lapping at the shore. When fierce, he was like a storm rising from the plains, waves raging and thunder roaring in an instant, as if he could devour the entire world at any moment.
Few could resist such primordial attraction and craving.
Only those who had experienced this kind of thrill knew just how stark the contrast was, and it was unforgettable. Perhaps for the rest of their lives, they would never find his equal.
Wen Bairan had once been compatible with Zhou Lin, but she had always held back, constrained by inhibitions.
Held back, like being wrapped in a cocoon.
There had been pleasure, but never this intense, never this soul-quaking.
In the end, she had far fewer reservations with Song Xu.
After all, this mutual consolation between two people only held value when both were honest with each other.
Wasn't it the same with Zhong Yu?
At dinner earlier, when Song Xu was mentioned, her face flushed with springtime radiance, her eyes shimmering, her legs practically twisting themselves into pretzels under the table.
She must've slept with him to be so infatuated.
Song Xu finished a quick rinse and stepped out of the bathroom to find her on the bed, trying to smother herself with a pillow.
He sat beside her, his large hand gripping the back of her neck to lift her. Amusement tinged his voice. "Playing dead? Weren't you brave just a moment ago?"
His hand, softened by the water, was warm, the strength in his fingertips firm but not painful—just immobilizing.
Wen Bairan couldn’t resist. She was pulled up to sit, elbows propped on the pillow as she cried innocence.
"Director Zhong is the primary responsible person for the Dayun project, and she’s your old classmate. She said she wanted to talk to you alone"—her hair was disheveled, and she kept rubbing her face against his hand, trying to get him to let go—"I’m just a temporary secretary—how could I refuse?"
Song Xu hadn't known she was such a skilled performer. His eyes held a hint of amusement. "Is that so?"
"What else?" Wen Bairan didn't like being held like this and kept squirming. He noticed and released his grip. Even freed, she didn’t run, just remained half-lying, looking up at him.
"But I have to say, her saying that surprised me."
Song Xu’s hair was still dripping, slightly long and covering his brows. Dark and damp.
He casually brushed it aside.
Unlike his meticulous, elite daytime image, the post-indulgence languor he exuded now carried a different kind of magnetism.
Thump.
Thump-thump-thump.
...
Her heart suddenly began racing uncontrollably, fast and loud.
Wen Bairan, afraid he might hear, flipped over to lie face down, pressing the pillow beneath her chest, guiltily trying to stifle the chaotic rhythm.
When no elaboration came, Song Xu glanced down sideways. "Surprised by what?"
Wen Bairan kept her expression calm. "Weren't you keeping her company these past few days? How come she's still so impatient?" Could it be you didn't satisfy her?
She didn’t voice the latter part.
Didn't have the nerve.
Though reluctant to admit it, she was still somewhat afraid of him.
Perhaps it was because his icy reputation at the company had left a deep impression, one that lingered even now.
Song Xu: "Who said I was with her?"
"Qiao Yi did." Wen Bairan blinked. "She said you were accompanying the research team everywhere, right? So what were you doing these past few days?"
Song Xu seemed tired, slumping back relaxed, his waist resting against her hip.
Lazily, he said, "The research team has more than just her."
"During the day, sure, but what about nights?" Wen Bairan turned her face to ask him. "Didn't she come to you?"
The sheets in this five-star hotel were changed daily, and when she arrived today, she hadn't noticed any signs of anyone else.
"And you? Didn't you go to her place either?"
Women were supposed to be the embodiment of jealousy.
But not Wen Bairan.
She was too curious—curious in a manner unbefitting a woman who had just been intimate with him.
Song Xu’s expression darkened, clearly annoyed. "We're classmates."
She didn’t believe it. "She said you two were all over each other daily abroad. That kind of classmate?"
"Isn't there also an subordinate like you?" Song Xu glanced sideways, his thin eyelids sharper than a blade.
That glance jolted her awake.
Her old habit had resurfaced again.
Presumptuousness.
Thinking herself special to whoever was paying her attention.
In Song Xu’s eyes, there was no difference between her and Zhong Yu.
Both were relationships that were close in bed, strangers out of it.
Realizing this, Wen Bairan’s demeanor gradually cooled, becoming the same as when outsiders were present.
Poise was her armor—only by wearing it could she hide her wounds.
She fell silent. Fully flat, her face buried in the pillow.
Breath stilled.
Like a corpse.
Song Xu studied her intensely, then in the next second, he closed in on the bed, his intense, dark eyes swallowing all the light around her.
Wen Bairan stiffened.
They were very close, and in the space between their breaths, the scent of his post-shower freshness was identical to hers. The difference was that the pheromones he emitted were so overpowering they could make her faint.
His dark eyes scanned over her face like a hunter examining captured prey, deciding where to begin flaying her. The smothering pressure carried a hint of ease, as if he knew she could never escape his grasp.
Wen Bairan couldn’t help but feel her entire body prickle with goosebumps.
Her scalp crawled, every strand of hair saturated with terror.
“Jealous?” he suddenly asked.
Wen Bairan’s eyes widened, her breath halting for two seconds. “—Why should I be jealous?”
Song Xu said flatly, “You tell me.”
Was it because she had asked too much?
She denied it outright: “You said you never forced me, and neither did I. This was always a consensual arrangement, something meant to remain hidden. I just wanted to remind you.”
“If there’s someone else by your side, we end immediately.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t want to be hurt by anyone either.” Wen Bairan paused, as if emotion tightened her chest: “I’ve had enough of being hurt.”
The silence abraded their skin like sand—some fine, some coarse; some cold, some warm.
Song Xu faced her, the space between them less than two inches.
Even the moonlight, in her peripheral vision, dared not intrude between them.
They say an eagle’s sharp vision remains peerless even at night.
Just like how he could always detect her faintest authentic reactions.
A faint, nearly imperceptible line appeared at the corner of the woman’s pale lips, gone in a flash.
Song Xu planted one hand by the headboard, the other sinking into the pillow beneath her face.
He leaned down.
His soft, insistent kisses were more affecting than whispered endearments.
His deep eyes softened.
Holding her captive in his gaze.
For some inexplicable reason, Wen Bairan felt like crying.
As if she were being cherished.
But she knew well.
They were both creatures of the night.
Only able to join in the dark.
The moonlight, cold and clear as a mountain stream,
Could not cleanse the intense desire and greed of this night.
Outside the window, the torrential river rushed unchecked, without end.
Never ceasing.
Suddenly, Wen Bairan lifted her face, seeking him out.
The moment their four soft lips met,
A new storm was brewing.
But then,
The night was still long.
First, do; then, love.
…