The man towering over her had his sturdy jaw clenched tightly, sweat sliding down his sharply contoured face. Even though he restrained himself to the extreme, he still stopped in his tracks at the critical moment. His eyes, black as a starry sea, firmly gazed at her, his obsidian-like pupils clearly reflecting her image, as if those beautiful and dignified eyes could only see her and no one else.
"Yanyan, is it okay?"
His voice was surprisingly deep and hoarse, like the low hum of a cello, sensual and raspy!
Rong Yan was an adult, and having experienced it at 17, she obviously knew what Li Shengxiao was asking—what exactly he meant by if it was okay.
Outside, the cicadas were unrelenting, and the gentle breeze, the bright moon, and the man waiting for her answer before her eyes all converged into the light in her gaze.
