Without leaving her a quivering mess, begging and screaming for mercy, he would not relent.
Xia Weiyi deeply understood what it meant to be hoist with her own petard.
In the midst of such ceaseless activity, she was utterly exhausted, her eyelids drooping, crying and sobbing.
And when Ye Che finally finished the last surge, stopped, and softened, she too completely melted into water.
At last, Ye Che, nibbling on her earlobe, contentedly sighed, "Baby, call me once more..."
Xia Weiyi, with barely a breath left: "Brother... Brother..."
"Good girl..."
Ye Che adored this feeling.
When she was little and softly called him 'Brother,' he just wanted to spoil her; at the age of eighteen, when she called him 'Brother,' he felt an intense aversion to the word, as if their inexplicable sibling relationship had become an insurmountable chasm between them—
