Hearing this, Rong Anyao was deeply touched.
Tears fell more audibly, and she even took the initiative to hug Zhang Xiaomeng tightly.
A smile spread across Zhang Xiaomeng's face, this was looking promising.
Women, after all, like to hear sweet-nothings, and with iron hot for striking, he thought to himself and promptly kissed Rong Anyao's tender lips.
A flush of red instantly appeared on Rong Anyao's pretty face, and the sound of her crying, after a brief moment of tender caresses, turned into soft cooing.
Zhang Xiaomeng kissed her moist and luscious tongue, rolling and entangling with it wantonly, each time the deepest of emotional exchanges.
Rong Anyao's tongue and saliva left trails in his mouth, extraordinarily delightful, extremely comforting, and Zhang Xiaomeng, not satisfied with this, moved his hand over that softness of Rong Anyao's.
That perfect delight shook her soul; a gentle kneading seemed to completely reshape it into the form of Zhang Xiaomeng.
