The scent carried on the wind and the faint movements nearby did not prompt Wang Chen to open his eyes.
He was too exhausted.
Having been tormented all night and then busy the entire day, his weariness of body and mind made him sincerely unwilling to move even a muscle.
More importantly, at that moment, he was in the midst of a dream, chatting intimately with Zhang Tong, their arms entwined, which led him to subconsciously believe that the fragrance at the tip of his nose and the movements beside him all stemmed from the dream.
The fragrance belonged to Zhang Tong, and the delicate hands undressing him were also Zhang Tong's.
But in reality, this was not a dream.
By his side, there was indeed a living, breathing woman.
A moment earlier, the woman had seen his body move slightly and quickly stopped what she was doing.
But now, seeing that Wang Chen had not awakened, the hand she had just moved away quietly returned to his buttons.
