Jiang Jianqing had once asked him, after such a long time without dating, whether he had no desire for women, where he put that desire.
The night was dense.
He had drunk just enough to feel tipsy, he loosened his tie, and muttered to himself in a slow drawl:
"Desire, in desire..."
Jiang Jianqing thought he was drunk and repeated after him, not realizing he hadn't finished speaking.
Yuwan was his desire, her very existence was related to those two words.
In truth, he didn't need her for much. Seeing her sit there made him want to tease her, touch her, kiss her, hold her—it was a very primal desire, like the attraction between the north and south poles of magnets, his hands just yearned to stick to her body.
He hated establishing intimate relationships, detested acting out those disgusting "I love you, you love me" scenes with any woman, much like Wen Wei, who believed himself deeply in love while flirting with everyone.
