"Mr. Shang, I don't have the strength anymore," Wen Zhi twisted her wrist, her voice coquettishly soft.
He told her to press harder, and she did, but soon her wrist began to ache unbearably.
Shang Hexing said nonchalantly, "Multitasking."
"When have I multitasked?" Wen Zhi retorted, while bending over from behind him, close to his temple.
Her scent, faint yet enchanting, lingered at his nostrils. He opened his eyes, and his gaze darkened, "Trying to please me while thinking about the person you're meeting, isn't that multitasking?"
"It isn't," she denied.
Then she gently placed her hand on the back of the sofa, her pale fingertips contrasting starkly against his black shirt.
Black and white, prohibition and desire.
She tilted her head, staring at the side of his neck where light blue veins rose sensuously, exuding an indescribable wildness and power.
"What are you looking at?" he sensed her gaze.
