Qiao Xi slept soundly on the tatami, her long hair draping onto her skin, barely covering the important parts.
It was tantalizingly indistinct.
Huo Xingzhou's eyes were deep as they swept over her.
She had drunk alcohol, and her skin was flushed with a delicate pink. For some reason, he thought of the phrase "spring sleep under begonia trees, voluptuous and charming."
He caught sight of the most depraved and persistent desire deep within his heart, an uncontrollable craving.
He lowered his eyelashes and took out a sketchpad he hadn't used in years from the cabinet, his slender fingers holding a pen. Smooth lines fell onto the paper…
His body was burning hot, unbearable.
He scrutinized every inch of her skin with his sharp gaze, every different shade, every detail deeply imprinted in his mind.
Those things he hadn't done in reality were repeated over and over again under his lingering and invasive gaze.
The night deepened.
