Watching Xia Xue, who had broken out in enticing sweat from helping Wang Bin, Zhang Yang couldn't help but slip his hand into the neckline that had become disheveled in the commotion.
He grabbed hold of the tumultuous fullness with one grasp.
Zhang Yang only felt his mouth go dry, perhaps due to the copious amount of alcohol he had drunk earlier that evening, when he touched the round and soft mounds of Xia Xue.
He felt an immense comfort, the wonderful sensation of his hand being unable to contain them, seemingly more intense than usual.
Xia Xue's cheeks were also furiously red, and in the instant that Zhang Yang touched her, she couldn't help but cry out, "Ah, Zhang Yang, don't!"
Xia Xue was truly frightened to death; her nominal husband was on the sofa, not more than two steps away from them.
Right now, should Wang Bin open his eyes, he would see his wife's blouse undone, her fair, tender breasts clad in a bra, completely exposed.
