Lu Ziyang's belated affection struck him like a morning bell tolling at noon, rousing his sluggish self, though far too late.
He didn't know what scriptures to recite or what rituals to perform to guide himself into her heart.
After all, the one she'd always loved was Chen Ling.
Who was Chen Ling?
He was a man flawless in every way, save for being an adopted son.
Ever since Chen Ling arrived at the Chen family, every gaze and ounce of affection had fixed upon him.
Chen Ling was the fabled "other people's child"—brilliant, modest, and compassionate.
Jian Ningzhi would yank Lu Ziyang by the ear daily, scolding him with a monthly serving of household discipline, yet she never tired of singing Chen Ling's praises:
"If I had a son like him, I'd wake up laughing in my sleep. I'd gleefully kick you out and wait for my dutiful boy to care for me in my old age."
Xu Xiaoyi adored Chen Ling, Jian Ningzhi adored Chen Ling, and Yaxi adored Chen Ling too.
"What's on your mind?" Yaxi shoved his face aside, her tender emotions veiled by a sultry smile.
Lu Ziyang shook his head, crestfallen.
"Get off," Yaxi said.
Lu Ziyang frowned, confused, still wanting to flip her over, grope her breasts from behind, and run his tongue along her spine.
Yaxi's voice turned icy: "Get off. Let go."
In Lu Ziyang's mind, the person he loved and the person he craved began to split into two vastly different concepts.
This divide left him deflated, yet it sparked a thrill he'd never known—a rush Xu Xiaoyi had never ignited in him.
He feared that the slightest misstep might upset her, and she'd walk away without a care.
So Lu Ziyang obeyed her command without protest.
"Strip naked. Every last piece. Lie down on your own."
His heart skipped a beat, and he complied.
After peeling off his shirt, he shivered faintly, realizing that even with the heater humming, being bare still felt cold.
But Yaxi didn't utter a single complaint.
At last, with his pulse hammering, he tugged his swollen, erect cock free from his tight briefs under Yaxi's watchful gaze.
His pants slid down his toned thighs, his heavy sack swinging a few times.
Lu Ziyang lay back, his thick, rigid length jutting into the air, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.
Nerves tightened his chest; he turned his head aside and pressed the back of his hand over his eyes.
Yaxi savored his display, then stepped over him, her feet straddling his waist.
She began to shed her pants: "Lu Ziyang."
He felt her delicate toes graze the firm flesh of his waist.
He held his breath, refusing to lower his hand.
She stripped off her pants and tossed them onto his face: "Lu Ziyang, look at me."
Only then did he shift his hand, peering timidly at her body through the gap in her school trousers.
Flesh-toned cotton panties hugged the plump swell below, her thick thighs pressed together beneath.
Her long, sleek calves gleamed smooth, a faint blush tinting her knees.
Her figure was lush yet lithe—more perfect than anything he'd conjured in his dreams.
"Ever tasted a woman down there?" Yaxi gazed down at him, her sole sliding over his thigh.
Her foot was cool, his leg burned hot. His long legs splayed wide, aching to press against her foot and move on his own, to let her chill every inch of him, drowning in her presence on this winter night.
"No… never," he rasped weakly. "I'm—"
I'm a virgin.
Yaxi hooked a leg and slipped off her panties.
With her toes, she flicked the school pants off his face, baring her slit for him to see.
Now Lu Ziyang could clearly take in Yaxi's lower half as she towered above him.
Sparse, pale black hair framed her fleshy mound, where two slick, small lips peeked out, quivering faintly with her every shift. Beyond that, his view stopped short.
He stared, transfixed, until a sting hit his face and his sight was blocked again. A musky, sweet scent wafted over him.
Instinctively, he licked what she'd just thrown his way, realizing it was a featherlight scrap of fabric.
The spot his tongue grazed was damp. Another lick—it was salty, but intoxicatingly fragrant.
When it dawned on him what it was, his frayed nerves snapped. His muscles throbbed with tension, as if something inside him was about to burst.
Fuck, these were Yaxi's panties. What he'd licked was the wetness from her pussy moments ago.
Could she stop torturing him? He wanted to fuck her so badly, wanted her to writhe willingly beneath him.
"So, you've tasted it now? How's a woman's pussy taste?" Yaxi asked with a soft chuckle, bending to pull on her pantyhose from the floor.
White socks swallowed her toes, caressed her rosy calves, and paused just above her knees.
From there, it was perforated lace stockings, linked by fragile straps that begged to be snapped, leading straight to the "pants."
But how could you call them pants?