Her waist ached. Zhou Luchen had forced her to call the teahouse early that morning to request sick leave, domineeringly keeping her with him and refusing to let her return.
Shen Jing lay on top of him, a thin blanket only covering their waists.
It was a gloomy, rainy day.
The entire glass window was covered in misty droplets, looking both alluring and ensnaring.
Zhou Luchen's palm stroked her smooth back, occasionally pinching. Only when he heard her soft "AH!" did he curl his lips in satisfaction and cease his teasing.
"Vixen."
She wanted to retort but found her throat so hoarse she didn't want to speak.
He would laugh at her, tease her for being both unskilled and yet fond of playing.
The phone under the pillow kept ringing. She got off Zhou Luchen, turned her back to him, and took out her phone to reply to messages.
There were many questions from the other side, so Shen Jing had to patiently type out her replies.
