“Why are you here?” Li Jiao gripped the door handle, watching the rise and fall of Song Li Sheng’s chest beneath his black trench coat.
Had the heavens taken pity on her, seeing her all alone in the hotel, and specially sent her little husband falling from the sky?
“There’s a conference in France in a few days. I happened to be in the area and thought I’d visit you,” Song Li Sheng said, taking a step forward and tilting his head slightly. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“Of course not.” Li Jiao shook her head, her crystal-clear eyes glimmering.
“Then… may I come in?” Song Li Sheng reached out to brace against the doorframe, leaning forward as he pressed further.
Seeing the shadow cast over her, Li Jiao felt uncomfortable. She never liked this feeling of being invaded.
But after all, her little husband had come specifically to see her.
Li Jiao merely took a step back without showing much resistance, retreating from that “territory.” “Come in.”
Song Li Sheng noticed her movement, his dark eyes deepening slightly as he followed Li Jiao into the room and closed the door behind him.
The room was dim, with heavy curtains blocking all light, leaving only the deep yellow glow identical to that in the hallway.
Li Jiao walked slowly, carefully controlling her steps to maintain steadiness.
Song Li Sheng followed closely behind her, watching her clasped hands, suddenly feeling a slight itch.
He remembered how naturally Li Jiao had taken his hand that day.
Driven by his innate nature as one in power, he never restrained his desires—if he wanted something, he would pursue it.
So, Song Li Sheng reached out, intending to grasp that soft hand.
Yet the moment he touched the back of her hand, Li Jiao jerked away as if electrocuted.
His arm froze mid-air.
Li Jiao turned around, hurriedly hiding her hands behind her back, her eyes wide as she demanded, “What are you doing?”
She thought her hidden secret had been discovered.
Showing fear or embarrassment in front of her male consort was absolutely unacceptable—such words didn’t exist in Li Jiao’s dictionary!
If he found out she couldn’t even hold a gun properly and had injured her hands, where would her dignity as husband-in-chief be?
But her evasion caused Song Li Sheng’s expression to darken completely.
His eyes, originally like obsidian, now deepened into pitch-black pools of cold water.
Why was Li Jiao suddenly resisting his closeness?
Had she found another man in just a few short days?
Profiles of Lu Chexi, Zhou Wenyuan, and Jing Shaoyin flashed through his mind.
Countless possibilities swirled in Song Li Sheng’s thoughts.
His gaze toward Li Jiao grew increasingly shadowy as he suppressed his anger, asking in a deceptively normal tone, “Am I not allowed to touch you?”
“?” Li Jiao wanted to say, what nonsense is this?
But looking into those unreadable eyes, she frowned in thought—had her action been that hurtful?
So she explained, “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what is it?” Song Li Sheng suddenly smiled, still pressing relentlessly.
Her male consort was acting strange today.
That was Li Jiao’s only thought.
She didn’t particularly like being watched like this.
“What’s wrong with you?” Li Jiao took a step forward until the tip of her slippers touched the toes of Song Li Sheng’s boots.
She raised her head to stare intently into his eyes.
Alright, with the rippling light in Song Li Sheng’s eyes, Li Jiao thought he seemed about to cry.
Clearly, she had mistaken firelight for tears.
It probably wasn’t appropriate to be so serious with her Male Consort. Men were creatures that needed careful nurturing.
Li Jiao had no doubt that if she said anything more, Song Li Sheng would press his lips together and start crying.
She didn’t share the vulgar and unsavory preferences of other spoiled nobles.
Except in bed, she didn’t want to see her man reduced to tears by her bullying.
If he just wanted to hold hands, she should let him.
So spoiled. How annoying.
Song Li Sheng had no idea what Li Jiao was thinking at that moment. To him, her raised chin seemed to declare she would never let him touch her.
Stubborn, resolute, and unyielding.
Meeting her eyes—which clearly reflected his image yet remained merciless—he gritted his teeth, his hand at his side involuntarily lifting slightly.
Song Li Sheng truly wanted to tear away all restraining pretenses, press down on Li Jiao’s delicate shoulders, and forcefully claim those red lips.
The fire in his eyes was nearly uncontrollable, yet Li Jiao remained completely unaware, taking another step back under his gaze.
The thread restraining his violent impulses snapped in Song Li Sheng’s mind. He lowered his head, his smile growing more pronounced.
Pressing his tongue against his molars, he reached out to seize Li Jiao’s slender wrist, intent on crushing her against his chest.
Making her unable to move or escape.
That would be perfect.
Yet just as Song Li Sheng opened his palm, Li Jiao clenched her fist and bumped it against his hand.
“If you want to hold hands, then hold them.”
Li Jiao looked at Song Li Sheng’s “tearful” expression, still masked by a forced smile, and spoke with a soft, helpless heart. “I never said I wouldn’t let you.”
His pale, pink-knuckled hand enveloped her small fist.
The fire in Song Li Sheng, just about to ignite, was suddenly doused with cold water.
His cool palm closed again and again, and when he confirmed he could truly feel Li Jiao’s warm skin, he was satisfied, having gotten his wish.
The violent thoughts instantly faded, and the thread in his mind vigorously regrew.
Flushed with joy, his mind grew feverish.
His thumb secretly stroked the back of Li Jiao’s delicate hand, finding it hard to let go.
“Is this enough?” Li Jiao watched Song Li Sheng’s expression, seeing the moisture vanish from his eyes, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.
The back of her hand tingled slightly from his touch, like a kitten’s paw tickling the tip of her heart.
Since she had indulged her Male Consort’s little whim, it was time to claim some reward.
A sly glint flashed in Li Jiao’s eyes. She extended her uninjured index finger and beckoned to Song Li Sheng. “Lower your head, come closer.”
Though puzzled, Song Li Sheng obediently bent down and lowered his head.
It seemed he was still quite docile.
Li Jiao was satisfied too. She used that same finger to scratch Song Li Sheng’s chin, causing the person beside her to tremble slightly and lift his eyelids.
His lashes cast a small shadow beneath his eyes.
They were so close that Song Li Sheng seemed to realize what Li Jiao intended to do.
So he remained perfectly still, his gaze burning with hidden anticipation, waiting for her next move.
Without the slightest hesitation, Li Jiao kissed the side of his face—a face so handsome, as if carved from jade by a favored creator.