25 – A Kiss of Playing House
Wen Yanchuan did not return to the bedroom. Instead, he carried Wen Man to the study.
Inside the study, a lamp glowed softly.
The entire room was extremely retro, styled after medieval Europe. A large black lacquered wooden bookshelf stood to one side, occupying a significant amount of space. Near the window, an easel was placed, holding a painting by a famous European artist. Wen Man had seen it at an auction—it was worth a fortune. Yet now, it was casually displayed on the wooden-framed easel, not even covered with a cloth, as if it were merely a decoration rather than a valuable art collection.
Wen Yanchuan carried her to the desk, casually pulled open a drawer, and took out a pure white cigarette case and a lighter.
Perhaps finding it inconvenient, Wen Yanchuan placed Wen Man on the desk.
It was a black pearwood desk, its legs carved with intricate floral patterns, raised on four curved feet.
Perhaps because it was too close to the window, a faint chill seeped through the European-style semi-circular window and settled on the desk’s surface. The moment Wen Man’s skin touched it, she shivered from the cold.
Her brows furrowed slightly, and her lips pursed, as if she were quite displeased with Wen Yanchuan for placing her on the desk. “It’s cold!”
Wen Yanchuan glanced at her, placed a cigarette between his lips, and flicked the lighter open. “So delicate.”
Hearing Wen Yanchuan say this about her, Wen Man felt a bit unhappy. She lifted her foot and gently hooked it around Wen Yanchuan’s pant leg, retracting it as soon as she touched his strong, sturdy calf.
Wen Yanchuan looked down at Wen Man’s actions, took a deep breath, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke through his thin lips. He pulled over a nearby carved wooden chair and sat down, leaning back against the cushion, his arm resting on the armrest, his fingers holding the cigarette casually.
“Sit here.”
Wen Yanchuan directed Wen Man.
Wen Man glanced at Wen Yanchuan, then looked at her own feet.
She hadn’t brought any shoes, and the desk was quite high. Although there was a carpet in the study, she didn’t want to step on it barefoot.
A mischievous thought crossed her mind. Wen Man stepped onto Wen Yanchuan’s shoes, lightly balanced herself, and sat on his lap. This time, she sat sideways, the bends of her legs resting on Wen Yanchuan’s thighs, her entire body leaning against his chest.
Wen Yanchuan was tall, nearly six-foot-three, while Wen Man, at five-foot-seven, appeared quite petite in his embrace.
Wen Man liked it—she felt safe.
Wen Yanchuan looked down at Wen Man, scolding her for stepping on his shoes earlier. “So bold?”
Wen Man pouted, wrapped her arms around Wen Yanchuan’s neck, and complained with righteous indignation. “I don’t have shoes, and Mr. Wen wouldn’t carry me.”
Wen Yanchuan chuckled softly and patted her bottom lightly. “Blaming me?”
Wen Man didn’t deny it, pressing herself even closer against Wen Yanchuan.
“Mm.”
The scent of cedar mixed with the smell of burning tobacco spread around Wen Man. She didn’t dislike it—in fact, she rather liked it.
At that moment, she was utterly captivated by Wen Yanchuan’s scent. Wen Man sniffed gently at the collar of his shirt, wanting to memorize this fragrance.
Wen Yanchuan noticed her little action, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile, his eyes filled with amusement. “Like a puppy?”
Wen Man pursed her lips, hiding the emotions in her eyes. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to smell it again in the future.”
Wen Yanchuan’s smile faded, his voice low.
“Don’t say foolish things.”
Wen Man did not respond, turning her head to look at Wen Yanchuan’s hand holding the cigarette—slender and pale, with faintly prominent veins and knuckles like bones.
She reached out, playing with Wen Yanchuan’s hand. Wen Yanchuan did not move, watching her quietly, allowing her actions.
It wasn’t until Wen Man extended her hand to take the cigarette from between his fingers that Wen Yanchuan stirred slightly. “Don’t move.”
“Just for a moment.”
Wen Man’s voice was coquettish.
She took the cigarette, pressing the filter against her lips, gently holding it between them. It was the same spot Wen Yanchuan had held earlier, now enveloped by her red lips as the ember flickered.
Wen Yanchuan turned his head to look at her. “Exhale.”
Wen Man removed the cigarette, obediently parting her lips slightly as a wisp of smoke drifted from her mouth.
Through the haze, she observed Wen Yanchuan’s expression—his sharp brows slightly furrowed, eyes holding an unreadable emotion, his nose bridge high and straight. To Wen Man, he was a masterpiece of human artistry.
Before the smoke could fully dissipate, Wen Man leaned slightly closer to Wen Yanchuan, doing what she had wanted to do all along but lacked the courage for.
Her head tilted slightly, her cold nose brushing against Wen Yanchuan’s cheek and nose bridge. In the thick haze, she gently closed her eyes, her long lashes lightly sweeping across his cheek.
Her red lips softly pressed against Wen Yanchuan’s lips, the touch cold.
Wen Yanchuan’s body trembled slightly, his gaze darkening. The cigarette between his fingertips fell to the ground, burning a hole into the exquisite carpet.
Wen Man gently nibbled at Wen Yanchuan’s lips, clumsily rubbing and grazing them.
Wen Yanchuan didn’t give her the chance to continue her awkward kiss. His large hand gripped her waist, pressing his lips firmly against hers.
His kiss was fierce, unlike Wen Man’s clumsy, childlike attempt.
He nibbled and teased with interest—not painful, but full of aggression, bringing tears to Wen Man’s eyes.
Wen Yanchuan’s hormones invaded her breath, one large hand covering her pale neck, controlling her.
Wen Man closed her eyes, as if drowning in this sea of sensation.
Wen Yanchuan lifted his gaze, squinting slightly as he observed Wen Man’s expression, thoroughly satisfied.
The air was filled with the faint smell of burning. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the tiny ember, extinguishing after scorching the carpet.
Wen Man pushed against Wen Yanchuan, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. “Mr. Wen, the carpet…!”
Wen Yanchuan tightened his embrace, holding her firmly against him, pressing her onto the table as he leaned over her. “Forget it.”
A moment later, only when Wen Man could no longer catch her breath, her face flushed red and even her shoulders tinged with pink, did Wen Yanchuan release her.
Wen Man rested her forehead against Wen Yanchuan’s chest, gasping for air.
Wen Yanchuan chuckled softly, brushing away the stray strands of hair from Wen Man’s face. “This is what a kiss should be. Miss Wen’s version is too childish, not suitable for adults.”
Wen Man bit her lip, shooting a displeased glance at Wen Yanchuan.
“Mr. Wen’s experience is far too extensive; I can’t compare. What a pity to waste a carpet over my childlike kiss.”
Wen Yanchuan let out a light laugh, his hand stroking her waist through the silk nightgown—slender, without an ounce of excess flesh.
“My first time, just a natural talent.”
Wen Man buried her head in Wen Yanchuan’s chest, her voice as faint as a mosquito’s hum. “It was my first time too.”
Wen Yanchuan’s eyes were dark and heavy, his gaze sinking. With a forceful motion, he lifted Wen Man and pressed her against the table. Startled, Wen Man felt a wave of coldness spread across her skin.
“Mr. Wen!”
Wen Yanchuan leaned in, capturing her lips. “Once more.”
“Miss Wen’s kissing skills are too poor—you still need more practice.”