In the bedroom, the ceiling lamp cast a soft warm light. Wu Yun lay in Song Guanchao's strong arms, her rosy lips slightly parted, and her breathing a bit rapid.
There were still traces of a blush on her cheeks after intense activity.
Her snow-white clavicle was exposed outside the duvet, with beads of sweat still on her skin.
This more-than-half-hour process was the culmination of Wu Yun's three years of anticipation.
The process was wonderful, a joy she had never experienced before.
The union was like water blending with milk; at a certain moment, she felt a sense of merging with Song Guanchao, becoming indistinguishable.
There were even traces of scratches on Song Guanchao's back from her.
After resting for a while, Wu Yun squirmed in the nest of blankets, climbed onto him, and said in a shy yet bold tone, "I want more!"
...
