He did not stop.
He had no intention of stopping.
Meng Yan's fingers tightened in his hair, no longer guiding, simply holding on, as though the ground beneath her had ceased to exist and he was the only fixed point remaining in the world. Her breathing had abandoned all pretence of rhythm. Every exhale came as a broken fragment, a gasp, a whimper, a sound she would have been mortified to hear from her own lips a mere hour ago.
Now she didn't care.
The proud matriarch of the Jin Clan sat with her head thrown back, her knuckles white, her eyes seeing nothing, and she didn't care at all.
