Chapter 7

Wen Yan felt as if she were burning from the inside out.

Blood surged through her veins; her heart hammered against her ribs, and every cell in her body cried out for more of the woman in front of her. A wildfire had ignited deep in her marrow, setting her whole body alight.

Her hand around Jin Zijin’s waist tightened.

The next second, she was on her feet. Her right hand slid up along Jin Zijin’s waistline; her palm settled into the hollow of her spine as she pulled the woman toward herself with irresistible force.

Wen Yan lowered her head and bit Jin Zijin’s lip.

The kiss was fierce and rough, like a traveler who had crossed three days of desert finally finding an oasis—greedy, brutal in its thirst. Their teeth knocked together with faint clicks.

Jin Zijin gave a muffled sound, but she lifted her chin on her own, meeting Wen Yan’s tongue.

Their breaths tangled completely.

The white light from the entryway’s ceiling lamp shone coldly overhead, casting their overlapping shadows onto the dark gray wall.

Wen Yan kissed her deep and fast; Jin Zijin was pinned between the foyer cabinet and Wen Yan’s body, her lower back pressing against the edge of the cabinet, but she had no time to care about the pain.

She clung to Wen Yan’s shoulders, fingertips sinking into the cashmere sweater as she felt the taut lines of muscle beneath the fabric.

Too hot.

Wen Yan’s body temperature was alarmingly high; her breath burned at Jin Zijin’s neck.

Through the lingering chill of disinfectant, Jin Zijin faintly caught another scent coming off Wen Yan: a sweet, fruity fragrance.

Wax apple.

Very faint, but somehow intoxicating.

The two completely different scents mingled together, creating a strangely aphrodisiac effect.

Jin Zijin’s whole body was trembling.

The fine tingling that shot up from the base of her spine made her knees weak until she could barely stand.

“Wen... Yan...” she forced out between their tangled lips and teeth, her fingers fumbling through Wen Yan’s hair, unable to decide whether she wanted to push her away or pull her closer.

Wen Yan paused.

Then she bent down, slid one arm under Jin Zijin’s knees, and with one firm motion lifted her straight off the ground.

Caught completely off guard, Jin Zijin let out a soft cry. “You—”

Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around Wen Yan’s neck.

Wen Yan said nothing. Holding her, she walked straight toward the living room.

Her high heels were still left askew in the entryway. Barefoot, she stepped over the cool floor as steadily as if she were walking toward an operating table.

The living room main light was off; only a floor lamp glowed from the corner.

Its dim yellow light was like a small pool of melted honey, barely outlining the furniture.

Wen Yan stopped in front of the large Minotti sofa and bent to set Jin Zijin down.

The sofa was soft as clouds; the moment Jin Zijin sank into it, Wen Yan followed her down.

The kiss came again.

This time it was even fiercer.

Wen Yan braced one hand beside Jin Zijin’s ear, the other cupping her face; her thumb absently rubbed along the line of her jaw.

The kiss traveled from her lips to her chin, then down to her neck, leaving wet traces behind.

Jin Zijin was trapped between the sofa and Wen Yan’s body, head tipped back as she endured it.

The back zipper of her evening dress had long since loosened; one strap had slipped off, revealing a large expanse of fair skin.

When Wen Yan’s lips touched there, Jin Zijin suddenly arched her back, her fingers burying deeply into Wen Yan’s hair.

“Don’t...” Her voice shook hard. “Wen Yan...”

Wen Yan lifted her head. Her eyes were startlingly bright in the dim light.

She looked at Jin Zijin’s flushed cheeks, her damp lashes, her slightly parted lips; her throat bobbed, and then she bent down and kissed her again.

This time the kiss was slow, heavy, as if she were tasting something precious.

Jin Zijin shut her eyes, trembling all over.

She could clearly feel Wen Yan’s hand slide from her waist and, through the fabric of her cashmere dress, settle on the outside of her thigh.

That hand was very hot; the palm carried the fine calluses left by years of holding surgical instruments. When it rubbed over her skin, it sent a shiver through her.

She bit her lower lip, then finally reached out and took Wen Yan’s wrist, guiding it downward.

Wen Yan froze.

She lifted her head, a layer of moisture still misting in her eyes as she looked at her blankly. “But I haven’t...”

Wasn’t washed.

They had just come back from dinner, and neither of them had showered yet. It really was...

Wen Yan gave a helpless smile and was about to stand. “I’ll carry you to the bathroom first.”

But Jin Zijin held on to her tightly.

She propped herself up and leaned close to Wen Yan’s ear; her damp, warm breath poured into it, her voice husky as if she were sharing a secret.

“In the left pocket.”

Wen Yan froze.

She looked at Jin Zijin. The other woman’s cheeks were bright red, her eyes shimmering; she was obviously lost in passion, yet there was a glint of sly satisfaction hidden in her gaze.

Wen Yan reached out and slipped her hand into the left pocket of Jin Zijin’s trench coat.

Her fingertips touched a hard, square little box.

She took it out.

Under the white light, the garish packaging came into view.

Bright yellow, printed with an exaggerated orange design, with a small line of English in the lower right corner: Orange Flavor.

Wen Yan stared at the box for two seconds, then suddenly laughed.

A low laugh rumbled up from her chest, carrying a note of disbelieving pleasure.

“Orange-flavored,” she read aloud, then looked up at Jin Zijin with curious eyes. “When did you prepare this?”

Jin Zijin’s face burned even hotter.

She lifted a leg and kicked Wen Yan lightly but not too lightly. “Less nonsense... hurry up.”

Her tone was fierce, but the end of her sentence trembled.

Wen Yan didn’t tease her further. She tore open the package deftly, pulled out the silver foil inside, and bit it open with her teeth.

The transparent film glinted faintly under the light. She lowered her eyes, her movements a little unfamiliar yet unusually serious as she unfolded it.

Because she was taller than the average woman, and because she had spent years holding scalpels and practicing with instruments, Wen Yan’s knuckles were more defined than most women’s, her fingers longer too.

When the thin film went on, the tight constriction was not exactly comfortable.

She frowned and flexed her fingers a few times, getting used to it before looking back at Jin Zijin.

The woman was still lying on the sofa, her hair spread in disarray, trench coat open to reveal the cream-colored cashmere dress beneath.

One leg was bent, her knee braced against Wen Yan’s waist; the other was still draped over the armrest.

In the dim light, her flushed skin looked like fine white jade touched by a blush of sunset.

Wen Yan leaned down and pressed into her embrace.

Jin Zijin reacted almost immediately. “G-gentler...”

Wen Yan said nothing.

She tightened her hold around Jin Zijin’s waist and bent to kiss her earlobe. “Hold on tight.”

The instant the words fell, Jin Zijin’s vision blurred.

The tree-branch chandelier overhead began to sway; the glaring white light fractured into pieces like broken ice in sunlight.

Every movement Wen Yan made was terrifyingly precise, like the work of a delicate procedure, as if she knew exactly where to press to make her tremble and where to push to make her lose control.

Everything was urgent and fierce.

Jin Zijin tipped her head back, her neck drawing into a fragile curve.

Then she suddenly opened her mouth and bit Wen Yan’s chin.

——

Wen Yan had never experienced anything like this before.

If the night before had been an exploration driven by instinct in a daze, then right now she was fully aware of exactly what she was doing.

She was making Jin Zijin lose control.

Listening to her suppressed breathing turn into broken sobs; feeling every inch of her body tremble.

She felt as though some succubus from an ancient legend had bewitched her, turning her reason to ash and leaving only greed, over and over again, to take more.

Jin Zijin really couldn’t take it anymore.

“That’s enough...” she cried. “Wen Yan...”

Wen Yan paused.

She looked down at the person in her arms.

Jin Zijin’s entire face was red from crying.

Her lashes were clumped wetly together; her lips were red as blood; her chest rose and fell violently.

There was no trace left of the poised, composed Chairman Jin from the video.

Something in Wen Yan’s heart softened until it ached.

She bent down and gently kissed away the tears at the corner of Jin Zijin’s eyes, tasting the salty bitterness on her tongue.

But what she said was, “Wait a little longer.”

Her voice was low and hoarse, coaxing in a way that left no room to refuse.

“One last time.”

Jin Zijin shook her head and was about to say something when Wen Yan kissed her again.

She waited once.

Then waited once more.

Only when that orange-flavored box was completely empty, the scattered silver wrappers glinting faintly on the floor beneath the sofa, did Wen Yan finally stop.

She was panting; sweat slid down from her forehead and landed in the hollow of Jin Zijin’s collarbone, gathering into a small patch of glistening moisture.

Jin Zijin didn’t even have the strength to lift a hand anymore. She lay limp on the sofa like a fish hauled from the water.

Wen Yan looked at her for a moment, then stood up and picked up the dark gray cashmere coat from the floor.

She shook it out and carefully wrapped Jin Zijin in it, then lifted her again.

This time Jin Zijin didn’t even have the strength to protest.

She let Wen Yan carry her, her face buried in Wen Yan’s neck, breathing in the complicated scent of sweat, disinfectant, and wax apple on her body, hazily thinking: this woman’s stamina is... terrifying.

Wen Yan carried her upstairs into the master bedroom bathroom.

She set Jin Zijin on the washstand and turned to adjust the hot water.

The shower turned on; steam quickly filled the room, blurring the mirror.

They stood together beneath the hot water.

Wen Yan squeezed out some body wash, worked it into foam between her hands, then began to bathe Jin Zijin.

Her movements were very gentle, very careful, as if she were handling something fragile and precious.

From hair to neck, then shoulders, arms, waist, legs... inch by inch, she washed her clean.

Jin Zijin closed her eyes and let herself be handled.

When she was done, Wen Yan wrapped her in a bath towel, carried her out of the bathroom, and set her on the bed.

Then she turned to fetch the hair dryer, plugged it in, sat down by the bed, and began to dry her hair.

The hum of the dryer echoed softly in the quiet bedroom.

Jin Zijin sat on the edge of the bed in a bathrobe, her long hair falling loose around her shoulders, her expression languid and tired, like a giant Maine Coon that had just been washed.

Noble, elegant, her whole body radiating a lazy, sated air.

She enjoyed the sensation of Wen Yan’s fingers threading through her hair, the warmth of the hot air brushing over her scalp, and then suddenly spoke.

“I didn’t expect Dr. Wen to be so good at taking care of people.”

Her voice was still a little hoarse, but it had already returned to that familiar, slightly teasing tone.

Wen Yan turned off the hair dryer and looked down at her. “Do I?”

“Yes.” Jin Zijin turned her head and looked up at her. Her cheeks were still pink from the steam, and a sheen lingered in her eyes after passion, making her look much softer than usual. “You’re very skilled.”

Wen Yan thought about it. “I don’t often dry other people’s hair. But... someone else did it for me before; I just copied what they did.”

The smile on Jin Zijin’s face faded a little.

“Oh?” She raised a brow. “Someone else? Who?”

“An older female student.” Wen Yan answered naturally. “During university, I got injured in training and my hand wasn’t very convenient, so she helped dry it a few times.”

Jin Zijin pressed her lips together.

“Tch, an older female student...” she repeated softly, a trace of jealousy she herself hadn’t noticed in her tone.

After a pause, Jin Zijin couldn’t help asking, “Then your technique... was that also learned from that older female student?”

The moment the words left her mouth, she froze first.

Too obvious.

That awkward little note of jealousy was so clear that even she found it irritating.

Wen Yan naturally noticed it too.

She turned off the hair dryer, unplugged it, and set it on the bedside table.

Then she turned to face Jin Zijin, looking at her earnestly. “Do you think I and that older student...?”

“No.” Jin Zijin cut her off at once and looked away. “I was just asking casually. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Though she said that, the tips of her ears were already quietly turning red.

Wen Yan looked at her and suddenly smiled.

She reached out, tucked the damp strand of hair by Jin Zijin’s cheek behind her ear, and let her fingertip brush the hot shell of her ear.

“I told you,” she said softly, “I don’t have anyone I like, and I’ve never done anything with anyone.”

She paused and looked into Jin Zijin’s eyes. “Kissing, including what we just did... all of it was my first time with you.”

Jin Zijin froze.

She looked at Wen Yan; looked at the sincerity with no trace of evasion in her clear eyes, her own reflection mirrored there.

Something inside her seemed to be lightly struck.

The sour, awkward feeling slowly faded, replaced by something softer and warmer.

“I...” She opened her mouth, rare for her to be at a loss for words. “I just thought your technique was... too good, so I assumed you had experience.”

Wen Yan blinked. “My technique is that good?”

Jin Zijin: “...”

Looking at Wen Yan’s face, so openly filled with curiosity, she didn’t know whether to be angry or laugh.

“Yes.” She turned her face away, her voice so low it sounded almost like she was talking to herself. “Very good.”

Otherwise she wouldn’t still be so weak in the legs, to the point that even drying her hair required someone else’s help.

Hearing that, Wen Yan let out a long breath.

“That’s great,” she said quietly, her tone full of relieved gratitude. “I was worried I only had brute strength...”

“After all, you pushed me away several times in the middle. I thought you weren’t that comfortable...”

Jin Zijin’s face went bright red in an instant.

“I was...” She bit her lower lip, rare embarrassment and irritation showing on her face. “I was just too... forget it.”

She couldn’t say it.

Was she supposed to say, “Because you were too good, I couldn’t take it”?

Wen Yan was still waiting for an answer, her eyes shining. “Too what?”

“...Anyway,” Jin Zijin took a deep breath, lifted her head, and forced herself to keep her expression calm. “Your technique is very good.”

Wen Yan nodded thoughtfully.

Then, as if she had suddenly thought of something, she tilted her head and asked, “Then am I the best at it among the people you’ve been with?”

The question was straightforward and innocent.

Jin Zijin froze for two whole seconds, and her face went even redder.

Looking at Wen Yan’s clear eyes, not a trace of impurity in them, she suddenly felt that this woman was terrifyingly honest in some ways, and adorably foolish in others.

She lowered her head and stared at the sash of her bathrobe, her voice so small it was almost inaudible. “I’ve only... been with you.”

After a pause, she added in an even smaller voice, “Of course you’re the best.”

This time, it was Wen Yan’s turn to freeze.

She looked at Jin Zijin’s lowered lashes, her reddened ears, that pale neck exposed beyond the collar of her robe; her mind kept repeating the same two lines.

“I’ve only been with you.”

“Of course you’re the best.”

After a few seconds of silence, Wen Yan laughed softly.

She reached out, cupped Jin Zijin’s face, and forced her to look up at her.

Their eyes met.

Wen Yan’s eyes were bright as if filled with stars.

“Jin Zijin,” she called her by her full name, her voice bright with pleasure and delight, “I’m very happy.”

“Really, very happy.”