CHAPTER 401: CHAPTER 401; HONEYMOON PHASE 1 (F)

He chuckled quietly, a rare, deep sound that rumbled through his chest.

Obediently, he set the knife aside and turned off the flame beneath the pan.

Then he leaned slightly back into her hold, allowing himself to be held. Back hugs were only done by the trusted people and no one else

"You drank more than you were supposed to," he said, though there was no reprimand in his tone. He didn’t mind indulging her for a while.

"Maybe." Her voice was small, playful, but steady. "Or maybe you pour too little."

He turned his head slightly, catching a glimpse of her through the corner of his eye, her hair brushing his shoulder, her lashes low, her warmth pressed lightly against his back.

"You’re warm," she said softly, almost to herself. "I didn’t realize how cold I was until now."

Huo Ting Cheng reached down, gently prying her fingers apart just enough to turn around in her embrace.

When he faced her, her eyes lifted to meet his, glazed slightly with wine, but clear in a way that struck deeper than the alcohol ever could.

"You get bold when you’re drunk," he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

She smiled faintly, gaze not breaking from his. "And you get soft when you think I am."

For a second, something flickered between them, a quiet pulse of understanding, the unspoken kind of affection that needed no grand gestures.

His thumb lingered against her jaw, tracing the faint heat of her flushed skin. "I’m not soft," he said quietly, though the tenderness in his tone betrayed the words.

She tilted her head, teasing gently. "No? Then what are you?"

He leaned in, the faintest smile curving at his lips. "Patient." And it was only for her... She was the only one allowed to.

Her laughter came like a whisper, light, genuine, the sound filling the kitchen like sunlight breaking through clouds.

"Then be patient with me a little longer," she said softly, resting her forehead against his chest, breathing in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He exhaled, his hand settling around her waist, grounding her there. "Always," he murmured.

The pan still held residual heat behind them, the food temporarily forgotten, as the sea breeze drifted through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of salt and citrus and something gentler, peace, possibility, promise.

The air between them thickened.

Tang Fei’s gaze drifted past his shoulder to the cooling pan, then back to him.

Her breath was warm, faintly tinged with wine, but her eyes were clear, determined.

Without a word, she reached over and turned off the burner completely, the soft click echoing in the quiet kitchen.

Then her fingers caught the front of his shirt, steady and sure, and she pushed him back until his shoulders met the cool surface of the refrigerator.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, unflinching, unreadable, the faintest curve of surprise tugging at his lips.

"Fei’er..." he was slightly startled, voice low, questioning.

She didn’t let him finish.

Her hands flattened against his chest, and she rose on her toes, closing the small distance between them.

Her lips found his in a sudden, consuming kiss, not hesitant, not soft, but full of heat and unspoken want.

The kind that left no room for reason or second-guessing.

Huo Ting Cheng didn’t pull away.

His breath hitched once, his hand instinctively finding the small end of her back.

But he didn’t lead, not this time.

He let her move against him, her kiss deepening with each heartbeat, tasting faintly of wine and defiance and desire.

When she finally broke away, her forehead rested against his, breath unsteady, her fingers still clutching his shirt as if she feared he might vanish if she let go.

"Food isn’t important right now," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, half from nerves, half from something fiercer. "I can’t... hold back anymore."

For a long second, he said nothing.

His eyes searched hers, steady, measuring, then softened with something she couldn’t quite name but felt in every nerve ending.

He brushed his thumb along her jaw, tracing the edge of her flushed cheek. "Tang Fei," he said quietly, "you’re dangerous when you decide what you want."

"Then stop me," she murmured, eyes glinting with challenge.

He didn’t.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing hers again, slower this time, deeper, more deliberate, until the rest of the world, the villa, the sea, the faint sound of waves, fell away completely.

Her breath came quick, shallow.

The refrigerator’s hum was the only sound between them, steady and low like a heartbeat underlying everything.

Huo Ting Cheng didn’t move at first.

He just watched her, her flushed cheeks, the wine-bright glint in her eyes, the way her fingers trembled where they clutched his shirt, betraying the boldness of her actions.

Then, slowly, deliberately, his hand came up to cover hers.

His palm was warm, firm, steady where she was shaking.

"You’ve had enough wine," he murmured, his voice softer now, a deep thread that slid through the air like velvet over skin.

Her lips curved faintly, defiant. "Maybe I’ve had just enough."

He exhaled a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. "Is that so?"

Before she could answer, his hand moved, not rough, not hurried, guiding her wrists away from his shirt, his fingers tracing her skin with a calm precision that made her pulse stutter and skip.

She looked up at him, breath hitching in anticipation.

He leaned forward just a little, their foreheads brushing in that intimate space where breath mingles.

"If you start something, Fei’er," he whispered, his voice dropping to something almost dangerous, "be ready for me to finish it."

Her fingers hesitated against his chest, but she didn’t step back.

Instead, she pressed closer. "I know."

That was all it took.

The control shifted without force, like the turning of a tide, inevitable and natural.

One moment, she was pressing him against the fridge, and the next, he had her anchored gently between his arms, his body a warm cage that somehow felt like freedom.