CHAPTER 403: CHAPTER 403; HONEYMOON PHASE 2 B (R+18)

A dark, pleased look flashed in his eyes, something primal and satisfied.

He leaned back just enough to allow her full view, arms spread slightly, offering himself to her gaze. "Look your fill," he commanded softly, voice like silk over steel.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, pulse visible in her throat.

This was more intense, more real than any daydream.

His bare chest, the clear intention in his eyes, the way he stood there letting her look, it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Seeming to read her moment of hesitation, he lowered his head, his mouth finding the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.

He didn’t just kiss, he nipped, a sharp, gentle bite that sent electricity racing through her nerves and made her gasp, her back arching involuntarily, pressing her chest against his.

His hands tightened on her hips, holding her steady, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. "Is this what you imagined?" he asked, his breath hot and damp against her skin.

"Yes," she panted, her fingers tangling in his hair, gripping perhaps too tightly but unable to control herself. "But... better. So much better."

That was all the confirmation he needed.

His hands slid up her sides, deliberately slow, thumbs brushing the lower curves of her breasts through her bra, making her breath catch and hold.

The anticipation was almost painful.

His hands continued their deliberate exploration up her sides, his thumbs now fully brushing the sensitive skin just beneath her breasts.

A full-body shiver ran through her, making her tremble against him.

"Better how?" he prompted, his voice a low rumble against her neck where his lips had returned to trace patterns on her heated skin.

He wanted to hear her say it, needed the words.

"More real," she gasped, her head falling back to give him better access, hair cascading down her back. "More... you. Not some imagined version, but really you."

That seemed to be exactly the answer he was waiting for.

His hands finally cupped her fully, his touch firm and sure through the thin lace of her bra.

Her breath hitched audibly, her fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.

"Look at me, Fei’er," he commanded softly, but with unmistakable authority.

She forced her eyes open, drowning immediately in his dark, intense gaze.

He held that connection as his fingers deftly found the clasp at her back.

With a quiet snap that seemed loud in the charged silence, it came loose.

He didn’t remove it immediately, just let the tension release, his knuckles brushing deliberately against her spine in a touch that was both innocent and incredibly intimate.

Slowly, giving her time to stop him if she wanted, he pulled the garment away, letting it fall beside them on the counter with a whisper of fabric.

The cool air hit her bare skin, and she instinctively tried to cover herself, but he caught her wrists, his grip gentle but absolutely unyielding.

"Don’t," he murmured, his eyes drinking in the sight of her with unmistakable hunger and something deeper, appreciation, perhaps even reverence. "I want to see you."

He brought her hands to his lips, kissing each set of knuckles with surprising tenderness before placing them back on his shoulders. "All of you."

He leaned in then, closing the small distance that remained between them, and captured one taut peak in his mouth.

A sharp, electric cry was torn from her throat, the sound echoing off the kitchen walls.

Her eyes squeezed shut as sensation overwhelmed her, the warm, wet heat of his mouth, the skilled flick of his tongue, the careful scrape of his teeth.

It was too much and somehow not enough.

Her hips shifted restlessly against the cold counter, seeking friction, seeking him, seeking relief from the building pressure.

He switched his attention to her other breast, giving it the same devastating worship, the same focused attention.

One of his hands slid down her stomach, over the waistband of her pants, and pressed firmly against the aching heat between her legs, even through the layers of fabric.

She cried out again, bucking against his palm, beyond caring how desperate she sounded. "Ting Cheng..."

He lifted his head, his lips glistening, his eyes blazing with a fire that stole what little breath she had left. "I know," he said, his voice rough with his own desire, barely controlled. "I know what you need."

His fingers worked the button of her pants with practiced ease, then the zipper, the sound of it loud in the kitchen.

He didn’t rush despite the obvious tension in his body, his movements deliberate, drawing out the anticipation until she was trembling with it, her whole body taut as a bowstring.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of both her pants and underwear and, with a slow, deliberate pull that made her lift her hips to assist, slid them down her legs and off completely, letting them drop to the floor in a heap of forgotten fabric.

Now she was completely bare before him, perched on the edge of the counter, exposed and utterly vulnerable in a way she’d never been with anyone.

A flush of self-consciousness heated her skin from her chest to her cheeks, but the raw admiration and hunger in his gaze chased it away, replacing it with something bolder.

"Beautiful," he breathed, and the word sounded like a prayer.

His hands smoothed up her thighs, callused palms against soft skin, pushing them wider apart, opening her completely to his view.

He bent over, getting closer to her honeypot, and with his warm tongue began licking and teasing her clit.

"Ting Cheng...." Her voice echoed in the kitchen, caught between pleasure and surprise.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there as waves of sensation rolled through her. He was relentless, skilled, alternating between gentle flicks and firm pressure that made her back arch off the counter.

She tried to stay quiet, biting her lip, but small whimpers escaped anyway. The kitchen suddenly felt too bright, too exposed, yet she couldn’t bring herself to stop him. She didn’t want to stop him.