Jiang Yuxi's POV
I can feel her smiling against my mouth—like she enjoys making me suffer.
Like she's taking pleasure in my desperation.
I hate it.
I love it.
I need more.
My hips move without thinking, pressing against her hand, against her touch, seeking any kind of relief from the unbearable tension winding inside me.
I don't care how desperate I sound when I whisper—
> "Please…"
My pride is long gone, drowned out by the sensation of her teasing, of her dragging this out on purpose.
She tilts her head, watching me.
> "You're begging?" she muses, her voice deep, teasing, full of something dangerous.
I bite my lip, refusing to answer.
Her lips brush my ear, her breath warm as she whispers—
> "Say it again."
My fingers dig into the fabric of her shirt, gripping onto her as I clench my eyes shut, trying to suppress the humiliating tremor in my voice.
> "I'm begging you."
And then—
Her fingers push inside me.
