"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Her voice was sharp, demanding, but Feng Yizhou didn't answer.
Instead, his hands moved.
Warm, calloused fingers traced along her thigh, starting from her knee and sliding up—slow, deliberate. His touch was featherlight, yet it sent a sharp heat curling low in her stomach.
He wasn't in a rush. Wasn't in a hurry or frantic.
He was savoring this.
His black eyes flickered, focused entirely on the soft skin beneath his fingers.
The way his grip flexed slightly told her exactly what he was thinking. That he wanted to bite.
His gaze darkened, a faint growl rumbling in his chest.
Qingran's breath hitched, but she forced herself to keep her voice steady. "Feng Yizhou..you let me go."
Nothing. He wasn't listening. It felt as though her words were going through one ear and other the other.
Her fingers twitched, ready to shove him off, but before she could react, he leaned in—his breath hot against her skin.
