Chapter…

39 Chapter 38 Chapter…… Chapter 38 Mo Shaoshang gazed at her in the mirror. His gaze was focused and deep, as if he wanted to engrave her reflection into the depths of his pupils, to merge completely with her.

Wen Yicong was pinned in place by that look, her heart pounding like a drum against her chest, her fingers curling and uncurling, curling and uncurling. Then, she saw him lower his head.

A kiss landed on her bare shoulder. Very light. Light like the brush of an egret's feather across a lake surface, like the first snow falling on warm skin, fleeting.

But Wen Yicong's body trembled violently, as if burned by fire. She had thought he would stop after a taste, but that was not the case.

Delicate kisses spread along her shoulder line, slow and devout, like some ancient pilgrimage. His thin lips touched her rounded shoulder peak, lingered over her slender collarbone, each touch light and soft, seemingly without any lust, but rather a kind of worshipful cherishing.

Wen Yicong's bright eyes were moist, the corners of her eyes flushed red, her gaze hazy and unfocused. She had never felt this way before... as if she were not flesh and blood, but a fragile work of art, worthy of all his patience and tenderness, to be traced and offered again and again.

The strange and novel sensations in her body could not be denied. Unlike last night's stormy plunder, what was now unfolding before Wen Yicong was a slowly tightening net, gentle, dense, irresistible.

She even had the illusion that she had fallen into an ocean, her consciousness gradually slipping away, about to sink completely into this impenetrable blue. Before long, the man's kisses wandered to Wen Yicong's heart.

Above that softest and most vulnerable skin, his thin lips paused. Wen Yicong trembled all over, clearly feeling the rhythm of Mo Shaoshang's breathing and the cool breath he exhaled.

Just then, a wisp of night wind crept in through some tiny crack in the window, and a chill suddenly struck. Wen Yicong shivered, her hazy gaze refocusing, and she snapped awake.

'No...' She panicked and raised her hand, trying to push him away, her voice fragmented and trembling: 'Mr. Mo Shaoshang, you can't...' Before she finished, her waist was suddenly tightened.

Mo Shaoshang's arm circled under her thighs, and with a slight effort, he lifted her whole body. Wen Yicong gasped, and the next moment, her back touched the cold glass surface.

He placed her on the watch display case. Beneath the transparent glass surface, dozens of priceless watches were displayed, the gears of the mechanical movements utterly silent, casting cold silver light in the dim lighting.

Wen Yicong sat on top, like a newly acquired precious item. She was startled, moved her lips, wanting to say something. But her chin was clamped by two long, powerful fingers.

The force was not heavy, but like an iron hoop, impossible to break free. Wen Yicong blinked, not even having time to make a sound, and the next second, the man's lips pressed down fiercely.

This was not the gentle, worshipful kiss from before. This kiss was plunder, attack, the long-suppressed beast finally breaking its chains.

'Mm...' Her eyes widened in shock, her hands pressed against Mo Shaoshang's chest, she turned her head to dodge, but he held her firmly in place with one large hand on the back of her neck. Unable to break free, Wen Yicong could only clench her teeth in resistance, refusing to open her mouth.

Mo Shaoshang sensed the resistance of the delicate body in his arms, pulled back a few inches, and looked down at her. Seeing her intention, he raised an eyebrow slightly, a lazy curve forming at the corner of his lips.

Without a word, his hand silently slid to her lower back. Through the thin cashmere dress, his long fingers roamed and caressed, accurately finding the two soft dimples on the girl's lower back, and then gently pinched.

In just a fraction of a second, Wen Yicong's whole body went limp. Her waist dimples were already very sensitive, and now, in the man's hand, with his slightly calloused fingertips kneading and pinching with just the right pressure, a numbing electric current shot straight to her crown, making half her spine tingle.

Her body softened, her mind scattered, and her teeth unconsciously loosened. A very soft whimper escaped Wen Yicong's lips.

The man's tongue took the opportunity to push in. Conquering territory, sweeping everything away. Wen Yicong frowned. Unlike his jade-like noble appearance, Mo Shaoshang's tongue was domineering and wild, not only fiercely sweeping every inch of the soft inner walls of her mouth, but also curling her tongue, forcing her to dance and intertwine, leaving no room, as if he truly wanted to devour her.

She was frightened and panicked, wanting to escape, but there was no way up or down. Behind her was the cold glass counter, in front of her was the man's firm and solid chest.

The worst part was his fingers... those beautiful, long fingers mischievously pressed on her waist dimples, occasionally gently kneading, draining all her strength, leaving her limp in his arms, allowing him to take. The kiss pressing on her lips grew deeper and heavier.

Each time felt like he was sucking her soul out of her body. Wen Yicong was kissed until her vision went white, fragmented whimpers escaping from deep in her throat, and tears unconsciously seeped from the corners of her eyes, wetting their pressed-together skin.

After who knows how long, another gust of night wind crept in. In the garden, wind stirred the leaves, tree shadows swaying gently outside the window.

Clouds danced pushed by the wind, revealing a crescent moon on the horizon, cold silver light leaking through the curtain gap, spilling over the rows of clocks. The second hand ticked unhurriedly, one circle, another circle.

The storm temporarily subsided. Wen Yicong lay helplessly on the glass counter, her body as limp as water, without any strength.

Mo Shaoshang looked down at the girl beneath him. Her black hair was scattered messily on the dark counter, her cheeks flushed as if dipped in rouge, her eyes misty.

A few strands of hair, wet with sweat and tears, stuck to her cheeks, exuding a seductive charm, yet also fragile and pitiful enough to be startling. His blue-black pupils deepened.

He looked at her quietly. Like a worshipper gazing at a sacrifice on an altar, like a beast gazing at the prey of a lifetime.

After a moment, Mo Shaoshang leaned down slightly, his fingertips gently stroking her hot, damp cheek, brushing away the wet hair stuck to her cheek. 'Are you okay?' he asked in a low voice, his voice hoarse as if sandpapered.

Wen Yicong's dazed thoughts were pulled back by this voice. Her thick eyelashes fluttered twice, her misty eyes refocused, finally looking at this cold, handsome face.

Their eyes met. One second, two seconds, three seconds. Suddenly, the young girl blinked. Without warning, a few tears tumbled out of her reddened eyes.

Mo Shaoshang was stunned. His heart felt as if it had been gouged by something sharp and hard. This feeling was especially unfamiliar.

Mo Shaoshang had been an emotionally indifferent person since childhood. Some said he was a born ruler, others said he was a cold machine without humanity.

And indeed it was so. His world was like a barren desert, wind passing without a trace. Or like a dead deep sea, no matter how many boulders were thrown in, no ripples arose.

He had never experienced the emotion of 'panic'. But now, facing this girl's tears, he panicked for the first time. Mo Shaoshang's fingertips moved even more gently, like handling a treasure that could shatter at any moment, gently wiping away the tears at the corners of her eyes.

'Why are you crying?' he frowned, a trace of concern he couldn't hide flowing in his voice. 'Do your lips hurt?' Wen Yicong sobbed continuously, turning her head to avoid his touch, covering her face with both hands, crying even harder.

She didn't say a word. Mo Shaoshang looked at his empty hand, his brow furrowing deeper. He had never experienced this before.

His heart felt like it was being squeezed in someone's palm, a gentle squeeze and sour juice seeped out. Not knowing what to do, he could only call her name softly, his tone gentle, like a thin mist covering a snowy landscape: 'Wen Yicong.' 'Don't cry,' he said.

'Your tears make me not know what to do.' After a long while. Wen Yicong finally stopped crying. Her eyelids were red, her nose red, she raised her tear-washed crystal eyes to look at him, sobbing and saying word by word: 'Mo Shaoshang, you bastard.' The words fell, Mo Shaoshang was silent.

Then, he lowered his head and gently kissed away the remaining tear at the corner of her eye. 'I'm sorry.' His thin, cool lips moved to her nose tip.

'I'm sorry.' Then to her burning cheek. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry...' These three words were repeated in his mouth, like a worshipper reciting the most devout prayer, each 'I'm sorry' accompanied by a kiss as light as a butterfly's wing.

Wen Yicong was kissed by him for a long time, feeling her cheeks on fire, her whole body hot, her heart in chaos. She tried to push him away, murmuring: 'You, let me go.' Mo Shaoshang didn't move.

He closed his eyes, his forehead against hers, his cool breath heavily spraying on her face. Wen Yicong's heart thundered, she could clearly feel the force of the man's fingers clenching.

He seemed to be trying his utmost to restrain and suppress. After a moment. Mo Shaoshang opened his eyes again. Wen Yicong's gaze met his usually cold eyes, and she was suddenly startled.

The blue-black deep sea was now turbid, with undercurrents surging, lust not yet faded, so intense it almost overflowed. He... he couldn't still want to...

Wen Yicong's eyes were full of vigilance, her heartbeat even faster. Fortunately, things did not develop along the path she most feared.

Mo Shaoshang simply reached out and carefully straightened her disheveled clothes, then let her go. Wen Yicong felt as if she had received a pardon.

She almost scrambled off the watch counter, breaking free from his embrace, and then, without a moment's delay, with trembling fingers, she reached behind her neck to undo the clasp of the diamond necklace. The clasp was very small, her heart was very flustered, she tried two or three times before finally managing to undo it.

The cold gem fell into her palm, and Wen Yicong shoved it into the half-open velvet box. 'Return the necklace to you,' she said, her voice hoarse, her face red beyond words, and without waiting for his response, she turned and fled in panic.

'Bang.' The door slammed shut. The sound echoed in the silent bedroom, lingering for a long time. Mo Shaoshang stood alone in front of the watch counter, his gaze fixed on the doorway that had swallowed the slender figure.

After a moment, he also left the room. Stepping through the dark night shadows, Mo Shaoshang walked expressionlessly down the stairs and went straight into the underground Wine Cellar.

The studio. The light turned on. In the empty, cold space, only the huge white canvas waited for him in silence. Mo Shaoshang casually took off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair.

Then he picked up the palette, squeezed out paint, dipped the brush. The movements were smooth and practiced. After doing all this, he stood in front of the canvas.

The urge to create came very suddenly. Like a tide, like a tsunami, more like a volcano that had been suppressed for years finally finding a crack.

He closed his eyes. What appeared in his mind was the tearful eyes of the young rehabilitation therapist. Reddened eye sockets, wet eyelashes, clear and crystalline pupils.

Countless complex emotions intertwined in those eyes: grievance, panic, shame, and a hint of... soft coquettishness. He opened his eyes.

The brush fell. The first stroke was intense black. It was her long hair scattered on the glass counter, thick as seaweed, like the tide of the dark night.

The second stroke was broken white. It was her face wet with tears, pale and small, fragile beyond measure. Then came large patches of red.

Between vermilion and rose, it was her lips kissed by him, her skin rubbed by him, the blazing beauty that seeped from deep within her skin when shame and arousal intertwined. Mo Shaoshang's brushstrokes grew faster and heavier.

Paint piled, scraped, and blended on the canvas. It was not just painting technique, but more like a release of emotional tide, a fervent hymn.

Fire is hot. Snow is cold. What about Wen Yicong? What is she like? She is a flower falling on a blade, a grain of snow falling into a flame, the only spark still beating in his long-dead shell.

Mo Shaoshang remembered her tears falling on his fingertips. Moist, clear, clean. If her tears were so captivating, what about her other bodily fluids?

In just a few seconds, an intense euphoria enveloped him, airtight... On the canvas, a delicate little face gradually took shape.

Slightly furrowed brows, red lips slightly parted, eyes dazed, the corners of her eyes wet and flushed, messed up by tears, an expression so ambiguous it invited imagination. After finishing, Mo Shaoshang stopped his brush and gazed deeply at the girl on the canvas.

This should be what she looked like when she climaxed beneath him. No, perhaps even more seductive, more lewd. A wave of heat rose from deep in his abdomen, burning his mouth dry.

His expression was indifferent, his chin slightly raised, he raised his hand and loosened his tie. He wanted to possess her.

He wanted to keep her for himself. He wanted to swallow her whole, bite by bite. * Wen Yicong couldn't sleep. All night, she tossed and turned in bed, and whenever she closed her eyes, Mo Shaoshang's blue-black eyes appeared before her.

She tossed and turned like a pancake on a griddle, finally managing to endure until dawn. The moment sunlight streamed through the curtain gap into the bedroom, Wen Yicong dragged her tired body out of bed.

Her mind was dizzy, and with two dark circles under her eyes, she walked into the bathroom. Wash up, change clothes, eat breakfast, and then, the phone on the table suddenly buzzed.

Wen Yicong looked at it suspiciously, checked the caller ID, and only then did her tense nerves relax slightly. She slid to answer.

'Hello, Principal,' Wen Yicong smiled slightly, trying to make her voice sound cheerful. 'Good morning!' 'Good morning, Yicong,' Zhang Yao's tone was gentle.

'Have you had breakfast?' 'Yes, just finished. I'm about to start class with the child,' Wen Yicong paused. 'Is there something you need, Principal?' Zhang Yao on the other end of the phone said: 'Nothing major, just wanted to know if your work has been going smoothly lately.

After all, I recommended you to go to the Mo Family Manor, so both publicly and privately, I have a duty to care about your work status there.' Hearing this, Wen Yicong felt a warmth in her heart. 'Thank you for your concern, Principal,' she said sincerely.

'Airi is very well-behaved. After a period of rehabilitation training, he has made great progress. I feel very motivated.' 'Really?' Hearing this good news, Zhang Yao's tone revealed surprise.

'That's really great. If the intervention is effective and the child is improving, then we won't let down the parents' trust in us.

Nongnong, you've worked hard.' 'It's all within my duty, Principal, you're too kind,' Wen Yicong said, then suddenly remembered something and added, 'Oh, by the way, Principal, next month I plan to arrange some social classes for Airi with other children. Do you think you could find a few children from Xingqiao who are similar in age and ability to Airi and form a class for them?' 'Of course,' Zhang Yao agreed readily, then paused and asked, 'But have you discussed this with Mr.

Mo Shaoshang?' Hearing the words 'Mr. Mo Shaoshang', the smile on Wen Yicong's face stiffened almost imperceptibly. She was silent for a moment, then said: 'I mentioned it once before, but haven't discussed it in detail.' Zhang Yao said: 'You should first get Mr.

Mo Shaoshang's opinion clearly. Mr. Mo Shaoshang is Airi's guardian, and all intervention plans must be carried out with his permission.' 'Yes, I know,' Wen Yicong smiled.

'I'll go discuss it with Mr. Mo Shaoshang today.' After hanging up, she stood there for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned to walk toward the elevator.

She happened to run into Master Heng. 'Good morning, Master Heng,' she greeted with a smile, then cleared her throat, looked around, and asked casually, 'Um, is Mr.

Mo Shaoshang at home?' Master Heng shook his head: 'The master has gone to the company. Do you need me to ask when he will be back?' Wen Yicong gave a dry laugh and quickly waved her hand: 'No need, no need.

It's nothing urgent. I'll just wait.' * All day long, Wen Yicong devoted herself wholeheartedly to the intervention program tailored for Airi.

Fine motor skills training, language imitation, social interaction simulation. She focused all her attention on the child in front of her, not allowing herself a moment's distraction to think of anything else.

Airi was in a good mood today. At the end of the class, he even voluntarily gave Wen Yicong a red building block. This was one of little Airi's favorite toys recently.

Looking at this small block in her palm, Wen Yicong's heart was filled with mixed emotions, and her eyes even felt hot. 'Thank you, Airi,' she said softly, curving her lips.

'Teacher likes it very much.' The boy didn't speak, his clear, empty blue eyes glanced at her vaguely, then aimlessly drifted toward the window. After dinner, Wen Yicong as usual handed Airi over to the nanny.

On the third-floor corridor, she waved to little Airi, watching his small figure disappear into the children's room door. The child's bath time marked the end of Wen Yicong's work for the day.

She let out a long breath, stretched, twisted her neck, and loosened her slightly stiff muscles. She planned to go back to her room, play a few games, then take a shower and go to sleep.

But just then, footsteps came from the stairway. Unhurried, leisurely. ...Very familiar. Wen Yicong paused and instinctively turned her head.

Sure enough. Mo Shaoshang was walking up the spiral staircase from the corner. He had clearly just returned from the company, still wearing his usual cold, hard black suit.

The fabric was crisp, of excellent quality, without a single wrinkle. The dark blue tie shimmered with layered patterns under the soft glow of the wall sconces, complementing the cold light of the platinum watch on his wrist.

The carpet was soft, the paintings serene, the hallway lights outlining a hazy golden edge around his tall figure. The man's face was handsome and sculpted, his expression indifferent and noble, like a cold moon hanging in the winter night.

The moment she saw Mo Shaoshang, for no reason, Wen Yicong's heart skipped several beats. The space was extremely quiet.

So quiet that she could almost hear her own heart pounding like a drum. After a moment. Mo Shaoshang looked at her and spoke: 'Master Heng said you were looking for me during the day.' Wen Yicong snapped back to reality, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing her burning earlobe, trying to force a natural curve to her lips.

'Yes,' she nodded to him, trying to use the most natural and casual tone to confirm Master Heng's words: 'There's something I'd like to discuss with you.' Mo Shaoshang looked at her, his gaze calm and deep, like a winter night's pool. 'Where would Teacher Wen like to discuss it?' Wen Yicong was stunned, not reacting for a moment: 'Huh?' 'My bedroom, study, or the studio in the Wine Cellar,' Mo Shaoshang's thin lips parted, his tone flat and unruffled.

'You can choose freely.'