Chapter 24. Princess Rapunzel

Qinghang was the type to talk little and do much. When his few friends gathered together lively in the past, he was always the most silent one.

Many times during their cold wars, it was actually Cheng Wanyue who coaxed him.

She had as many ways to make him sulk as she had ways to coax him back to happiness.

After the first time, the next time they had a falling out, he would expect her to coax him. However, in reality, as long as he saw her, he was no longer angry in his heart. But because he wanted to hear her say sweet nothings, or because he liked her constantly following him, clinging to him, and acting coquettishly, he always had to hold out a little longer. If he annoyed her, he would end up being the one to give in.

Qinghang didn’t know what other girls did when they were angry, but Cheng Wanyue wasn’t hard to coax. He just had to go along with her.

Cheng Wanyue was still crying, “Cheng Yuzhou calls Ah Yu ‘baby’ and ‘wife,’ Cheng Yanqing calls his girlfriend ‘Ergou’ and ‘Chouchou,’ how come you’re the only one who calls me by my full name all the time?”

“I didn’t just now...”

“You did!” She was usually very unreasonable in front of him, let alone at a time like this.

He simply gave up arguing.

Cheng Wanyue pinched his ear, “Call me baby.”

Her vaginal canal was filled to the brim, and the inner walls contracted slightly, pushing him outwards, but at the same time, it felt like it was sucking and holding him. She was in pain, and he was in agony. Even though the air conditioner was on, drops of sweat fell from his chin.

After a stalemate of about a minute, Qinghang lowered his head, his warm lips touching her ear, and called out very softly.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed close, like two vines growing from the same root, tightly entangled. Sweat and bodily fluids were like nutrients, nourishing the frenzied growth of roots deep within, which pierced through the ground and twisted into a cage, sealing them tightly together.

He moved his body slightly—and inside, there was movement too.

Cheng Wanyue had her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels rubbing against his tailbone. “Do you think my short hair doesn’t look good?”

She wouldn’t hold back even a single tear if she wanted to cry.

“How could I? It’s beautiful.” Qing Hang’s head was buried in her neck, nuzzling slightly. He tried to distract her with kisses, moving up along her neck, his tongue tracing from the corner of her lips inward.

She caught the scent of smoke, her brows furrowed. But since his kisses were making it hard to breathe, the moans slipping from between her teeth were broken and unclear.

“Who… who let you… smoke?”

Qing Hang had only smoked half a cigarette—the smell was faint.

She used to be curious about anything new, good or bad, wanting to try everything. But she had always had a strong aversion to tobacco.

Qing Hang didn’t have a nicotine addiction. The pack of cigarettes in the coffee table drawer had been sitting there for a long time. The last time he smoked was on a rainy night when he had jolted awake from a dream. In the dream, he and Cheng Wanyue were in that damp, cramped room in Baicheng, tangled up from dusk till dawn. Every inch of her skin was his territory—kissed, licked, touched, covered in his semen. It was as if he had endless energy, or as if she had seduced him into madness, into obsession. He wanted to die inside her. Even after climaxing, he could get hard again quickly. His mind was barely functioning; his breathing felt like fire, and his still-buried shaft kept thrusting into her depths, tireless.

Just now, he had been a little agitated from being teased by her, so he lit a cigarette before heading out.

His hair was wet, clothes thrown on carelessly. Even the clear fluid on his chin and nose had only been wiped casually. He went into the store, grabbed a box of condoms, and paid. The bulge in his lower abdomen was hidden by his shirt, but the veins standing out from the excitement on his arms and neck were clearly visible. Even though the heat of lust was masked by a cold aloofness, anyone with a bit of experience could tell—he had either just left a bed or was rushing back to one.

He didn’t care how people looked at him. His mind was full of just one thing—coming back to fuck her.

“I’m going to brush my teeth,” Qing Hang said, about to get up.

Cheng Wanyue bit his shoulder. “You’re leaving me hanging like this, and now you want to brush your teeth?”

The faint pain spread out through his nerves. Qing Hang took advantage of the kiss to launch a hidden assault.

She had taught him how to make her feel good.

She preferred his tongue over his hands. Just now, it had only taken ten minutes for her to surrender—proof he was doing it right.

Cheng Wanyue pushed him away slightly and turned her head to catch her breath. She no longer had the energy to speak. He kissed down from her jawline, and to avoid her throwing a tantrum the next morning, he deliberately left no visible marks on her neck. He went straight for her tender breast, sucking lightly. His tongue curled around the nipple and pulled it into his mouth.

Her tense body gradually softened, her teary eyes dazed, and her fiery temper faded.

The sheets were soaked in a spot. Qing Hang tried thrusting harder—the wet, squelching sound growing louder, stirring up the heat of arousal in the steamy air.

Cheng Wanyue’s hand, which had been tugging at Qing Hang’s short hair, was guided to her own chest by him. The other breast was still in his mouth. The pain gradually gave way to a bittersweet pleasure. She hadn’t been drunk in years, but this must be what it felt like—dazed, unable to see clearly, limbs heavy yet as if floating on cotton, tossed high into the air and then dragged down to the ground the next moment.

His teeth scraped her nipple, and the sudden sting made her lower abdomen tighten sharply.

Her narrow passage, already difficult to navigate, suddenly clenched up—soft flesh contracting from all sides, as if countless mouths were sucking, clinging to his shaft.

Qing Hang let out a low, muffled groan. Cheng Wanyue had no idea how much torment he was enduring, even bit him in revenge at his shoulder hollow. The next second, he lifted one of her legs and placed it on his shoulder.

The obscene, wet sounds challenged his sense of shame but also drove him to lose control and thrust deeper.

People are all ugly in the face of desire.

They become greedy, insatiable, and peel off their masks, exposing their rawest hunger.

It felt like his blood vessels would burst from under his skin. With a low roar, he slammed down on her, as if crying out for life in the face of death.

Cheng Wanyue was dazed, tears still hanging at the corners of her eyes as she stared blankly at the ceiling.

Was it… a bit too fast?

But Qing Hang didn’t give her a chance to laugh at him. He kissed her lips, covered her eyes with one hand, and reached for the box of condoms on the bedside with the other. He tore it open and put one on. Even after climaxing, he didn’t soften—in fact, he swelled even more as he pushed back in. She wasn’t laughing anymore.

The deeper he thrust, the tighter his tongue wound around hers.

She climaxed just before passing out, struggling weakly but ultimately giving in, relying completely on him, surviving on the bits of oxygen he gave her.

More fluid than sweat flowed between them. Her moans were longer than her breaths—more disheveled than him.

The windows and doors were shut tight, and the air conditioner’s ventilation function was completely useless. The scent of lust thickened in the room.

The bedsheet, twisted like a rope, tangled around her calf, as if trying to trap them here forever.

The phone rang for the fourth time, but neither paid it any attention.

Cheng Wanyue couldn’t even open her eyes. “Is it Cheng Yanqing calling?”

“No, it’s my phone.”

She kicked Qing Hang. “Then answer it or hang up—so annoying.”

Qing Hang grabbed his pants from the floor, fished out his phone. The screen lit up with Zhou Heng’s name. The system cut the call after it rang out, only for Zhou Heng to call again—a fifth time.

As soon as Qing Hang answered, Zhou Heng’s voice blasted through, as if on speaker.

“Damn, I thought you were off today? You didn’t answer for so long I thought something happened to you. I was about to call your landlord. Where the hell are you?”

Cheng Wanyue could obviously tell it was Zhou Heng.

That kick she gave Qing Hang earlier had already drained her last bit of strength, and now, seeing him all sexed-up but still seriously answering a phone call, she couldn’t help but want to mess with him.

She lifted one leg, her toes slowly sliding from his waist up to his chest, and then pressed hard against his firm nipple.

Qing Hang grabbed her foot. He didn’t even need to look to know exactly what she was up to.

“At home,” he replied, then lifted her leg onto his shoulder, pressing down to muffle the sounds about to escape her throat.

“I left a document at home, it’s in that blue folder. I need it for tomorrow morning’s meeting. Scan it and send it to me.”

“Okay.”

“Hurry up, I’m waiting.”

“Okay.”

Qing Hang hung up and tossed the phone aside.

Cheng Wanyue had already melted into a puddle. The leg she’d bent was nearly pressing against her own face.

The wet sounds started up again rhythmically, and the bed creaked with every movement.

She couldn’t remember how many condoms he’d gone through—definitely more than two.

“I’m so tired... Qing Hang... I want to sleep!” The last part came out in a broken sob, her voice hoarse from all the crying.

Once he shed his earlier aggression, his movements became much gentler. He stroked her hair and kissed her face. “Let’s wash up first, then sleep.”

“I’m not washing.”

Qing Hang opened the window to air the room, then carried her up. “I’ll wash you.”

Above the sink, a mirror reflected the long scratch marks on his back. Cheng Wanyue looked like a baby who couldn’t walk, being carried everywhere by him.

He even carefully dried each of her toes.

He changed the bedsheets, pillows, and blankets, making sure everything was fresh and clean.

After she fell asleep, cozy and comfortable, he replaced her band-aid, then finally went to Zhou Heng’s room to scan the document.

Aside from the one time when Qing Hang had a high fever, got dizzy, and accidentally crawled back into the bedroom and ended up sleeping next to Cheng Wanyue in a haze—this was their first real night sleeping together.

Qing Hang had thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep at all, but instead, he slept deeply and dreamlessly until morning.

Cheng Yanqing’s flight wasn’t late. If it had been a regular day, Cheng Wanyue’s usual schedule would have let her make it on time. But she was lazing in bed, cranky from sleep. Qing Hang hadn’t planned to wake her; he’d just moved the blanket a bit, and she stirred, grumbling with her eyes still closed.

“Qing Hang, you’re lying on my hair.”

Qing Hang looked down at her sleepy little face. “Your hair’s so short, I’d have to be glued to you to end up lying on it.”

Cheng Wanyue climbed on top of him. “Oh? Then was I dreaming just now?”

He played along. “No, I was lying on your hair. Sorry, Rapunzel.”

“Who?”

“The long-haired princess from the Disney fairytales.”

“Pfft, you read girly fairytales now?”

“The kids in the ward read them.” Qing Hang patted her butt. “You can sleep for twenty more minutes. I’ll go make breakfast.”

She started whining again. “No, don’t go.”

“If I don’t, what are you going to eat?”

“Meat, duh.”

“…”