Summary: Wrapped in early morning quiet, they move in rhythm—careful, breathless, and reverent. It isn't just about want or heat. It's about trust. The kind that lingers long after the silence, the kind that asks nothing but stays. And when the morning light filters in, and the world tries to return, it's clear—they've made something of their own. And they're not letting it go.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
The room was still.
The only light came from the faint gray that crept in through the sheer curtain—morning not quite broken, but not fully gone from night either. Everything was quiet, even the usual distant hum of the base's systems muffled beneath the soft weight of early silence.
Sicheng stirred slowly. His breath came first, deep and steady, and then his awareness followed. Yao was still asleep, curled on her side, her back pressed to his chest. Her hair had come loose from the braid during the night, strands splayed like silk across the pillow and the edge of his arm.
She was warm.
Soft.
Curled perfectly into him.
His arm draped over her middle, loosely at first, until he shifted slightly, just enough to feel her fully against him, and realized where his hand had settled. Just beneath her shirt. The thin cotton had ridden up during the night, and his fingers now rested over the soft curve of her lower stomach… just brushing the top of her underwear. And suddenly, his breath caught. Not harshly. Just enough. Just deep enough for his body to wake up completely. He didn't move. Didn't dare. But the heat sparked instantly, low and steady, curling in his gut as his thumb shifted instinctively, barely grazing the edge of the cotton where her stomach met the waistband.
Bare skin.
Soft.
Warm.
Real.
His jaw clenched. A quiet, deep groan threatened to slip free, but he swallowed it, forcing it down. He hadn't meant to wake like this. He hadn't planned to… But her scent was already sinking into him. The steady, sweet rhythm of her breathing. The heat of her, tucked completely against him. She murmured something in her sleep, shifting just slightly and it made everything worse. Her hips pressed back the faintest bit into his thighs, her hand curling tighter around the pillow she held.
Sicheng lowered his head. Pressed his lips against her neck. Not to wake her. Just to feel her. A soft nuzzle, a barely-there breath against her skin. She didn't stir. Didn't pull away. And his hand stayed exactly where it was, curved over her stomach, fingers lightly splayed, the edge of her underwear teasing beneath his palm. He didn't move again. Not yet. He just stayed still. Breathing her in.
Wrapped around the woman he'd never meant to fall this hard for and utterly unwilling to let go.
She shifted faintly in his arms. A soft inhale, followed by the gentle tension of waking.
Sicheng felt it immediately—the way her spine straightened slightly, the way her breath caught just a little against the steady rhythm of his. Her lashes fluttered, her head tilted, and the sound she made was more felt than heard—a quiet, unsure murmur that barely reached the edge of his ear. He didn't move. Not yet. He pressed a slow, warm breath into the curve of her neck, and when she didn't pull away, when her back remained pressed to his chest, her body soft and pliant against his. He shifted just enough. His lips brushed her skin, then teeth followed. A slow drag. Just enough pressure to make her inhale sharply, her fingers twitching against the sheets. His voice came low. Rough with restraint. "Can I make you feel good?"
Yao didn't answer right away. Her throat moved in a nervous swallow. But then, still half-flushed, still half-asleep, she whispered back, barely audible. "…Yes."
The sound cracked straight through him. He didn't rush her. He didn't roll her.
He simply moved one hand, still resting warm against her stomach, downward. Slow. Deliberate. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her underwear, moving over the softness he found there, the heat of her already starting to pool. But before his fingers dipped further, he reached down with his other hand. Guided her leg. Gently. Carefully. Back and over his own.
Her breath hitched.
He leaned in again, lips brushing her cheek as he spoke, voice thick and low and steady. "You say the word," he murmured. "And everything stops."
Yao's head tilted, her body tensed for half a second, Then melted again into his hold. She didn't say stop. Didn't say anything at all.
So he moved and pressed his hips forward, slow, grinding the length of his arousal against the soft curve of her backside, his hand slipping lower, deeper, until his fingers brushed the heat of her, slick and warm beneath the cotton. Her whimper was breathless. Helpless. And when his fingers finally touched her—really touched her—she gasped softly, burying her face into the pillow as her body arched instinctively back into him.
Sicheng groaned, low in his throat, pressing another kiss to the shell of her ear. " Beautiful, " he whispered and then he started to move.
Sicheng's fingers moved slowly through her folds, his touch gentle at first, almost reverent, feeling every soft slip of heat, every twitch of her thighs as her breath stuttered through parted lips. "You're so warm," he whispered against the curve of her neck, the tip of his nose dragging lightly along her skin as he pressed another kiss just beneath her ear, "so soft... always so damn sweet." His fingers circled her again, slick with the evidence of how much she already wanted him. His thumb slid forward, brushing softly over her clit in slow, teasing sweeps that made her gasp and whimper as her hips twitched against his. Her body trembled in his arms. Every breath she took grew heavier, shyer, her hips rocking back ever so slightly, unconsciously chasing more of his touch. He felt her tightening already. And when she murmured his name, just his name, no question, no command, only a trembling whisper caught between need and trust, he groaned low in his throat, voice thick.
"That's it, Wǔ xiān," he murmured, the pet name like a prayer pressed into her skin. "You let me take care of you…" Then he slid two fingers deep inside and the gasp she gave was sharp, but not frightened.
Startled.
Flushed.
Her thighs clenched and her hand gripped at the sheets, hips bucking as he filled her completely, the stretch slow and real.
Sicheng's head dropped against her shoulder, his mouth parted against her skin, a deep, trembling groan escaping from his chest. "Gods," he breathed, voice ragged. "You're so tight, beautiful, so tight." He didn't move fast. He didn't need to. His fingers began to thrust inside her, slowly, purposefully, while his thumb circled over her clit with practiced patience. She whimpered again, her breath catching in her throat as her hips rocked back into his rhythm, her leg still hooked over his, body completely open to him now. And then he felt it. A shift in her. A change. Her hand moved. Hesitantly. Unsure. He felt the soft brush of her fingers at his waist—tentative, nervous—and then the slow, trembling slip of her hand under the elastic of his sleep pants. His whole body stilled. His breath caught as her hand found him. Wrapped around him. Soft. Inexperienced. Shy. But very much intentional.
Sicheng's head lifted as his eyes snapped shut. "Yao—" His hips bucked into her instinctively, a broken sound caught low in his throat. Her grip was uncertain, but he didn't care. The fact that she reached for him at all had his blood roaring in his veins. He pressed his lips to her neck, teeth grazing just beneath her jaw. "You're gonna wreck me," he whispered, voice thick, dark, full of worship. "You don't even know what you're doing to me." And he kept moving, his fingers deep inside her. His thumb never leaving her clit. Her hand—small, unsure—stroking him from behind with timid, trembling motions as her body rocked helplessly into his.
Yao whimpered again, the sound barely more than a breath, but it punched straight through him, soft and broken and shaped around his name. "Sicheng…" Her voice cracked just slightly as she whispered it, her body rocking back instinctively into the steady thrust of his fingers, her leg trembling over his. His thumb never let up, slow, circling pressure keeping her perched just on the edge, driving her higher with each pass. Her hand stayed on him. Still shy, still unsure, her touch trembling, but she never pulled back. Her fingers stroked over his length from behind with careful, almost hesitant motions, her grip adjusting as she tried to mimic the rhythm he gave her.
He groaned into her skin, one arm locked firmly around her waist, keeping her tight against him as he worked her open with deep, controlled thrusts of his fingers. "That's it," he whispered, his voice low and full of heat, his breath dragging over her flushed neck, "good girl… you're doing so well for me, Wǔ xiān."
She gasped, hips jerking at the words, her thighs tightening around his hand. He smiled against her skin, nuzzling into the line of her throat as her whimper slipped out again, this time followed by a soft, breathy, "Please…"
"Please what, beautiful?" he murmured, curling his fingers just slightly inside her.
She sobbed out a breath, unable to form anything more than a needy sound, her body clenching around him.
"You can say it," he coaxed gently, voice thick with praise and reverence, "you're being so good for me… tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."
She whimpered again, her head tipping back slightly, the hand still wrapped around him stroking with more pressure now—learning him, matching the rhythm of his breath, even as she moaned again when his thumb dragged firmer across her clit. "Please don't stop," she finally choked, voice high and aching. "Please, I—I need—"
"I know," he breathed against her ear, kissing it, groaning as she rocked back into him harder. "I know, beautiful. I've got you. I'll take care of you." His fingers pumped deeper now, slick with her, his thumb never leaving her swollen nerves as her thighs trembled. Her hand around him tightened again, jerking slightly when his hips ground forward against her in return.
They moved together, off rhythm, then in sync, then caught in that slow, needy coil that only came from love wound tight around lust. And all the while, he didn't stop praising her. "You feel so good around my fingers," he groaned. "So perfect. So wet. All for me."
Yao cried out, her hips stuttering back into him as her moans turned sharp and breathless, her body trembling with the first tremors of what he could feel coming.
Sicheng's breath caught—hard—as a thought hit him mid-thrust. The rhythm of his fingers slowed, not from doubt, but because something deeper coiled in him, thick with want and reverence. His hand stilled where it pressed against her hip, his lips hovering just behind her ear, his voice dropping lower than before—rougher, needier, but still steady. "…Can I try something new?" he asked, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear, each word slow, careful. "Nothing more than this—no sex. Just… let me feel you closer." She didn't answer right away. Her breathing hitched—shaky, sharp. His fingers remained inside her, motionless now, the slow throb of her fluttering around him as he waited. "I want to slide your underwear down," he murmured, voice reverent, "just enough. Let me rock through your thighs. Through your heat. Just feel you against me."
Yao whimpered at the image, her entire body flushing, heart racing. Her face burned, and for a second she couldn't form words, couldn't breathe past the knot rising in her throat. But then—softly, earnestly—she whispered, "Yes…" Her voice trembled, but her next words were stronger. "I'm not ready to go all the way yet," she said, just above a breath, her hand resting over his arm. "But… I trust you."
Sicheng groaned, so deep and low it vibrated through her back. His restraint was already unraveling, but he anchored it in her voice, in the feel of her trust. She slowly pulled her hand away from him, cheeks burning as she buried her face into the pillow, her thighs tightening slightly in anticipation. His hand moved as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, then sank his teeth into the spot beneath it, not hard, just enough to mark her. To claim. Then he sucked softly, his free hand lifting to tilt her face gently back toward him. "Look at me." he whispered.
She did—wide-eyed, breathless, pink-cheeked.
And he kissed her.
Full.
Deep.
Lingering.
Their lips moved together slowly, open-mouthed and searching, her moan lost in the heat of his mouth as he kissed her like she was the only thing he'd ever wanted. When he pulled back, her eyes were glazed, chest rising and falling in shallow waves. He moved next. Slowly. Carefully. His hand slid down her front, fingers hooking into the edge of her underwear and drawing them down inch by inch over her hips. She trembled as the fabric peeled away, his touch ghosting over her thighs as he pushed them just far enough down for what he needed. He pulled himself free from his sleep pants, hissing through his teeth as the cool air hit him, his cock aching and flushed, throbbing from the way she'd touched him earlier. Then he reached down and guided himself forward. Between her thighs. Through her slick folds. The moment his bare skin slid through her wetness, nudging along her clit, her hips jerked, a broken moan escaping her lips.
"Oh—"
He groaned, deep and guttural, the heat of her slick coating him as he rocked forward again—slow, deliberate, dragging the thick length of himself along her heat, not inside, but nestled perfectly between her folds, the tip of him brushing her clit on every pass.
Yao gasped—tore a sound from her throat—soft, trembling, overwhelmed. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her body rocked back into him without thought, meeting each slow, grinding thrust as she moaned again and again, helpless and open and flushed with want.
"Good girl," he whispered against her neck, voice shaking now, "You feel so good… so warm, so perfect—this, Yao, this is everything." And still he moved. Slipping and grinding, again and again, caught between restraint and the burning need to worship every inch of her.
They moved together in that slow, simmering rhythm—his hips rocking forward, hers instinctively pressing back, soft whimpers spilling from her lips with each pass of his thick length through her slick folds. The glide of his cock through her heat, not inside but nestled just perfectly between her thighs, made her thighs tremble and her breath stutter as the swollen head dragged again and again over her aching clit.
Sicheng groaned deeply, his voice raw as he pulled her tighter against him, his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her completely within the cradle of his body. "You're driving me insane," he whispered against her neck, each word filled with reverent hunger. "You feel so good, Yao. So warm… so wet for me. Letting me touch you like this… letting me feel you like this…" His mouth pressed against her skin again, open-mouthed kisses dragged along the soft curve of her shoulder, his teeth grazing lightly as his hips continued their torturously slow roll between her thighs.
Yao whimpered, her voice cracking, her fingers gripping the sheets tightly as her body responded to every stroke of him. Her legs trembled, her breath came in soft pants, and the fire blooming low in her stomach only burned hotter with every whispered praise, every pass of him grinding through her soaked center. Then his hand began to move again. The one wrapped around her front slowly slid upward beneath her shirt, palm warm and broad as it trailed over the smooth skin of her stomach, past the gentle curve of her ribs, and higher still. He stopped just beneath her breast. His breath slowed, lips brushing her temple now, and in that same low, rumbling tone that never failed to undo her, he asked softly, "May I?"
Yao's body shuddered at the question, heat pouring down her spine, her thighs instinctively squeezing around him as his cock throbbed against her folds. She could barely think, barely breathe, but she still turned her face toward the pillow, her cheeks burning, her voice small but sure. "…Yes," she whispered, then—after a moment, breathless and so incredibly soft—"Please…"
Sicheng groaned again, deeper this time, like that one word had reached somewhere inside him he couldn't hold back from anymore. "You have no idea," he murmured, kissing her neck as his hand moved up the final inch. And then he cupped her breast. No lace in the way. No fabric between them. Just the heat of his palm against her bare skin, his fingers splaying gently over the soft weight of her as his thumb brushed slowly, deliberately, over the already tightened peak.
Yao gasped, sharp and unguarded, the sound high and trembling as her back arched into him, her hips pushing harder into his slow grind as he rocked through her soaked folds, dragging his cock once more over her clit.
He felt her whole body shake. He moaned, biting down gently on her neck before pressing a kiss to the mark. "You're so perfect," he whispered, voice heavy with love and lust. "So damn good for me… making me lose my mind, beautiful…" His hand gently kneaded her breast, thumb teasing her until her cries turned to pleading, her body trembling on the edge again as he ground himself harder between her thighs, desperate to give her everything she was too shy to ask for.
Yao's soft whimpers bled into breathless pleas, her voice shaking as her hips began to rock faster against him—no longer shy, no longer hesitant. Her body, aching and trembling, moved with instinct now, her thighs pressing tighter around him as he slid through her slick folds, grinding harder with every thrust. "Please—" she gasped, hands fisting in the sheets in front of her as her back arched into him, her body chasing every ounce of friction, every dizzying roll of his hips.
Sicheng's groan came low and sharp, his restraint unraveling thread by thread as he felt her squeeze him tighter, the tension in her thighs locking around him as her body started to quiver from the overwhelming pressure building inside her. "That's it," he growled into her neck, his voice dark and rough with hunger, velvet-edged and dangerous in the best way. "Just like that, beautiful. Keep moving. Let me feel you."
She whimpered again—broken, breathless—her hips meeting his now with growing urgency, her moans stuttering every time his cock dragged across her clit, the head catching her just right.
"You're so damn tight—so wet," he groaned. "You feel like heaven, Yao. My perfect girl. My good girl." His hand slid back up beneath her shirt—bolder now, needier—and cupped her breast again, fingers curving over the softness, thumb circling until her cries grew sharper, until she pressed harder into him with each desperate rock. He rolled her nipple gently between his fingers and pinched. Not rough. Just enough.
Yao cried out, her hips bucking back into him so hard it nearly broke his rhythm. "Sicheng—!" Her voice cracked around the syllables, her fingers clawing at the sheets, knuckles whitening as her thighs shook around him.
He growled against her skin and bit down gently at the curve of her neck—not to hurt, but to mark, to claim, to ground himself in the soft cry she gave as her body spasmed. His hips drove harder now, faster, the sound of their slick friction growing louder as he ground himself again and again between her thighs, feeling her come undone around him without even being inside her. "That's it," he whispered through clenched teeth, his hand tightening over her breast. "Let me hear you, beautiful. Let me feel how good it is for you. Just let go for me… come for me, Wǔ xiān…"
Yao couldn't think, couldn't speak past the heat tightening low in her belly and the rush of sensation crashing over her in wave after wave. Her hands clutched the sheets beneath her, her fingers curled tight as if holding on to something would stop her from breaking completely. Her hips moved without rhythm now, rocking back into him, chasing every slide of his cock between her folds as the swollen head dragged hot and slick over her clit. His hand still cupped her breast, thumb rolling over her nipple with just enough pressure to make her sob softly, while his other arm was wrapped firm around her waist, keeping her exactly where he wanted her, completely open, completely his. Her thighs trembled, her voice cracked. And than, shaking, flushed, her whole body coiled tight, she begged. "Sicheng…" she whimpered, her voice high and raw with need. "Please—I'm so close—please…"
He groaned at the sound of her, low and rough against her neck, every muscle in him tensed as he grinded harder through her slick heat, his cock throbbing from the friction and the feel of her trembling around him.
Her pleas kept coming—soft, breathless, needy. "Please, please don't stop," she gasped. "I-I need it, I need—"
"Shhh…" he whispered, breath hot at her ear, his voice trembling now with his own unraveling. "I've got you, beautiful. My good girl… You're so close, I can feel it. Let go for me. Come for me." He rolled his hips harder, grinding through her folds with thick, slick pressure, the head of him catching against her clit again and again until her cries became whimpers, then gasps, then something helpless and aching as she arched back into him fully, thighs shaking violently. Her body locked. Her moan shattered. And then she broke. With his name on her lips—half-formed, half-lost, she came undone in his arms, her body trembling, thighs clenching, the slick heat of her arousal coating him as he held her through it, whispering praise against her skin. "That's it… that's it, Yao… you're perfect."
She was still trembling. Soft cries escaping her lips, body loose and trembling in his arms as aftershocks pulsed through her. Her thighs clenched weakly around him, her slickness coating his cock, and every breath she took stuttered like she was still falling apart.
Sicheng was barely holding on. Her release soaked him. Her body so warm, so wet, her folds slick and tight around him as he rocked between her thighs, not inside, but it didn't matter. He could feel everything. Every squeeze, every tremble, every whimper of his name. He groaned, voice rough and desperate as he rutted harder now, rougher, the thick drag of his cock grinding through her wetness over and over again, hips snapping forward with growing urgency. "Yao…" he gasped, his grip tightening around her waist, pulling her back so tightly against him there was no space left between them. His hand squeezed her breast as he panted into her neck, mouth open against her damp skin, teeth grazing again. "Fuck, you feel so good, you're so soft, so hot," His voice broke as he thrust again, grinding through her folds with raw, helpless need. "Let me come," he begged, his tone cracking with restraint barely holding. "Please, just like this, between your thighs, in your slick little folds, just let me…"
She let out a soft, trembling sound, barely a whimper, still breathless, still half-fogged from her own orgasm but she didn't say no. Didn't pull away. Instead, she shifted slightly, legs spreading just a little more. Welcoming. Inviting and that was all it took.
Sicheng let out a deep, broken groan, his mouth dropping to her shoulder as he bit down, not hard, just enough to mark, as his hips snapped forward again, grinding into her wetness, her warmth, until he couldn't hold it anymore. "Yao…." He came with a full-body shudder, hips grinding once, twice more as he spilled himself between her thighs, thick and hot, the friction of her slick folds wringing every last wave of pleasure out of him. His cock throbbed with each pulse, smeared through her heat, coated in her slick and his release alike. He held her tightly through every last twitch of it, panting hard into the crook of her neck, his voice a hoarse whisper, "My good girl… my beautiful, perfect girl…"
The air was heavy with the scent of sweat and skin, the kind of quiet that only followed something raw and intimate and real.
Sicheng stayed wrapped around her, his body still pressed close, chest heaving as he slowly came down from the high that had nearly wrecked him. Her legs were still tucked over his, her thighs slick with both of them, her skin flushed and damp where his breath fanned across it. But his movements now were soft. Tender. He didn't pull away. He didn't rush. Instead, he pressed a long, slow kiss to her neck. Then another. And another, soft little brushes of his lips over the heated skin of her shoulder, the edge of her jaw, the back of her ear. Gentle. Anchoring. Reverent. His nose nuzzled into her hairline as he held her tighter, his hand curling lightly over her waist, thumb stroking small circles into her skin. She was quiet. Still trembling faintly. He could feel it in the way her body sank deeper into the sheets, the way her breathing hadn't fully evened out yet. But it wasn't fear. It wasn't regret.
Still, he asked. Voice low. Steady. Grounded in her.
"Are you okay?" he murmured against her skin. "Was that too much?"
Yao didn't answer right away.
So he continued, slower this time, softer. "It's never about what I want, Wǔ xiān. It's about what you want. Always." His lips pressed gently against her shoulder, then again beneath her ear. "You tell me if we need to stop. You tell me if this was too far. I'll follow your lead."
Her breath hitched. She didn't move. Not for a long moment. Before she nodded. Slow. Small. Then whispered, barely louder than a breath, "I'm okay… I wanted this."
He exhaled. Relieved. Careful. And wrapped both arms fully around her now, his voice soft against her ear. "Then I've got you," he whispered, kissing her temple. "I've got you, beautiful. Always." And she melted into him like that was all she'd needed to hear.
The quiet stretched between them, warm and steady. Their bodies were still tangled together, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped securely around her middle as if letting go would break something neither of them wanted to risk.
Yao's breathing had begun to settle, slow, soft, steady. But her mind hadn't stilled. She could feel her skin still glowing from the way he'd touched her, the way he'd praised her, the way he'd made her feel wanted in every way she hadn't known she needed. And now that it was over, now that she wasn't lost in the rhythm of heat and sensation, all that was left was… her.
Shy.
Vulnerable.
Quiet.
She hesitated before she spoke, her voice small, barely audible—just the brush of breath between them in the dark. "…Sicheng?"
He stirred, shifting behind her to press another kiss to her shoulder. "Hmm?"
Her fingers curled nervously in the edge of the blanket. "Would you… I mean, um…" She swallowed, heart pounding harder than it had even during the height of it all. "Would you… take a shower with me?" she whispered, cheeks burning. "Only if you want to. I just, thought maybe… we could… together. And then…" Another soft breath. The last of her words came even quieter, like they were too fragile to survive if spoken too loud. "…then maybe we could just go back to bed?" Her voice trembled on that last syllable. Not with uncertainty about him. Just the quiet vulnerability of asking for something intimate that wasn't about sex at all. Just being close. Being with him. She added quickly, "I mean—it's fine if not. You don't have to. I just—um, I thought maybe…"
Sicheng didn't let her finish. He kissed the back of her shoulder. Then nuzzled against the soft skin behind her ear, the barest sound of a smile in his breath. "I'd like that." he murmured, his voice low, steady, and warm.
And the tension in her body melted. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, her fingers unclenching, her body relaxing against him fully again. "Okay," she whispered.
And he pressed one more kiss to her flushed cheek. Then quietly, gently, without a rush, he helped her up.
The shower was warm, steam curling through the air as the water ran in soft, steady rhythm against tile. The light was low, soft from the overhead glow, not harsh—not blinding. It felt quiet. Contained.
Safe.
Yao stood beneath the stream, her back to him, her long silver hair cascading down her back, damp and clinging to her skin. Her cheeks were still pink—not from the water, but from everything that had come before, and everything still unspoken between them.
Sicheng, behind her, had just finished rinsing himself off, soap and heat washing away the remnants of the night. His hands moved easily, naturally, reaching for the shampoo as he stepped back in. Then, in that casual, gruff tone that always betrayed just how amused he really was, he muttered under his breath, "…Glad I hijacked one of your drawers."
"What?" Yao blinked, her head turning slightly, wet strands brushing over her shoulder.
Sicheng's smirk was audible in his voice as he poured a measure of shampoo into his palm. "I said," he repeated, louder now, "I'm glad I hijacked one of your drawers."
She turned to look at him fully, eyes wide, water dripping down her temple. "You what?"
He only smirked harder, reaching out and gently tugging her toward him by the waist with one soapy hand. She stumbled a half-step forward into the heat of his body, flushed, flustered, entirely caught off guard. "I did it right after you asked if we could have sleepovers," he murmured, voice low and teasing against her wet temple. "You remember. You said—and I quote—'Just in case you feel too lazy to go back to your room.'"
She gasped, sputtering now. "I—I didn't mean permanently! That was—! You moved in ?!"
"Not completely." He kissed her cheek as he slowly lathered his hands. "Just half a drawer. Maybe a shelf. And I left space. I'm polite like that."
She let out a helpless little squeak as he gently turned her by the hips to face forward again.
Then he guided her under the water, fingers threading through her soaked strands with careful precision. "You didn't notice?"
"I—I just thought I'd accidentally ordered too many sleeping shirts or took too many of yours…"
He chuckled low behind her as his fingers massaged shampoo gently into her scalp, his thumbs brushing the base of her skull in slow, circling motions. She went quiet then, eyes fluttering shut as he worked. The warmth of his hands in her hair. The water cascading over her shoulders. The soft sound of him humming under his breath behind her, like it was just any other morning between two people who belonged like this—together, unhurried. When he leaned in to kiss the top of her head, she didn't flinch. She smiled and leaned back into his touch.
By the time the water was off, the room was thick with steam, their quiet breaths the only sound as Sicheng wrapped a towel around her gently, his hands steady and unhurried as he guided her out of the shower.
Yao mumbled something into the edge of her towel.
He glanced down, brow lifting. "What was that?"
She peeked up at him, eyes still pink at the corners, and muttered under her breath again, "…Clingy hooligan."
His lips twitched. He didn't deny it. He leaned down, pressing a kiss just beneath her damp jaw as he reached for another towel to wrap around his hips. "True," he said smoothly, voice low and content. "But I'm your clingy hooligan."
Yao flushed deeper, the warmth in her chest spreading faster than she could stop it. Her hands clutched at the towel wrapped around her as she tried to scowl up at him—but it failed. Miserably.
He smirked as he moved to the counter, grabbing her sleep shirt—the one that was soft and oversized and slightly wrinkled from having been pushed aside the night before—and set it down next to a pair of clean cotton underwear. Then he turned back to her. "Here," he said, voice softer now. "Put these on."
She blinked. "Aren't you—?"
He was already pulling open the bathroom door. "Wait here," he called back over his shoulder, drying his hair with one hand. "I'm going to check the bedding."
"The—?"
He paused in the doorway, glanced back at her with a glint of something terribly smug in his eye. "We're were a little messy, Wǔ xiān," he said with no shame at all. "I'm making sure we don't have to sleep in the aftermath."
Yao made a sound— mortified , somewhere between a gasp and a horrified squeak and ducked behind the towel.
Sicheng chuckled low as he disappeared into the hall, voice still drifting behind him like it was nothing. "Don't move. I'll be back in a minute."
And she stood there, flustered, pink, and helplessly tucked in steam and towels. Realizing she'd never stood a chance against him from the start.
The bedroom was sort of dark as it could get with the sun coming out more but everything was where it should be. The bedding, though tangled, hadn't needed changing—just a quick straightening and the toss of a fresh blanket across the foot of the bed.
Sicheng pulled on a pair of loose sleep pants, leaving the rest as it was. No shirt. No need. His skin still felt warm from the shower, the air curling over his chest as he raked his fingers through his damp hair, pushing it back with a low breath. He moved back down the hall, quiet, bare feet against polished floorboards. The bathroom door was still cracked and when he stepped back inside… He snorted softly, the sound low and filled with something unmistakably fond. Because Yao, sweet, flushed, wrecked little Yao, was still standing in the exact same spot. Wrapped entirely in her towel. Her sleep shirt and underwear still folded neatly on the counter beside her.
And she?
Hadn't moved. Her cheeks were burning. Her eyes wide and darting the second she saw him reappear in the doorway, shirtless, calm, and wholly unbothered by the memory of everything they'd just done. She wasn't trembling. But she was clearly mortified. Still flustered. Still buried in the steam and the weight of it all.
And Sicheng… just stood there. Looking at her. Letting the silence settle. He didn't tease her, not this time. Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes softening as they traced the outline of her bundled shape, small and precious and completely overwhelmed by her own emotions. And he thought, not for the first time… He really hoped she never lost that part of herself. The part that turned red when he said something shameless. The part that still hid behind towels even after her hands had clutched at his shoulders and she'd whispered his name as she came apart in his arms. The part that was still trying to figure out how to be brave in the middle of something so new and still herself through every second of it. He smiled. Quietly. Fully. "You gonna stay in there all day?" he asked softly.
She peeked out from over the towel, eyes narrowed but glowing. "I might." she mumbled.
He stepped closer. Not rushed. Not pushing. Just near enough that his fingers could brush against hers, resting lightly at the edge of the towel. His voice dropped again, low and sincere. "Come to bed, Wǔ xiān." And for all her fluster, all her pink cheeks and towel clutching and post-shower silence, she nodded. Slowly. She didn't resist when he reached for the folded clothes on the counter. She just stood there, still warm from the shower, still wrapped in her towel, her eyes lowered as her hands trembled ever so slightly at her sides. The air between them was quiet now, not tense, not shy exactly. Just full of something. Something settled. Something safe.
Sicheng didn't tease her. He didn't smirk. He just stepped close, holding her gaze for a moment, waiting—always waiting—until she gave him the smallest nod. And then, slowly, carefully, he helped her dress. First her underwear, soft cotton he guided up her legs with careful hands and a reverent kind of stillness. Then her sleep shirt, the familiar oversized one that always seemed to smell faintly like lavender and warmth. She slipped her arms through the sleeves as he held it out, and when the hem dropped just past her thighs, she let out the smallest breath of relief.
Sicheng pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then—without warning, without needing permission—he scooped her into his arms.
Yao squeaked, burying her face in his chest, her legs curling instinctively as he carried her through the still hallway, his steps slow and even, one arm under her knees, the other curled behind her back. "You didn't have to—" she began, muffled.
"I wanted to," he said, voice low.
She didn't argue again.
He carried her all the way back to the room, the bed still half-turned down, the light from the bedside lamp casting a soft amber glow over the covers. He placed her down gently, as though she weighed nothing, and then followed her into the blankets, pulling them up over both of them until they were wrapped in warmth and in each other.
Yao curled into his side, her head tucked beneath his jaw, her hand resting lightly over his heart. He shifted just enough to hold her fully, one arm around her waist, the other pulling the blankets tighter.
He didn't say anything at first. Just held her. Just breathed her in. And then softly against her hair. He whispered, "I love you." Not because he needed her to say it back. But because he wanted her to hear it. Feel it. Know it.
Yao pressed closer. Her fingers curled lightly in his shirtless chest, her face hidden, her heart thundering—but she didn't hesitate. "I love you too…" she whispered. Barely a breath. But everything he needed. His arms tightened. And the world disappeared. Just her. Just him. And the quiet rhythm of something that felt like forever.
The room was quiet again.
Yao had already drifted off in his arms, her breathing soft and steady, her head tucked beneath his chin, one hand curled loosely against his chest like she belonged there—like she'd always belonged there.
Sicheng, though—he was still awake. Barely. But just enough. He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her, and reached for his phone from the bedside table. One hand. Screen brightness low. Thumb moving slowly as he typed out the message:
ZGDX_Chessman:No scrims. No strategy briefs. No PR. We're taking the day. I'm spending it with Yao.
He sent it to Rui.
Two seconds later, his screen lit up with a reply.
ZGDX_Rui: Fine. But no home runs in the base.
Sicheng blinked. Then narrowed his eyes at the screen like Rui could feel it through the walls. He typed slowly.
ZGDX_Chessman: One: I'm the owner. This is my base. My team. My rules.
A pause.
He followed it up with the second message.
ZGDX_Chessman: Two: If you ever say that out loud where she might hear it and figure out what it means… I'll tell my mother.
Another pause.
Then…
ZGDX_Chessman: And when I tell her? You'll be registered for a three-day sensitivity training conference. With guest speakers and mandatory journaling.
It took three full minutes for Rui to reply.
ZGDX_Rui: Message received. Enjoy your day. I'm logging off for the next twenty-four hours. Please don't tell Madam Lu.
Sicheng smirked faintly to himself. Tucked his phone away. And pulled Yao closer into his chest, pressing one last kiss to the top of her head before letting his eyes fall closed. She was his and the world? Could wait. He was just starting to drift. The weight of the day, the warmth of her breath against his collarbone, the comforting press of her body wrapped snugly in his arms—it was pulling him under like an anchor.
A soft thump at the edge of the mattress. The creak of the covers shifted behind Yao's back.
Sicheng cracked one eye open. Barely. And there they were.
Da Bing—thirty-five pounds of glorious judgment—leapt lightly onto the foot of the bed, tail flicking once before he made his way up the blankets. He paused only long enough to glare at Sicheng, as if to say She's mine, too, then curled himself in a regal little crescent right behind Yao, his broad frame flush against her back. Right behind him, Xiao Cong was dragging his much smaller, dramatic self up with two full-body wiggles and a series of soft chirps.
He stepped delicately over the blanket, climbed right over Da Bing's flank like the white Siberian was just part of the furniture, and nestled himself on the other side of Yao's hip. Tiny paws stretched out. Tail flicked once. Then stillness. Settled. Claimed. One large cat. One tiny kitten. Both plastered against her.
Sicheng stared. Then let out a soft, barely-there snort, amusement curling at the edges of his voice as he whispered against her hair. "Seriously?" Neither cat moved. Da Bing only huffed in response—like the bed was his territory and Sicheng was lucky to have earned partial rights. Yao didn't stir. She was surrounded. Wrapped in his arms, shielded by her cats, breathing slow and soft and even, like every part of her, had finally found where it belonged. Sicheng closed his eyes again. His smile lingered. And then he slept with his girl curled in his arms, Her world curled against her back and everything exactly as it should be.