Sun Zhe sat quietly in the steel chair, looking at Han Xinyue squatting before him. "If you're that debased and shameless," he said with a wry smile, "then be my guest."
SLAP.
Han Xinyue raised her hand and lightly slapped his face. "Naughty boy," she said softly. "Speak to your master properly."
Sun Zhe turned his head away and ignored her, his eyes filled with disdain.
However, his body was frustratingly honest.
Held in her warm, delicate hands, the flaccid, dark object soon became hard and scorching hot. It felt like a red-hot iron rod, almost burning her touch.
Sun Zhe bit his lip softly, then leaned his head back against the chair and slowly closed his eyes. He chose not to watch what Han Xinyue was about to do, forcing himself to remain calm and think. Even in these dire straits, as long as he was still breathing, he wouldn't give up on finding a chance to escape.
