Chapter 75: Seeking a Title

The two of them had not been strangers to intimacy; they had done all there was to do between lovers. Yet, seeing his body so plainly before her like this—it was the first time. Song Qingyou’s ears flushed red without her realizing it. She hurriedly lowered her head, her usual cool and elegant demeanor gone, and awkwardly scooped up the kitten from the floor. “W-why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

On any other day, seeing her so flustered, the mad dog would have clung to her in an instant. But today, he was in no mood. He forced himself to stay away from his mistress.

“Did the Jiang family only book this one room?” Fu Wenzhou’s face was gloomy, his voice cold as he spoke—at least, he thought it sounded cold. But in front of Song Qingyou, he could never truly be cold; even his pretense rang false.

The flush on Song Qingyou’s face slowly faded, her brows knitting lightly. “Are you trying to make me leave?”

Fu Wenzhou was silent.

That wasn’t what he meant at all. His expression grew even darker, and after a long moment, he managed, “I didn’t say that.”

Song Qingyou looked at him for a few seconds, then said, “I’ll ask Uncle Chang to prepare another room. You get some rest.”

Fu Wenzhou was beside himself with frustration. Watching her about to walk away, he strode forward, scooped her up by the waist, and tossed her onto the bed—controlling his strength, but tossing her all the same.

Song Qingyou was already startled by his sudden movement, and then he had to go and throw her. Her expression chilled. “Fu Wenzhou, are you insane?”

Fu Wenzhou gritted his teeth. “I’m insane?”

Song Qingyou looked up at him. “If you’re not, then why are you acting like this? If you’re upset, just say it—no one’s asking you to bottle it up.”

Fu Wenzhou pressed his lips together, his eyes gradually reddening. A trace of a twisted, bitter smile flitted across his lips. “Song Qingyou, it’s because you know I love you, that you’re so reckless in hurting me.”

Song Qingyou’s heart gave a shudder, her eyes flickering. “You think…I’m hurting you?”

Fu Wenzhou bent down, his hand gripping her chin. His voice was hoarse and heavy, as if it had been sealed in a well for years, even his breath muffled by thick dust. “Tell me, what are we now? Lovers? Partners? Or…something that can never see the light of day?”

The last two words were forced out through clenched teeth, his dark eyes fixed on her lips, his fingertips trembling, terrified she would say something he couldn’t bear to hear.

Song Qingyou’s breathing quickened, pain tightening her chest. She fought to keep from coughing in such a moment. “What do you want?”

Fu Wenzhou’s brows knitted deeply. “What?”

She steadied her breath, her gaze cold and clear. “What is it you want from me?”

Fu Wenzhou was stunned.

Song Qingyou pronounced each word carefully. “I’m dying, Fu Wenzhou. I can’t give you what you want. And isn’t what we have now…good enough?”

“Good? Good, my ass!” Fu Wenzhou’s expression contorted, his eyes filled with a dark fury. “I told you I’d find Master Yunfang—why won’t you believe me?”

His voice was ragged as he stroked her cheek. “Qingyou, don’t push me.”

The kitten shrank into a corner, too scared to come near, issuing a tentative mewl.

Song Qingyou sighed, as if conceding. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you dragged into this.”

The Song family was a filthy mire, crawling with all manner of monsters and demons. She was already exhausted dealing with it alone; why pull him in, too?

Fu Wenzhou’s eyes reddened as he rolled her beneath him, his fingertips tracing her brows and eyes, lingering on each feature. “Am I so shameful to you?”

Song Qingyou froze. Was her puppy…crying?

She had always thought they had reached a tacit understanding—that so long as they didn’t probe too deeply into this ambiguous relationship, it could simply go on as it was. But Fu Wenzhou clearly felt differently.

Her heart ached with a sour fullness. Suddenly, she remembered the morning she woke to find him, seemingly, crying then too.

She lifted her hand, hesitated, then rested her fingertip against his lips. “Fu Wenzhou, did I never tell you? I like you, too.”

Fu Wenzhou went rigid. In that moment, his possessiveness surged to a fever pitch. His Adam’s apple bobbed twice, lashes trembling, the fingertips pressed to her cheek curling in.

His voice was husky, tentative, tinged with hope. “Qingyou, what did you just say?”

Her tea-brown eyes glimmered as she tilted her face to his. When their lips met, Fu Wenzhou’s heart gave a violent jolt.

He closed his eyes and, without hesitation, took the lead, their kisses deepening, the sounds of lips and tongues entwined intoxicating in the darkness.

Song Qingyou’s breathing grew ragged as she pushed him away. Fearing she might start coughing, Fu Wenzhou dared not kiss her too hard, settling for gentle, tentative pecks.

She grew annoyed with his incessant, teasing kisses and turned her face aside. “Fu Wenzhou, stop kissing me…”

Yet even her protest came out soft and coquettish.

Fu Wenzhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed several times. He stared at her as a hunter would his prey, unwilling even to blink, as if a single blink might let his prize escape.

Her cheeks were burning, and she was secretly annoyed at how warm the coastal heating was—no wonder sweat beaded on Fu Wenzhou’s back.

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent. His hair, now grown a little longer, tickled her, making her shrink her neck.

“Don’t move,” Fu Wenzhou rasped. “Let me smell you.”

She said nothing. He was shirtless, pressed against her, and she was starting to feel hot, but she kept it to herself.

“Qingyou,” Fu Wenzhou murmured. “Say it again. I want to hear you say it again.”

He softened his voice, coaxing her, his canine teeth gently grazing the back of her neck, careful not to hurt her.

Song Qingyou’s nature was cold. The Song family had taught her from childhood to weigh gains and losses, to be cold-blooded and detached. So, when Fu Wenzhou had knelt in the rain three years ago, begging her not to marry, she’d found his foolishness almost endearing.

What use was love, after all?

In Song Yuan, she had seen how little love was worth in this world.

So she’d never allowed herself to indulge her feelings. Restraint was something she had learned young.

But Fu Wenzhou was her opposite—his love was pure, intense, and honest.

For three years, he had haunted her nights, and she had dreaded waking to find a man beside her in the morning.

She feared him, was annoyed by him, and used harsh words to wound him.

It changed nothing. Each time, he came back.

But in these three years, if she had truly wanted to escape, could she not have done so?

Even the love she refused to speak of slipped out, just to soothe him when her little dog was unhappy.

Subconsciously, she was indulging him.

“Enough,” Song Qingyou said, stroking his earlobe. “I’ll only say it once.”

Fu Wenzhou’s grip tightened ever so slightly. Even a confession of love, she was so stingy with.

He comforted himself: It didn’t matter, as long as she loved him.

Fu Wenzhou slid his hand around her waist, holding her close, and whispered, “Sister, I want to be yours—really, officially. Will you let me?”