Mo Yinhe's breath was deep and rich, like a jar of Daughter's Red buried for ten years—warm and mellow on the palate, with an enduring, savory aftertaste.
Si Mingjing felt both ashamed and annoyed as she struggled to push him away. "…Mo Yinhe, you… bastard!"
Si Mingjing abruptly shoved Mo Yinhe away.
She raised her hand, intent on slapping the despicable rogue.
Mo Yinhe caught her wrist as it swung towards him. Her hand was slender yet strong, with round, long fingers and distinct, appealing joints. He bent his head to kiss the back of her hand.
Si Mingjing's cheeks turned even redder, and she tried to pull her hand back.
Mo Yinhe wouldn't let her, arrogantly grasping her palm.
His own palms were broad and long, covered with a thin layer of calluses, their rough texture chafing against her delicate fingers.
Her body tingled as if electrified; a wave of tingling numbness washed over Si Mingjing.
She was mortified by her body's reaction. Why didn't her heart reject him at all?
