"Can't you finish your sentences?" she said, both embarrassed and annoyed.
Her face was excessively red, whether from fever or from embarrassment.
Ye Yiheng was in a great mood, laughing as he drew her into his embrace.
He hugged her so tightly, as if he wanted to merge her into his very bones and blood. Leng Yu Yan gently patted his back, murmuring softly, "Let me go first, I need to change something."
He didn't understand, "Change what?"
Leng Yu Yan's face was burning, her heart pounding violently, "Menstruation bag."
It hadn't been changed all night, and she wasn't sure of its condition now.
This man was always either holding or kissing her, causing her blood to surge.
Her voice was as faint as that of a mosquito, but Ye Yiheng heard her clearly—his fair, handsome face suddenly tinted with a suggestive red.
He coughed lightly, his fist pressed against his lips, "Go ahead, and if you need help, just call me."
"You..."
How shameless could he be?
