Without a doubt, Zhao Qirou was bewitching, radiating an allure that no man could resist.
Zhao Dong was only human, a man, not a saint. As he looked at Zhao Qirou, his mind grew hazy. His blood seemed to ignite, rushing straight to the crown of his head.
"Qirou, you're my sister, I can't…"
Before Zhao Dong could finish, his mouth was sealed once more. This time, he distinctly felt Zhao Qirou's earnestness and affection, an intensity that nearly made him surrender completely.
Before he knew it, Zhao Qirou was left in nothing but her most intimate undergarment. It was black and edged with lace, barely concealing the beautiful, snowy-white contours of her body. The sight sent a shockwave through Zhao Dong's mind, as if his brain had just exploded.
