Summary: In the slow, sacred stillness of a perfect morning, Chen Yao and Lu Sicheng carve promises into each other's skin, promises not made with words, but with touch, trust, and the fierce certainty that they have already found their home in each other.
Chapter Twenty-One
The early morning light filtered gently through the gauzy curtains, bathing the room in a soft golden haze. The air was quiet, thick with the warm, heavy stillness that only came from deep sleep and the weight of an unhurried, perfect morning.
Sicheng stirred first. He blinked slowly, the world sharpening into focus piece by piece—the faint sound of the waves crashing softly against the shore beyond the open balcony doors, the distant rustle of palm trees swaying lazily in the breeze.
The deep, steady rumble of Da Bing's soft snores, the kitten sprawled out like a little emperor in his plush bed perched atop the dresser, completely oblivious to the world.
But it was the feeling of her that anchored him. Yao, curled against him, her naked back pressed flush against his bare chest, her hair loose and wild across the pillow. The warmth of her skin seared into him, branding him with every soft shift of her breathing.
Sicheng exhaled slowly, the breath catching slightly as the sheer intimacy of the moment tightened low in his gut. Every inch of her against him. Unshielded. His. He tightened his arm around her waist, sliding his hand down the smooth, soft curve of her stomach, savoring the way her body instinctively arched slightly into his touch even in sleep. Need thrummed hot and deep under his skin, stealing into every nerve. He dipped his head lower, nuzzling against the side of her neck, breathing her in, salt, sun, and something sweeter, something her. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below her ear, his stubble grazing lightly against the sensitive skin there.
Yao shifted slightly with a soft, half-asleep sound, her body molding even closer to his.
Sicheng smiled against her skin, slow and dangerous. He moved one leg between hers, nudging gently, coaxing. Her leg slid back over his without resistance, opening her to him.
Sicheng rocked his hips forward, the slow, deliberate grind of his body against hers pulling a low, rough sound from deep in his chest. The friction was a sweet, maddening torture. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, then another, trailing down the line of her spine in slow, reverent worship. His hand roamed lower, skimming along her hip, claiming every inch of her with a possessive tenderness he didn't bother trying to hide. He moved again, rubbing himself slowly, deliberately against the soft heat of her.
It was almost too much.
Almost.
He nipped lightly at the curve of her neck, his voice a rough, husky growl against her ear,"Wake up, Shorty."
Yao stirred at the sound of his voice, her body shifting instinctively against his, a soft, needy sigh escaping her lips.
Sicheng groaned low, the sound muffled against her skin as he rocked into her again, harder this time, unable— unwilling —to hold back the way she drove him utterly, completely mad. "Come on, sweet girl," he whispered, his hand sliding up, cupping her breast, teasing lightly as he rolled his hips again, the slow friction making them both ache. "Wake up for me." The first real sound she made—a soft, broken whimper that slipped from her throat without thought—nearly undid him.
Sicheng pressed his forehead against the back of her neck, breathing hard, steadying himself with every ounce of control he had left. Because he wasn't going to rush this. Not now. Not with her. Not when he had all the time in the world to show her just how deeply he belonged to her—and how much she belonged to him.
Yao stirred against him, a soft, confused breath catching in her throat as she slowly drifted up from the heavy warmth of sleep. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, her body instinctively arching into the slow, deliberate rhythm of his touch before her mind even fully caught up. She let out a small, helpless whimper as the thick, teasing grind of his length dragged slowly through her folds—slick, unbearably hot, and steady, so steady it made her nerves catch fire one by one.
Sicheng groaned low against her neck, the sound vibrating through her as he kept the maddening pace, slow and deep, letting the head of his cock brush against her clit just enough to pull another broken, gasping sound from her throat. He shifted slightly, using his thigh to wedge her open even more, letting him rub tighter, deeper, the pressure exquisitely cruel. "You feel that, sweetheart?" he rasped against her ear, his voice rough and fraying at the edges with how badly he needed her. "You feel what you do to me?"
Yao's answer was a high, breathless moan, her hands scrambling to grip the pillow beneath her as her hips rocked back instinctively, desperate for more friction, more contact, more him.
Sicheng caught her hand, lacing their fingers together as he pinned it gently to the mattress above her head, anchoring her while his other hand skimmed up her ribs to cup her breast, his thumb brushing lightly over the sensitive peak. She gasped, arching into him, her body pliant, burning under his touch. Still, he didn't rush. He didn't slam into her, didn't lose the fragile, sacred pace he was setting. Instead, he rubbed against her again and again—each slow, delicious glide dragging over her clit, through her folds, teasing at her entrance but never fully breaching, never fully giving her what her body was begging for. It was worship. It was a slow, devastating claiming. Sicheng pressed his forehead against the back of her neck, breathing hard, whispering against her skin between low, reverent kisses, "Mine." He nudged the tip of himself against her entrance, teasing, retreating, pressing back against her clit just to make her whimper again. "Only mine."
Her body trembled under the onslaught of slow, torturous pleasure, her hips grinding helplessly back against him, seeking him, craving him. "Sicheng," she gasped, her voice breaking beautifully, full of need, full of love, full of him.
He groaned roughly, the sound pure gravel, as if her voice alone was enough to shatter his restraint. He held the pace. Slow. Deep. Worshipful. Every teasing rub against her folds tearing sweet, desperate sounds from her throat, making her body tighten and arch and beg without words. He wanted her to feel it. Feel that she was everything. Everything he would ever need. Everything he would ever fight for. Everything he would never let go.
Yao writhed against him, small desperate gasps escaping her with every teasing, devastating drag of his body against hers. Her nails scraped helplessly against the sheets, her hips arching, her body trembling under the slow, exquisite torture he was drawing out with maddening patience.
Sicheng's breathing was rough against her neck, the low, broken sounds rumbling from his chest betraying just how close he was to shattering. But he wasn't going to lose control. Not yet. Not until she had no doubt. Not until he made sure she knew, with every inch of her soul, that she belonged to him. And he belonged to her. Unable to deny them both a second longer, he shifted, reaching down to guide himself to her entrance. He paused there, the thick head of him pressing lightly against her, teasing the promise of what was about to happen, what was about to be claimed all over again. He slid his hand up her side, anchoring her, steadying her, his thumb brushing circles along her ribs to soothe the tiny tremors shaking through her body. And then, with a slow, deep roll of his hips, he pushed inside her. One devastating inch at a time.
Yao cried out softly, her body instinctively tightening around him, welcoming him in the way only she could.
Sicheng groaned against her neck, the sound ragged, reverent, as he seated himself fully inside her, his arms locking tighter around her as if he could fuse them together through sheer will. He didn't move immediately. He just held her there, feeling her pulse around him, feeling the way she clutched at the sheets, at him, grounding him in a way no trophy, no title, no victory ever could. His mouth brushed against the shell of her ear, his voice a low, broken whisper full of a tenderness so raw it made her shiver, "You're my whole world, Shorty." He kissed the spot just below her ear, slow and aching. "My forever."
Yao whimpered softly, her hands clutching his forearms where he cradled her against him, her whole body trembling under the weight of his words, his touch, his love.
Sicheng moved then—slow, steady, grinding deep and sure inside her, filling her completely. No rush. No urgency. Just slow, deep, claiming thrusts that said more than any vow ever could. She was his. Completely. Irrevocably. And he was hers. For the rest of their lives. Every slow, deep thrust burned the truth into her body until she was gasping his name over and over, the sounds low, soft, and sacred between them. And with every broken sound, every tremble, every tightening flutter of her around him.
Sicheng whispered it against her skin, against her hair, against her mouth, "Mine. Always. My whole world."
Sicheng kept the pace steady, unrelenting, driving into her with slow, deep thrusts that burned a fire through both of them with every breath.
Yao clutched at the sheets, her body arching and trembling, lost in the rhythm he set—so achingly slow, so devastatingly deep that she could feel him in every nerve, every breath, every beat of her heart.
He kissed along her shoulder, whispering words against her skin with every thrust.
" Mine. "
" Beautiful. "
" Forever. "
She sobbed his name softly, her voice breaking as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside her, sharp and breathless and inevitable.
Sicheng slid one hand down her body, finding the sensitive nub between her legs with aching tenderness, circling it with slow, deliberate pressure.
Yao cried out, her body clenching around him, her hips rocking helplessly back against him, chasing the edge he was so carefully, ruthlessly dragging her toward.
"Come on, sweetheart," he rasped against her ear, his voice rough and breaking apart. "Come for me." It didn't take much more. The way he filled her. The way he touched her. The way he loved her with every inch of his being.
Yao shattered with a soft, broken sob, her body tightening around him in rhythmic, trembling waves, her head falling back against his shoulder as the pleasure tore through her like a storm.
Sicheng groaned low and harsh, feeling her clench around him, her body pulling him deeper, harder. He thrust into her once, twice more and then he followed her over the edge, burying himself deep inside her with a rough, helpless sound as the world narrowed to nothing but her. Everything faded. The ocean. The wind. The world itself. Only her. Only them. They stayed there for a long moment, tangled together in the sheets, their bodies trembling from the force of it, their hearts thudding against each other like drums in the quiet.
Sicheng didn't pull away. He stayed inside her, holding her tight against his chest, one hand splayed wide over her stomach as if anchoring her there, his forehead resting against the curve of her shoulder. Breathing her in. Breathing them in. And when he finally found his voice again, it was rough, tender, raw with everything he felt and couldn't fit into words. "We have a lifetime," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the damp skin just behind her ear. "A lifetime of mornings like this."
Yao smiled faintly, her eyes fluttering closed, her hand finding his against her stomach and lacing their fingers together. "And a lifetime of you," she whispered back.
Sicheng smiled too, slow and full, pressing another kiss to her hair. "Damn right," he murmured. "And I'm never letting go."
Outside, the ocean whispered against the shore. Inside, wrapped in each other's arms, they drifted in the slow, perfect stillness of a world that was finally—completely—theirs.
The late morning stretched slow and golden across the villa, the soft sound of the ocean weaving through the open balcony doors like a lullaby. Especially after they had fallen back asleep after their activities.
Yao woke once more slowly, blinking against the dappled sunlight that spilled across the wide bed, the sheets tangled loosely around her hips. She didn't move right away. There was no rush. No noise. No pressure. Only the slow, steady rhythm of Sicheng's breathing against her back, his arm heavy and sure around her waist, holding her close even in sleep. She smiled faintly, her hand sliding over his where it rested on her stomach, her fingers tracing lazy patterns against his skin. For a long, blissful stretch of time, she just stayed there, soaking in the weight of him, the warmth, the steady, grounding presence that had, somehow, quietly, become her home.
A low, demanding meow shattered the peace.
Yao cracked one eye open fully just in time to see Da Bing leap gracefully onto the foot of the bed, shaking his thick white fur free of imaginary dust as he strutted toward them like a small, entitled king surveying his peasants. He sat down squarely at the center of the bed, tail flicking with imperial impatience, and let out another loud, rumbling yowl. Yao snorted softly, burying her smile against the pillow.
Behind her, Sicheng groaned into her hair, his voice a low, gruff rumble still thick with sleep. "Of course." he muttered, his hand tightening possessively around her waist even as he cracked one eye open to glare at the cat.
Da Bing stared at them both, unbothered, his blue eyes sharp and full of judgment. Another loud, commanding chirp.
Yao laughed under her breath, reaching back to pat Sicheng's thigh. "You heard him," she said, her voice rough and sweet with sleep. "The spoiled prince demands breakfast."
Sicheng shifted closer, pressing a slow kiss to the curve of her shoulder, dragging his mouth lazily up to the sensitive spot just below her ear. "Forget breakfast," he murmured against her skin, his hand sliding lower along her thigh. "He can wait."
Da Bing, apparently understanding he was being ignored, let out a furious meow, his tail whipping like a banner of rebellion.
Yao laughed helplessly, squirming as Sicheng's hands roamed with slow, dangerous intent. "We're going to have a rebellion on our hands," she teased breathlessly.
Sicheng growled low in his throat, nipping lightly at her neck. "Let him try."
Another yowl.
Louder this time.
Yao twisted around, laughing openly now, her hair falling across her face as she looked up at him.
Sicheng stared down at her, his expression soft and full and wrecked in the way he only ever let her see, like nothing in the world existed beyond this bed, this room, this moment. And then he grinned, lazy and dangerous and so full of pure love it made her heart squeeze painfully tight. "Fine," he said, lifting himself reluctantly away from her, grabbing the sheet to loosely sling around his hips. "But you," he added, pointing a slow, deliberate finger at her as he swung his legs off the bed, "are not leaving this room." He shot Da Bing a glare over his shoulder. "And you," he muttered darkly, "owe me at least two hours of uninterrupted cuddles after breakfast."
Da Bing chirped smugly, his mission successful.
Yao laughed into the pillow, her heart so full she thought it might burst. She watched Sicheng disappear toward the small kitchenette, bare-chested, half-draped in linen, the very picture of a man completely, utterly undone by love and loving every second of it. And as Da Bing promptly stole Sicheng's still-warm spot on the bed, curling up with a satisfied purr against her hip, Yao realized something simple and perfect. The lazy mornings. The endless teasing. The quiet, relentless love that filled every breath of this house. Was hers. Forever. And she wouldn't trade a second of it for anything.
After breakfast, the three of them wandered lazily down the small stone path that wound from the villa straight onto the beach, the morning sun warm against their backs and the ocean whispering promises just beyond the dunes.
Yao kicked off her sandals first, letting her toes sink into the soft, powdery sand with a small sigh of pleasure.
Sicheng followed behind her at an easy pace, hands shoved into the pockets of his loose, dark pants, his expression relaxed in a way that still felt a little unreal, even now.
And Da Bing: The so-called royal prince of the household, took exactly three disdainful steps onto the sand, froze dramatically, and immediately lifted one white paw in abject horror. He let out a low, grumbling meow of absolute betrayal, glaring up at them like they had personally offended every generation of his noble bloodline.
Yao laughed, bright and helpless, as Da Bing promptly turned tail—literally—his thick white plume sticking straight up into the air as he marched back toward the villa with a series of grumbling, theatrical complaints that echoed faintly back down the path. "He hates it," she giggled, her voice lighter than Sicheng had heard it in months—maybe years.
"Traitor," Sicheng muttered under his breath, but the fond amusement in his voice betrayed him as he watched the retreating form of the cat disappear back inside.
Yao shook her head, kicking up a small spray of sand as she moved closer to the water, the hem of her light sundress fluttering around her knees in the gentle breeze. She stepped into the surf without hesitation, the cool water washing over her ankles, pulling at her with soft, insistent hands. And then— She laughed. Not a careful, muted chuckle. Not a guarded smile hidden behind her hand. She laughed. Clear. Bright. Unrestrained. She tilted her head back, eyes closed, hair whipping around her like a halo of chocolate as she spun slowly in the shallow surf, letting the waves kiss her legs and the sun kiss her skin.
The sound of it. That laugh. It cracked something wide open inside Sicheng. He stood there, a few steps back on the dry sand, completely and utterly still, watching her with a look so raw, so full, so wrecked it would have broken anyone who saw it. Because in that moment. She wasn't weighed down by fear. She wasn't curled inward, shielding herself from a world that had once tried so hard to crush her. She was free. Laughing like she had strung the sun itself across the sky. Alive. Unshaken. His.
Sicheng exhaled slowly, the sound almost reverent. He had seen her fight. He had seen her survive. But this? This was the victory he would spend the rest of his life protecting.
Yao opened her eyes then, catching him staring, and her laugh softened into a wide, radiant smile that was all for him. She stretched out a hand toward him, beckoning without words.
Sicheng moved before he could think, his feet carrying him down into the water without hesitation, letting the waves soak into the hem of his pants, letting the salt and sun and her laughter drown out everything else. He caught her hand, tugging her gently toward him, their fingers tangling together like it was the only thing that had ever made sense. And standing there, bare-footed and sun-warmed, with the ocean swirling around their ankles and the whole world spinning bright and beautiful around them. Sicheng knew one thing with absolute, unshakable certainty. He would spend every day, every breath, every heartbeat he had left making sure she never lost that laugh again. Not ever. Not while he was breathing. Not while he could still stand between her and the world.
They walked along the shoreline, the gentle pull of the waves brushing against their ankles, talking about nothing and everything with the easy rhythm that only came when all the walls had finally, truly fallen away.
Yao's fingers threaded through Sicheng's as they moved, her laughter still lingering on the air, softer now but no less radiant. Eventually, she tugged him slightly toward a flatter patch of sand further up the beach, sheltered by the curve of a low dune where the villa was just visible in the distance but the rest of the world felt impossibly far away. She dropped her towel onto the sand without ceremony, smoothing it out lazily with her bare feet.
Sicheng let go of her hand reluctantly, watching her move with quiet fascination. And then without a single ounce of hesitation, without a glance over her shoulder. Yao reached for the hem of her sundress and pulled it over her head in one fluid motion.
Sicheng froze. Completely. Utterly. His body locked up so hard it was a wonder he didn't physically crack in half. Because standing there, bathed in the warm sunlight, her skin kissed gold by the breeze, was Yao. Wearing a dark purple bikini so small, so perfectly cut to her curves, it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The rich, deep color clung to every line of her body like a second skin, highlighting the elegant sweep of her waist, the soft dip of her lower back, the long, graceful lines of her legs. The top cupped her breasts just enough to be infuriatingly perfect, the thin straps tied casually around the back of her neck and across her spine.
The bottoms—
God help him—
Were little more than thin strings tied low at her hips, the deep purple fabric teasingly small, leaving the long expanse of her legs, the curve of her thighs, and the sweet slope of her backside almost fully bare to the sun and the sea.
Sicheng twitched. Visibly. Aggressively. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides so hard he was pretty sure he was going to leave bruises across his own palms. His jaw locked so tightly that when he swallowed, it felt like dragging gravel down his throat. And the only saving grace—the only thing keeping him from doing something very, very irresponsible right that second—was the blissful fact that this was their beach.
Private.
Empty.
Secluded.
Blessedly private.
Yao stretched her arms up over her head, her spine arching slightly, completely, utterly unaware of the way she was absolutely destroying him with every unconscious movement. Or more likely, perfectly, wickedly aware. She glanced over her shoulder at him then, catching the way he stood there, stone-still, burning a hole through her with his gaze. A slow, devastatingly smug smile curved her lips. "Are you coming in the water, or are you just going to stand there and catch flies?" she teased, her voice lilting and sweet and absolutely lethal.
Sicheng exhaled slowly through his nose, fighting the murderous, possessive heat clawing up his spine. "Give me a damn minute." he muttered under his breath.
Yao laughed—bright and wicked—and turned, striding barefoot into the surf, her hair whipping around her shoulders, her hips swaying just enough to be a deliberate temptation.
Sicheng watched her go, his body tight with want, with need, with love so fierce it almost hurt. And in that moment, standing there on the sun-warmed sand, with the ocean gleaming and the girl he would kill and die and live for smiling back at him over her shoulder. He decided that a month wasn't going to be anywhere near long enough. Not to touch her. Not to love her. Not to memorize every inch of the life they were building together. He was going to need a lifetime. And he intended to take every second of it.
It took him longer than he would ever admit—maybe half a minute longer—before Sicheng finally shook himself free from the trance she had thrown him into. He stripped off his shirt with a low mutter, kicking free of his sandals, and stalked down the sand after her, his steps sure and predatory despite the lazy curve of his mouth.
Yao was already waist-deep in the water, turning to face him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. As he approached, she bent slightly, cupping her hands together, and launched a wide, sparkling spray of seawater at him. It hit him squarely across the chest, soaking his skin, and the shock of the cold only sharpened the burning heat still simmering under his skin.
Sicheng blinked once, water dripping from his hair, his expression unimpressed as he shot her a lethal, dangerous look. "You really want to start a war, Shorty?"
Yao laughed, bright and free, the sound carrying easily over the sound of the waves. "Maybe I already did." And then she turned—laughing, taunting—and ran deeper into the surf, the water splashing up around her thighs as she darted away.
Sicheng moved. Fast. Quicker than she clearly anticipated. Within seconds, he caught her, strong hands wrapping easily around her waist as he lifted her right out of the water, spinning her once as she shrieked with laughter, kicking lightly at the air. "Got you," he muttered, his voice low, rough, dripping with something far deeper than simple triumph.
Yao squirmed half-heartedly in his grip, but there was no real escape in her movements—only a kind of giddy surrender, her hands curling into his wet shoulders, anchoring herself to him even as the water swirled wildly around them.
Sicheng pulled her in tighter, holding her easily against his chest, the sunlight scattering across the water and lighting her hair into a thousand shades of gold and crimson.
Her laughter faltered, caught between breaths, as she looked at him. Really looked. And what she saw made her heart stutter once hard against her ribs. Because he wasn't smiling lazily anymore. He was looking at her like she had strung the stars across the sky with her bare hands. Like there was nothing in the world, no championship, no legacy, no future, that mattered more than her. Not now. Not ever. Slowly, as if giving her time to stop him, time she would never take. Sicheng leaned down. And kissed her. Soft. Deep. The kind of kiss that didn't take. Didn't demand. Only gave. Gave every breath, every promise, every piece of himself, right there under the endless sweep of sky and the warm pull of the ocean.
Yao melted into him with a soft, broken sigh, her arms looping around his neck, her body weightless in his hold as the world blurred into nothing but the taste of salt and sun and Sicheng.
He kissed her like she was his anchor. His fire. His breath. And she kissed him back like he was her home. When they finally broke apart, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling, Sicheng brushed his thumb lightly over her jaw, his voice a rough whisper against her lips, "You're stuck with me now."
Yao smiled, soft and radiant, her fingers tightening slightly in his damp hair. "Good," she whispered. "Because I'm not letting you go either."
Sicheng chuckled low in his chest, holding her tighter, the water swirling around them as if the whole ocean had wrapped itself around this single, perfect moment. And somewhere in the distance, back at the villa, was Da Bing undoubtedly plotting their immediate betrayal for daring to leave him behind.
The sun hung heavy and warm in the sky as the afternoon drifted lazily over the beach.
Yao lay stretched out on a large towel spread over the sand, her skin still damp from the ocean, her hair drying in messy, curling waves across her shoulders. She had her arms folded under her head, eyes half-lidded, the kind of deep, bone-melting relaxation that only came after a morning of laughter, kisses, and pure, unhurried freedom. But even in that peaceful haze, she felt him.
Sicheng.
Lurking.
His presence was a steady burn just behind her, a gravitational pull she couldn't ignore even if she wanted to.
She could sense him shifting closer, feel the intent practically radiating off him in thick, unmistakable waves. A slow, mischievous kind of intent. She didn't move. Didn't lift her head. But her voice, dry, sharp, and full of deadly warning, cut through the quiet like a blade: "Lu Sicheng," she drawled, voice low and full of lazy threat, "if you so much as think about starting something while I'm lying here, I swear—" She felt, more than saw, his hand pause midair, hovering just an inch from the curve of her hip. She cracked one eye open, catching him frozen there, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "There is no way in hell," she continued sweetly, dangerously, "no way, that I am getting sand in places sand has no business being in."
Sicheng chuckled low in his chest, unrepentant, settling back onto his towel with an exaggerated sigh of regret. "Shame," he muttered, his voice full of fake innocence and real heat. "Could've been fun."
Yao snorted, closing her eyes again, the corner of her mouth twitching up despite herself. "Fun for you," she said under her breath. "Emergency room visit for me."
Sicheng laughed—really laughed—deep and rough and so full of unguarded affection that it rolled through her like a second sunbeam.
For a while, they just laid there, the waves whispering at the shore, the sun sliding slowly down toward the horizon.
Sicheng turned his head slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look at her. Her cheeks were flushed from the sun, her body loose and unguarded in a way that still made his chest ache when he let himself really see her. And when he spoke next, it was softer. Quieter. Real. "I want a life full of this," he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly over the back of her hand, the touch featherlight.
Yao opened her eyes fully this time, turning her head just enough to meet his gaze. She didn't say anything at first. Just looked at him. Looked at the man who had waited. Fought. Held steady through every storm without ever once letting her drown. And then she smiled—slow, small, brilliant. "You've got it," she whispered.
Sicheng's hand curled over hers properly now, grounding them both into the moment, into the future they had only just started to build. "Good," he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Because I'm never letting go."
And with the ocean singing low against the sand, the sun sinking golden and lazy into the horizon, and Da Bing undoubtedly watching them from the villa with the judgment of a thousand ancestors.
The shower was a soft cocoon of steam and heat, the sound of water drumming gently against tile blending into the low, steady breathing between them.
Sicheng stood behind Yao, the heat of his body pressed against her back, his hands gliding slowly over her damp skin as he nuzzled along the curve of her neck. The warm spray misted around them, cloaking everything in a haze that made the whole world feel narrowed down to just the two of them.
Yao tilted her head to the side, giving him more access, shivering slightly under the steady, unhurried attention of his mouth against her skin. But somewhere beneath the lazy, contented hum winding through her muscles, a spark flared. Hot. Wicked. Determined. Without warning, she turned in his arms, pushing gently until his back hit the shower wall with a low thud muffled by steam and flesh.
Sicheng's brows arched slightly in surprise, but he didn't resist. Didn't move. Just watched her, a slow, dangerous smirk beginning to pull at the corner of his mouth as he realized whatever was coming. It was hers to give.
Yao stared up at him for a long, charged moment, the water slicking her hair down over her shoulders, her blue eyes darkened to stormy depths. Sicheng's amber gaze burned back at her, full of heat and a rising hunger he made no attempt to hide. Without breaking eye contact, Yao let her hand trail down the hard planes of his chest, feeling the thick, steady beat of his heart under her palm. Lower. Lower. Until she wrapped her fingers firmly around him.
Sicheng's entire body went still. Tension coiled instantly along every line of him, his hands flattening against the tile behind him as he fought not to move, not to ruin whatever it was she was planning.
Yao felt him throb against her hand, heard the low, guttural curse he bit back in his throat. And then moving with a confidence she didn't even realize she had, fueled by nothing but instinct and the hundred whispered promises she wanted to keep. She slowly sank to her knees before him, the steam curling around her like a crown, her eyes locked on his.
Sicheng swore again, hoarse and broken this time, one hand tangling helplessly in her wet hair as she stared up at him through the haze. He wasn't smirking anymore. He was wrecked. Completely. Utterly. Hers.
She tightened her grip slightly, stroking him once, slow and sure, watching his throat bob as he struggled to hold still. Then, without hesitation, she leaned in and took him into her mouth. Deep. Steady.
Sicheng groaned low in his chest, the sound pure gravel, his head tipping back against the tile with a muted thud. He kept one hand in her hair, not guiding, not forcing—just holding, grounding himself against the onslaught of pleasure.
Yao moved slow at first, exploring him with careful, deliberate strokes of her mouth, learning what made his breath catch, what made his hips twitch, what made him curse her name in a low, broken voice that made her shiver with power.
The water streamed over them, hot and endless, and the air between them thickened with heat, steam, and the sharp, rising edge of something wild and beautiful.
Sicheng dragged his gaze back down to her, his eyes burning with a heat so fierce it nearly stole her breath away even as she moved against him again, taking him deeper, stroking him with a rhythm that had him groaning her name in a voice he would never use for anyone else. Only her. Always her. His free hand clenched against the tile behind him, muscles locked tight, body shaking with the restraint he barely, barely held onto as she wrecked him with nothing but her mouth and her quiet, devastating devotion. "Yao," he rasped, his voice breaking apart, wrecked and rough and worshipful. "sweetheart—"
But she didn't stop. Didn't even hesitate. Because she wanted him undone. Needed him undone. Because he had given her everything—and it was time she showed him she was never going to stop giving it back. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every broken, sacred piece of herself. Forever.
Yao moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm at first, savoring every sound she drew from him, every slight, helpless twitch of his hips against the shower wall. But as the steam thickened around them and Sicheng's breathing grew rougher, harsher, something inside her shifted. Deepened. She adjusted her angle slightly, her hand still wrapped firm and steady around the base of him, and without overthinking it—guided by instinct, by trust, by the overwhelming need to give — She relaxed her throat and took him deeper.
Sicheng's entire body locked. A strangled, guttural sound tore from his throat, his hand tightening in her wet hair as his hips jerked forward once before he caught himself against the wall behind him. He was trembling. Breathless. Completely at her mercy.
Yao worked him with a rhythm that grew steadily, beautifully ruthless—her tongue swirling along the underside of him, her lips sealing tight as she moved with slow, devastating strokes, grazing him lightly, teasingly with just the barest scrape of her teeth before smoothing it away with the wet, hot glide of her mouth.
He swore again—low, filthy, lost—and tried to warn her, the words broken and half-formed in the thick, humid air: "Shorty—Yao—I'm—"
But she didn't stop. Didn't pull away. She just tightened her hand at his base, holding him steady, guiding him deeper with every slow, relentless pull of her mouth. That undid him.
With a low, savage groan that echoed off the tiles, Sicheng's body jerked hard, his hand fisting tight in her hair as he lost control completely. He came in a hot, shuddering wave, spilling deep into her mouth, his hips straining helplessly forward against her hold.
Yao took it all, not flinching, not pulling away, swallowing around him with slow, careful movements as he rode it out—his body shaking, his breath ragged and broken against the walls. For long seconds, the only sounds were the heavy, stuttering pull of his breath and the endless beat of the water around them.
Sicheng's knees almost buckled as the aftershocks rolled through him, his free hand scrambling for purchase against the slick tile, his entire body humming with the force of how completely she had wrecked him. When he finally managed to look down, really see her, still kneeling, still holding him gently, still staring up at him with those wide, storm-dark eyes. Something inside him broke open even wider. Raw. Sacred. Undeniable. Slowly, carefully, he eased her up, lifting her into his arms with a gentleness so fierce it stole her breath. He didn't speak. Didn't need to.
He kissed her instead—deep, slow, worshipful—tasting the salt, the heat, the impossible, breathtaking trust she had given him without hesitation. And in that kiss. In the way he held her, in the way he breathed her in like a drowning man given air. He promised her everything. Everything he was. Everything he would ever be.
The water still whispered against the tile behind them, but neither of them heard it anymore.
Sicheng lifted her carefully, cradling her against his chest like something precious, something irreplaceable.
Yao curled into him instinctively, her arms wrapping loosely around his neck, her body pliant and trusting in his arms.
The walk back to their room was slow, unhurried. The world outside the villa—the crashing waves, the lazy drift of the clouds—fell away until there was only the soft creak of the door swinging open, the low hum of the ceiling fan, and the warmth of the sunlight spilling in over the rumpled sheets.
Sicheng laid her down with infinite care, settling her into the center of the bed like she was something sacred. He paused there for a moment, just looking at her. At the flushed glow of her skin. At the soft, wrecked beauty of her face. At the quiet, devastating trust that filled her eyes, holding him there more surely than any chains ever could. Slowly, reverently, he crawled over her, his hands braced on either side of her head, his body heat sinking into her skin as he lowered himself until his forehead pressed lightly against hers. Their breaths mingled. Their hearts beat in rhythm. He kissed her—slow and deep—his mouth brushing against hers with a tenderness that made her shiver, made her cling tighter. And when he finally eased inside her, it was with a slow, steady roll of his hips, his body sinking into hers with the kind of aching care that left her gasping softly into his mouth. No rush. No desperation. Just being.
Sicheng moved slowly, deeply, every thrust a silent vow pressed into her skin.
I'm here.
I'm yours.
I'm not going anywhere.
Yao met him easily, her legs wrapping around his hips, her arms sliding around his back, her fingers tracing the tense line of his spine. She held him. Anchored him. Loved him without fear, without hesitation, without walls.
Sicheng lifted his head just enough to look down at her, his amber eyes dark and burning and full of something too big, too fierce, too beautiful to name. "You're it for me," he whispered, his voice wrecked and raw. "You always have been."
Yao reached up, brushing his hair back from his forehead with trembling fingers, her eyes shining even as she smiled up at him. "And you," she whispered back, her voice steady and sure, "are home."
Sicheng groaned low in his chest, burying his face against her neck as he thrust deeper, slower, building the tension between them until it stretched so tight it felt like the world would break with it. Their bodies moved together, no space, no distance, no fear between them. Only trust. Only love. Only forever.
And when they finally shattered together, it was slow and perfect and endless—his name on her lips, her name on his breath, the world blurring into nothing but the steady, unbreakable bond tethering them together. When the tremors faded and the world softened back into place around them.
Sicheng stayed wrapped around her, his body heavy and solid and real against hers. He kissed her hair, her temple, the corner of her mouth—slow, endless kisses that whispered every promise he couldn't yet say aloud.
Yao tucked herself closer into his chest, her heart full to bursting. And as the afternoon light spilled lazily across the bed, wrapping them in warmth, Yao realized. This wasn't just a moment. This wasn't just a summer. This was her life. Her future. Her forever. And she wouldn't change a single second of it.
The soft hum of the ocean carried through the open balcony doors, mixing with the slow, steady beat of their breathing. The world outside drifted by unnoticed, lost to the warmth of the bed, the weight of the man wrapped around her, and the soft golden haze of a love so complete it left no room for anything else.
Sicheng stayed close, one arm draped heavily over Yao's waist, his face buried against the curve of her neck, his breath warm and steady against her skin.
Yao curled into him without thought, her fingers tracing light, lazy patterns along his back, feeling the slow, peaceful thud of his heart under her palm. It should have been impossible, she thought, for something to feel this perfect.
A low, imperious chirp, followed by the familiar scrabble of paws on the mattress.
Yao smiled without opening her eyes.
A moment later, Da Bing hopped up onto the bed with all the grace and entitlement of a royal sovereign reclaiming his rightful place. The steadily getting bigger Maine Coon kitten marched up the bed with slow, deliberate steps, pausing only briefly to glare judgmentally at the both of them, before choosing a spot against Yao's side, curling himself neatly into the space between her hip and Sicheng's thigh. He let out a long, satisfied purr that vibrated through the mattress, kneading lightly against the blanket before settling down completely, his huge fluffy tail flicking once before going still.
Sicheng shifted slightly, lifting his head just enough to crack one eye open and glance at the cat. A low, lazy smirk curved his mouth. "Figures," he muttered, his voice rough with sleep and amusement. "Spoiled brat can't stand being left out of anything."
Yao chuckled softly, turning her head just enough to press a slow, lingering kiss against his temple. "He's part of the family," she whispered against his skin.
Sicheng hummed low in his chest, his arm tightening around her, pulling her even closer until there was no space left between them, no gaps the world could ever slip through. "Damn right he is," he said, voice slurred slightly with exhaustion, but threaded through with a deep, quiet certainty.
They stayed like that—wrapped up in each other, the steady hum of Da Bing's purring filling the spaces between heartbeats—as the afternoon sun slipped lower over the sea.
Sicheng's hand smoothed slowly over Yao's back, a repetitive, grounding motion, as he drifted closer to sleep. And just before he fell under completely, his voice rumbled low against her ear, thick with promise and something heavier, something forever: "We're gonna build it all, Shorty." He pressed a soft kiss to her hair, the words slipping out in a rough, half-dreamed breath. "Home. Family. Everything."
Yao tightened her arm around his waist, burying her face against his chest as tears stung the back of her eyes—not from sadness, but from a happiness so full it left her breathless. She closed her eyes, listening to the steady, perfect symphony of his heartbeat, Da Bing's purring, and the endless, patient hush of the waves outside. And as sleep pulled her under, safe between the two souls she loved most in the world, she knew without a doubt. This was only the beginning. Their forever was just getting started.