The car door shut with a soft click, and the outside world melted into silence.
The driver had been dismissed. Only the two of them remained in the backseat of the black-tinted vehicle,her breath shallow, his presence rigid, pulsing with heat and restraint.
Li Zeyan slid in beside her, keeping a careful distance, jaw clenched. His hand hovered near her shoulder, uncertain whether to steady her again,or stay away completely.
She wasn't speaking anymore.
But her body…
Her body was trembling. Every breath she took came with a small, helpless sound in her throat. The drug was coursing through her like wildfire.
"Meilin," he said, voice tight. "Hold on."
But her hand reached for his.
She didn't even realize what she was doing.
Or maybe she did.
Maybe it was just the drug. Or maybe something buried deep,longing, hunger, loneliness,was rising to the surface now that her walls had cracked.
Her fingers brushed his wrist, then his chest.
"Zeyan…"
Her voice was a whisper, rough and aching.
His pulse kicked.
"Don't," he warned. But it came out softer than he intended.
She turned to him,eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, lips parted. "Please… please help me…"
He felt her shift closer.
Then suddenly,she climbed into his lap, knees on either side of him, arms wrapping around his neck.
His back hit the seat.
She kissed him.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't poised or practiced. It was messy, desperate, unbalanced,her lips searching for his, her breathing ragged, her hands shaking. There was nothing graceful about it.
But it was real.
And it was too much.
"Meilin," he gasped against her lips.
But she didn't stop.
She pressed her body against him, grinding unknowingly against the hardness she had awakened beneath his tailored slacks. His hands flew to her waist, gripping tight, not to pull her closer ,but to hold her still.
She moaned at the contact. The sound cut through him like a blade.
And still,he didn't move.
He wanted to. God, he wanted to. Every inch of his body screamed for release, for abandon. She was warm in his arms, soft, needy, and begging without shame.
But this wasn't her.
Not fully.
This wasn't how she would've chosen to come to him.
And that mattered.
He pulled back suddenly, breath heaving, his forehead pressed against hers as he held her still in his lap.
"Stop," he whispered, voice raw with restraint. "Don't do this… not like this."
"But I want to—" she tried to move again.
His hand cupped the back of her neck, firm, steady.
"You're not in your right mind, Meilin."
She froze slightly at his voice. His tone had changed. It wasn't cold.
It was gentle. Almost broken.
"I'm not some man who takes what he wants just because it's offered," he murmured, brushing her hair back from her temple. "Especially not when the woman offering it isn't herself."
She blinked, her weight still heavy on his lap, her heart thundering.
And for the first time, something else broke through the haze in her eyes.
Trust.
Unspoken. Fragile.
She leaned against him, chest to chest, breath to breath. Not kissing this time. Not moving.
Just resting.
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her back, locking her in place,not as a man wanting a woman,but as something far deeper.
Protective.
Possessive.
Silent.
He didn't speak again.
He simply held her through the storm.
And somewhere inside her fevered mind, Meilin found safety in his restraint.