"Hic… sob… why, Yue! … snfff… husband, you are cruel."
Mei's voice cracked as she tried to bury her face into her hands, but I caught the way her shoulders trembled, the fake fragility—the drama of a spoiled wife masking sharp, wet desire.
Her knees were folded to her chest, breasts squished up between her thighs, but the wet mark spreading between her legs betrayed her.
I blinked down at her, caught off guard.
The relief in Feng's panting body still throbbed against my chest, Yue waiting eagerly, thighs glistening as she nodded—but there Mei sat, pretending I'd abandoned her to the side.
My brows furrowed as I stepped slowly closer to the bed, hand outstretched toward her.
She was walking herself into some elaborate sulk that even confused me.
Mei, always dramatic, weaving vines of guilt around my heart tighter than the ones around her nipples earlier.
"What happened to you?" I asked simply, my hand stretching forward again, palm turned up.
