Song Guanchao lay still on the bed like a stiff stone.
Wu Qiangwei, on the other hand, was like a furnace, and her usual calmness and composure were suppressed, with flames continuously emanating from every part of her body.
Her scorching, delicate body pressed against Song Guanchao, her lips enveloping Song Guanchao's lower lip, her tongue licking without any pattern, driven entirely by primal desires.
Yet Song Guanchao could sense this was not just desire; it seemed there was also an intense emotion.
However, he was uncertain whether what he was feeling was right or wrong.
Her hand gripped Xiao Song, moving up and down, the actions awkward, lacking any skill.
After an undetermined amount of time kissing, she suddenly stopped.
Slowly leaving Song Guanchao's lips, strands of saliva connected the two men's lips.
She breathed heavily, looking at Song Guanchao's face, which was at a close distance.
Looking at the face she knew all too well.
