(Warning: This content contains mature themes intended for readers aged 18 and above. Reader discretion is advised.)
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His body pressed fiercely into hers, every inch burning with hunger, hard and unyielding.
She felt the full length of him, heavy and demanding, shifting with dark, desperate control as he rubbed against her core like a wild animal claiming its prey.
Gasping for breath, she melted into his hot, wet kiss—fierce and devouring—his mouth conquering every inch of hers, their saliva mingling as their bodies carved each other in the shadows, like fate itself binding them tight.
And then—he entered her.
Hot. Wet.
There was no gentleness. No slow build.
Only raw, primal force—wild and urgent—crashing deep, hard, relentless. The desperate need he'd buried for so long exploded between them, each thrust shaking her to the core of her being.
"Ah! Yan…" she gasped, pain cutting sharp through her breath, voice breaking.
Her cry was jagged, raw—pain mixing with the fierce ache of desire, stealing her breath and making her body tremble.
His low, ragged growl filled the silence, primal and rough, echoing the fire in his eyes.
Her fingers clawed into the sheets, nails digging deep as tears blurred her vision, burning with every relentless movement.
"Yanzhou… please…" she whimpered, voice trembling with pain and desperate need, as tears slid down her face.
Her body writhed beneath him—broken, overwhelmed, caught between agony and the savage fire of his touch.
And then—he froze.
Completely.
For a breathless moment, she thought he might pull away, that he would retreat.
But he didn't.
Instead, his hand rose to her cheek, fingers trembling slightly as he cupped her face. His thumb brushed away the tear sliding down her skin—soft, reverent. As if her pain struck something deep within him, something that burned hotter than desire.
But he didn't look away.
The hunger in his eyes didn't dim. It deepened. Darkened.
Her pain hadn't pushed him back—it had ignited something inside him. A fire that had waited too long to be set free.
He kissed her again—slow and tender at first, an apology wrapped in warmth. But it didn't stay that way.
It twisted, deepening, darkening—possessive and demanding.
And she surrendered. Completely.
He began to move, slow at first, savoring every second—as if memorizing the forbiddenness of this moment. Every slide, every gasp, every shiver.
And Lin Shuyin shattered.
Her body burned, senses unraveling. The pain dissolved into a raging tide of pleasure that swallowed her whole. Every movement sent tremors rippling through her limbs. Her nails traced fiery paths down his back.
Soft whimpers escaped her lips—fragile, desperate. She murmured his name, voice trembling,
"Yan… Zhou… Yanzhou… please, don't…"
But he wasn't listening.
His gaze was dark, unfocused—lost in a haze of instinct and need, deaf to her pleas yet driven harder by the sound of her voice.
Each breathless, broken call only fueled his hunger more, pulling them deeper into an intoxicating storm of raw, animalistic desire.
His rhythm grew more intense — unthinking, instinctive, primal. Like he had waited for this moment far too long. Like he wasn't in control anymore — overtaken by something deeper, darker, more honest.
His forehead pressed to hers. One hand tangled in hers. Their bodies found a rhythm — chaotic, primal, inevitable.
He didn't say a word.
But his every thrust spoke volumes.
She clung to him, nails biting into his back, thighs tightening around his hips. She met him stroke for stroke, sob for sob, moan for moan. He made her forget where she ended and he began.
And it didn't stop.
He didn't stop.
When her body shattered around him once, he kissed her until the tremors faded. Then he took her again.
Harder.
Slower.
Deeper.
Again and again, until she lost count.
Until her legs trembled from holding him closer. Until her throat ached from calling his name. Until the lines between pleasure and pain blurred so violently she couldn't breathe without feeling him.
Every position, every angle, every sound between them felt desperate — like two people trying to outrun the years of silence, the ache of never having, the fear of never again.
Time unraveled.
He moved over her, beneath her, beside her — lips never far from her skin, hands never still. He kissed the curve of her waist, the inside of her thighs, her pulse, her tears.
She gave him everything.
And then more.
And still, it wasn't enough.
He moved with a desperation that stole the very air from the room—every touch reverent, every breath ragged, every kiss a silent confession he couldn't put into words.
It was madness.
It was wrong.
But it was unstoppable.
The pleasure was all-consuming—so sharp, so overwhelming—it stole her breath, her thoughts, her very will. Her mind blurred, reality slipping in and out like a dream on the edge of collapse.
Her body, already trembling from exhaustion, struggled to keep up with his relentless pace.
Then, without warning, her vision dimmed. A wave of dizziness crashed over her—sudden and merciless—and before she could cry out, the world went dark. Her body went limp in his arms, her consciousness slipping away like sand through fingers.
But even then… he didn't stop.
Even as she fainted, his body continued—driven by a need deeper than reason. His rhythm never faltered. His hands stayed on her skin. His lips never left hers. It was as if he couldn't let go. As if something inside him had broken—and she was the only thing that could hold it together.
She stirred sometime later—just barely. Awareness returned in flickers: the heat of his touch, the taste of his kiss, the pounding of her heart synced with his movements. Her lashes fluttered open. Her breath caught in gasps.
He was still there.
Still with her.
Still moving—slow, urgent, wild.
Her lips parted, his name slipping out, raw and trembling. But he didn't stop.
His hands, his mouth, his body—he was everywhere.
Surrounding her. Consuming her. There was no escape, and somewhere deep inside, she realized… she didn't want one.
She tried to resist—just for a second—her hand pressing weakly against his chest. But her fingers faltered, sliding down, and in the next breath, she melted into him again, surrendering to the storm.
And still, he didn't stop.
He kept moving.
Kept kissing her.
Kept claiming her.
Again. Again. Again.
She lost count of how many times their bodies came together—how many times she shattered beneath him, only to be pulled back into the fire.
Everything blurred into heat and breath and the desperate sound of skin against skin. She trembled beneath him—wrecked, undone—and yet still aching for more.
And just when she thought she couldn't take any more, when her body was ready to collapse entirely, she slipped away once again—fainting for the second time, her body unable to endure the storm he unleashed.
But even then, he didn't stop.
Not until her body stopped trembling.
Not until the darkness outside gave way to pale light.
And as dawn broke through the thin curtains, spilling silver into the room, he held her close—his touch no less hungry, no less tender. And in the silence between them, amidst shadows and secrets, he made her his.
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