A low, deep voice murmured by the ear.
The man's lips were pressed against her cheek, his warm breath falling all over Nan Wan's neck.
In the darkness, everything seemed more sensitive than in daylight. She couldn't help but shrink back, but in the next instant, the man's strong arm pulled her back again.
Still, she stubbornly played dead.
Mu Jin Huan wasn't in a hurry either. His rough fingertips caressed the woman's tender skin, his voice deliberately lowered, "Wanwan, I want to know, tell me, hmm?"
It was a gentle enchantment.
Tender, ambiguous.
Nan Wan had heard Shen Zhimei say before that once those aloof and ascetic men in high positions showed their tenderness, it could awaken the long-dormant girlish heart of even grandmothers in their seventies.
Mu Jin Huan wasn't too aggressive with his charms, but Nan Wan was only twenty-six, a long way from seventy, so it was more than enough.
