Luo Xiaoqian opened the photo album in her hands—the first page was his old poster.
"Do you rember? This is the poster for your first album. I talked till my mouth was dry to get it from the record store owner... And this, this is the photo from when you won the award. It’s a bit blurry, right? I took this with the album from the TV..."
Luo Xiaoqian turned the pages of the photo album one by one, as if she were recounting her youthful days.
At that ti, she carried too many hardships, and Leng Zimo and his music were important pillars of her spirit.
"Back then, I even fantasized about going out with you..." Luo Xiaoqian said softly, with a bit of self-deprecating shyness, "I even secretly kissed your photo. Surprisingly, my first kiss was yours..."
Leng Zimo held her, smiling, "I’m very glad I went to the hotel that day; I didn’t miss you."
Luo Xiaoqian’s face heated up, "That night, you didn’t say that. You kept pulling my arm and telling to leave!"
He turned his face, lightly kissing her lips, "That was because I was afraid I couldn’t control myself. Who told you to be so alluring?"
Luo Xiaoqian stood up, returned the album to the bookshelf. Then he stood up, embraced her waist from behind, leaned in, and kissed her cheek.
Turning her face, Luo Xiaoqian proactively kissed him back.
Now, his real self was by her side, within reach. Whenever she wanted, she could step into his arms, kiss him, and do the most intimate things with him.
Lips and teeth intertwined, the kiss intensified, and both of their breaths beca ragged.
This woman was his poison; whenever he encountered her, he couldn’t help himself.
From the initial encounter five years ago to now, as close as they were at this mont, it was still the sa.
He would never get tired of kissing these lips.
He would never get enough of this person.
The initial plan was to wait until the wedding night tomorrow to be intimate with her, but heaven as witness, after holding back for so long, he couldn’t resist anymore.
"Xiao Qian..."
Kissing her earlobe, his big hand unapologetically slid into her nightgown.
Feeling his palm, her body began to tremble slightly, almost unable to stand, her mouth vaguely calling his na.
Knowing she was ready, Leng Zimo no longer hesitated.
In the small attic, even the air seed to turn amorous and humid.
...
...
United Kingdom, London.
In a grand European-style mansion.
Jiao Yang donned a light-colored casual suit, his handso face partially concealed among his shoulder-length hair, faintly showing a trace of thin anger.
"Look at yourselves. From the ti I was born until now, what have you been doing every day? Either arguing or giving each other the silent treatnt. Do you want to continue living like you?!"
On the sofa in front of him sat two people.
One was a handso English gentleman, who was his father, the Duke of Kent, while on the other end of the sofa sat his mother, once a Chinese classical music prodigy from a prestigious family, Jiao Yalin.
This ti, it was because his mother had called him that Jiao Yang hurried back from Beijing, only to find upon returning that it was nothing but a trap. They just wanted to trick him into coming back to the United Kingdom.
Jiao Yang was his father’s only son, the sole heir to the title, and this ti, the Duke wanted him to marry the girl they had chosen. Jiao Yang, who loved freedom, wouldn’t possibly agree to such a thing.
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