Forced Possession - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

My child-raised husband-to-be, Jiang Zhizhou, accidentally drank the high-proof cocktail I’d left on the bar.

He had just finished washing up.

His black bangs were still dripping wet.

Clear droplets slid from the ends of his hair, first striking his full forehead, then trailing down over his exquisitely handsome brows and eyes.

Usually, his expression was always proper and cool.

But now that he was drunk, he looked a little lost, almost pitiful.

He sat there with his lips pressed together, eyes lowered.

In a small voice, he explained, “I’m sorry. I thought it was a soft drink.”

His thick lashes drooped, trembling like tiny fans.

He looked so anxious.

It stirred in me an urge to tease him.

They said people told the truth when they were drunk.

I sat down across from him, propped my chin on my hand, and asked, “Height, weight, measurements.”

“One hundred eighty-three centimeters, seventy-five kilograms. One hundred centimeters, seventy-four centimeters, ninety-five centimeters.”

His chest had gotten bigger again?

My interest piqued, my gaze drifted over the strip of bare skin visible where his bathrobe hung half-open.

Jiang Zhizhou endured it and endured it, desperately pressing his lips together, but a flush still slowly spread from behind his ears.

“How do you feel right now?” I asked again.

“Hot and itchy. Like there are ants crawling through my veins. Tingly. A little uncomfortable.”

“Compared to getting nipple piercings and a tongue piercing?”

“A little… a little more comfortable than that.”

“Then when does it feel best? Last night-did that feel good?”

Jiang Zhizhou’s eyes suddenly snapped open.

He forced his face into a stern mask, trying to suppress the emotions surging inside him.

Even his breathing grew rapid. In the end, he still obediently nodded.

The corner of my mouth curved up.

I knew it.

Jiang Zhizhou was usually the most straitlaced person alive.

Ever since he’d come of age and I’d dragged him into bed, he had been painfully old-fashioned every single time.

He only knew the most basic position.

As for any other tricks or locations, I had to practically force him to try them.

And when I asked him how it felt, he never said it outright.

Yesterday, I had forcibly tied Jiang Zhizhou’s wrists.

I straddled him and took control myself.

Back then, his gaze had been frighteningly dark.

His delicate face was flushed all over, his lips parting slightly with his rapid breaths.

His damp lips shone with moisture.

They tempted me so badly that I touched his wet lips in a daze, and the slick red inside.

In the end, my mind had gone hazy, my consciousness nearly slipping away by half.

I let him leave two clear, bruising handprints on my waist.

…

Thinking of that, I unconsciously leaned closer to him.

I reached a hand to the back of his neck, clasped it gently, and coaxed, “You did very well yesterday.”

“One last question.”

“Do you like me?”

I had never doubted the answer to that question.

I asked only to tease him, to provoke him.

Then I could take the opportunity to be intimate with him again.

Jiang Zhizhou’s voice was as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.

But he said it, one word at a time.

“I hate you.”