Tang Qiu’s heart was pounding. She covered his mouth again. “Go to sleep.”
Jiang Shaocheng kept silent, but he kissed her forehead before closing his eyes.
Except Tang Qiu’s pulse was still racing. She let her eyes wander over his jaw, tilted towards the side of his chest where his heart rested. She was happy, too, to be married to a man who doted on her. He wasn’t handsome, or healthy, but he was trying to heal, and so far, his treatment was going well. He was hers–as long as he was alive, he was hers. She was a lucky woman indeed.
In the middle of the night, Jiang Shaocheng was woken up by the heat. He lifted the blanket and looked at the woman in his arms, then got out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. Whenever he hugged her to sleep, he would be a little restless, his body’s reaction felt off. The areas where Tang Qiu had rubbed the essential oil felt like they were on fire. He frowned. Was this the result of his wife’s treatment? If so, the effects were certainly pronounced. He had to take a cold shower for more than ten minutes before he recovered. He returned to his room, not daring to hug Tang Qiu again. However, his wife was in a daze, as if she were looking for him. She rolled over to his side of the bed.
Seeing that she was about to fall, Jiang Shaocheng rushed over and caught her. Her eyes flitted open, still heavy with sleep. His heart skipped a beat. He was standing by the bed now; would she find him out?
“Dear?” Her voice was high-pitched from grogginess–soft, sweet, seductive. He tried to let go, but she wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips jutting out in a pout. “Kiss me, dear.”
Jiang Shaocheng kissed her, but she clung onto him. He couldn’t just stand up. If she woke up, his disguise would fall apart. He could only coax her until she released him of her own accord.
Tang Qiu might have been dreaming, because she smiled with her eyes still shut. “Dear, your muscles are so hard and big.”
This woman must have been sent by the heavens to punish him for his deception! Jiang Shaocheng grabbed her hand as she reached out for him, letting loose a deep breath. When Tang Qiu failed to touch him, she pouted again, as if on the verge of tears. “Dear, don’t you want me anymore?”
Jiang Shaocheng’s heart softened and he hugged her tightly. “How could I not want my Qiu?”
She hugged him even tighter–perhaps desperate for assurance–but Jiang Shaocheng’s temperature rose again. He couldn’t take it anymore. He put her down without mercy and prepared to get up to take a cold shower.
But her voice called out to him again. “Dear?”
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Jiang Shaocheng turned around and saw Tang Qiu rubbing her eyes, properly awake now. He sighed softly and walked to the bed to give her a light kiss. “I can’t sleep. I’m going to do some rehabilitation training.”
Tang Qiu glanced at the clock. “It’s 2am. That’s too early. You should sleep a little longer.”
Jiang Shaocheng wanted to go back to sleep too, but he couldn’t. He put his hands on the wheelchair and tried to sit down, but Tang Qiu stopped him. “Dear, rehabilitation training is important, but you need your rest, too.” She pushed him down, using her body to keep him there. “Be good and go to sleep. Your health is poor. You need to sleep for at least eight hours.”
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“I really can’t sleep, Qiu. Get up, quickly.” Jiang Shaocheng thought he might explode from the heat. But she remained oblivious and continued to lie on him. He was truly afraid he might be exposed this time.
“It’s still early. I’ll sleep with you.” Tang Qiu got off him and tucked him in. She patted him gently, as if coaxing a child. “Sleep, dear…”
It was the last straw. He rolled over so his arms were caging her. “I… I can’t take this anymore, Qiu.”
“What…?” She made a noise of protest; he was too strong for her to break free.
A knock startled them both.
The haze of lust evaporated from Jiang Shaocheng’s vision, pulling him back to his senses. He looked down at the woman beneath him, biting his tongue as he finally let go of her. “Be good and go to sleep, Qiu. I have business to attend to. I’ll be out a while.”
Tang Qiu stared at the ceiling in a daze, not knowing what to do. Her sickly husband had become a predator–primal, starving, determined to devour her. He had practically ripped her clothes, and his hands were possessive on her soft flesh. She was hopelessly stunned and confused.
She pulled the covers up to her chin, but they carried his scent, making it even harder for her to breathe. She pushed the blanket aside and sat up. Why was her husband so strange tonight?
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