Night.
Eleven o'clock.
The steady drizzle had lightened somewhat.
Under the quilts spread out on the living room floor at Mother Jiang's house, Dong Xuebin spent three minutes talking with Jiang Fangfang about work—and three minutes feeling her up.
That flesh.
That smoothness.
That tenderness.
Ah, don't even get him started.
Dong Xuebin's hands were busy everywhere, showing Jiang Fangfang no restraint at all. Both his hands were now covered in the faint, fragrant scent of a woman from County Chief Jiang's body. He had touched her for so long that even the lingering warmth from Sister Jiang's long johns and the skin of her back seemed to remain in his palms. It felt wonderful. Of course, since he could not figure out what Jiang Fangfang was thinking, Dong Xuebin did not dare go too far. He was only taking liberties around the edges. Even when one hand slipped inside her red cotton thermal shirt, he merely touched her back and lower belly for the moment, not daring to venture elsewhere.
Ah, this was bliss.
Who knew whether he would ever have this honor again?
After they finished talking about work, Dong Xuebin saw that Sister Jiang, whose back was facing him, had fallen silent. He felt too embarrassed to keep going and cleared his throat.
"Sister Jiang?"
"Mm?"
"Are you sleepy?"
"Not really. What is it?"
"Ahem, nothing. Nothing."
He had tried to make conversation, but failed to get any topic going.
The main problem was that Dong Xuebin had no idea what to talk about. The atmosphere was a little awkward, after all—one of his hands was inside her clothes, while the other was gripping her soft rear.
The living room fell silent.
The quieter it became, the more awkward it felt.
Dong Xuebin's heart was in turmoil.