Chapter 15 (M) ✧

The dinner continued with easy banter, the kind that felt strangely natural despite the powerful and dangerous people at the table. Rui and Mei were sharp, observant, and clearly close to Lingling in a way few people were. They didn't just tease her—they understood her.

And they were trying to understand me, too.

I could feel Lingling's subtle protectiveness throughout the evening. She'd brush her fingers against my wrist when refilling my drink, her body angled slightly toward me as if to shield me from the weight of their curiosity. Even the smallest touches of her knee against mine under the table felt deliberate, like silent reassurances.

At one point, Rui leaned back, watching us with an amused smirk. "You do realize that by bringing her here, you're making a statement, right?"

Lingling didn't flinch. She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes dark and unreadable. "And?"

Rui let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just interesting to see you like this."

Mei, who had been watching me just as intently, smiled knowingly. "Orm," she said, tilting her head slightly. "You're aware of what it means to be close to someone like Lingling, aren't you?"

I met her gaze steadily. "I have an idea."

Lingling finally spoke up. "She's under my protection."

Mei raised an eyebrow. "Oh, darling, I don't think protection is what I was asking about."

Lingling's jaw tensed slightly, but she didn't respond. Instead, she reached for her cigarette pack and lit one, taking a slow inhale before exhaling in a way that made the air between us feel heavier.

I decided to answer for myself.

"I know being with her isn't simple," I said honestly. "But I don't think anything worth having ever is."

Mei's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, I like her."

Lingling let out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. "Of course you do."

The rest of the dinner passed with more conversation, though I could tell something had shifted—Lingling was quieter, her usual composed exterior layered with something else. Thoughtfulness? Concern?

When the dinner ended, Lingling's hand found the small of my back as she led me outside. The city lights reflected in her dark eyes as she held the car door open for me.

The drive back to my apartment was quiet, but not in a way that felt uncomfortable. It was charged, filled with unspoken thoughts lingering between us.

Lingling parked the car in front of my building, but instead of letting me out immediately, she turned toward me.

"I know they were testing you," she murmured, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

I gave her a small smile. "I think I passed."

She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. "You're not supposed to fit into my world so easily."

I reached over, placing my hand over hers, stilling the nervous movement of her fingers. "Maybe it's not about fitting in," I said softly. "Maybe it's just about being with you."

Lingling's dark eyes flickered over my dress again, slow and deliberate, like a predator assessing its prey. The way she looked at me sent heat curling through my stomach, a silent hunger in her gaze that made my breath hitch. But she didn't act on it—she was too controlled for that, too measured.

I wasn't.

"Come up with me," I said, my voice casual, but there was an undertone of something else beneath it. I didn't want this night to end just yet. I wasn't ready to step out of her presence, to let this tension between us settle into memory.

Lingling raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Why?"

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Maybe I don't feel like being alone."

A slow exhale left her lips, as if she were considering it—considering me.

Then, without a word, she turned off the car's engine.

I didn't hide my satisfaction as I stepped out, feeling Lingling's presence right behind me as we entered the building. The elevator ride was quiet, but the air between us was anything but. Every small movement felt amplified—the way Lingling's fingers brushed against mine when she adjusted her watch, the way I caught her staring at me through the reflection in the mirrored doors.

When we reached my apartment, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, feeling her presence like a shadow behind me.

She followed.

The door barely clicked shut before I was shoved against it, Lingling's hands gripping my waist, pressing me into the cool surface. Her lips crashed against mine, urgent, hungry—like she had been holding back all night and finally snapped.

I gasped against her mouth, but she didn't let me breathe, tilting my chin up and deepening the kiss. She tasted like expensive wine and something purely her—intoxicating, overwhelming. My hands found her suit jacket, gripping the fabric, pulling her impossibly closer.

Lingling's fingers traced down my spine, sending a shiver through me, her touch both possessive and reverent. When her lips left mine, they traveled down my jaw, nipping at my skin before finding the pulse at my neck.

"You have no idea what you do to me," she murmured, her voice rough, breath warm against my skin.

I did. I felt it in the way her body pressed into mine, in the way her hands roamed, in the way her mouth moved with unrestrained desire.

"Then show me," I whispered.

A low chuckle escaped her before she lifted me effortlessly, wrapping my legs around her waist as she carried me further inside.

Lingling carried me effortlessly, her lips never leaving mine, each kiss more demanding than the last. My fingers tangled in her silky dark hair as I held on, feeling the tension in her muscles, the way she moved with such control—until she didn't.

With a firm grip on my thighs, she set me down on the cold marble kitchen counter, her body pressing between my legs. The moment our lips met again, the kiss turned desperate, all control slipping away. My hands roamed over her suit jacket, pushing it off her shoulders.

In our fevered movements, my elbow knocked over a glass, sending it shattering onto the floor, but neither of us stopped. Lingling growled against my lips, gripping the back of my neck and tilting my head for a deeper, harsher kiss. My breath hitched as her teeth grazed my bottom lip before she soothed it with her tongue.

Her hands found the slit in my dress, fingers skimming over my thigh, making me shudder. "You drive me insane, Orm," she murmured, voice low, almost feral.

I smirked against her lips, tugging at her shirt. "Good."

Lingling responded by pressing me harder into the counter, her kisses trailing down my neck, her breath hot against my skin. My fingers traced over the scars on her chest, feeling her heartbeat beneath them, and for a moment, time slowed.

She paused, forehead resting against mine, her breath uneven. "Tell me to stop if this is too much."

I cupped her face, looking into those dark, unreadable eyes. "I don't want you to stop."

Lingling's lips latched onto my neck, her teeth scraping the sensitive skin before she bit down just enough to make me gasp. My fingers gripped her shoulders as heat spread through me, my body instinctively tilting back. The shift sent more glasses and bottles tumbling off the counter, shattering onto the floor, but neither of us cared.

Her hands were everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding up my thighs, pulling me closer as if she wanted to consume me. Her tongue soothed the sting of her bites, leaving behind a trail of kisses that had me breathless.

"Lingling," I moaned, my voice unsteady.

She hummed against my skin, her hands tightening around me. "I love hearing you say my name like that."

I felt the smirk against my collarbone before she bit down again, harder this time, pulling a sharp gasp from my lips. My head tilted back further, my body arching into her as she kissed and claimed every inch of my skin.

One of my hands moved to her tie, tugging her closer, while the other slipped beneath her open button up, feeling the toned muscles beneath. I wanted more—more of her, more of this.

Lingling lifted her head, her dark eyes locked onto mine, burning with hunger. "You're mine," she murmured, her voice low and possessive.

I pulled her tie, bringing her lips back to mine. "Then prove it."

Lingling growled low in her throat, her grip on my waist tightening until I could feel the bruising pressure of her fingers. The moment our lips crashed together, she took exactly what she wanted—her tongue sliding against mine in a messy, desperate claim. There was no hesitation, no softness. Just raw, consuming hunger.

The kiss turned brutal, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip until I whimpered against her mouth. She took advantage of the sound, deepening the kiss with a dominance that sent a violent shiver down my spine. My fingers tangled into her hair, trying to regain even a fraction of control, but Lingling was relentless.

She shoved me harder against the counter, her knee sliding between my thighs, pressing exactly where I needed her. My body jerked at the contact, a gasp tearing from my lips, but she didn't let me breathe. Her hand wrapped around my throat—not tight, just enough to make my pulse jump beneath her fingers.

"You like this," she murmured, her lips brushing against my jaw. It wasn't a question. It was a statement—one she already knew the answer to.

I swallowed hard, my breath shaky. "Lingling—"

Her fingers tightened, just enough to send a dizzy wave of heat through me. "Say it."

"I—I like it," I confessed, barely above a whisper.

She hummed in satisfaction, her lips tracing a dangerous path down my neck. She bit down again, harder this time—enough to leave a mark that would last. I whimpered, my body jerking against hers, but her grip held me firm.

"You look so good like this," she murmured against my skin. "Completely at my mercy."

Her free hand slid up my thigh, nails digging into the sensitive flesh as she pushed my dress higher, exposing more of me to her touch. I should've stopped her. I should've told her to slow down. But the way she handled me—rough, possessive, like she was devouring me piece by piece—made me crave her even more.

She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze, her dark eyes blown with hunger. "You said to prove it," she murmured. "I don't think you're ready for that."

I exhaled shakily, my fingers gripping her wrist where she still held my throat. "Try me."

A slow, dangerous smile spread across her lips.

"Don't beg for mercy later," she warned, before yanking me off the counter and into her arms like I weighed nothing.

Lingling didn't walk—she stalked. Her grip on me was bruising, her breath hot against my skin as she carried me into the bedroom with a singular purpose. The moment we crossed the threshold, she kicked the door shut behind her. The sound echoed through the room, but I barely had time to register it before she tossed me onto the bed like I was nothing.

I barely had time to catch my breath before she was on me again, pinning me down with her weight, her knee pressing between my thighs. Her hands were rough, tugging my dress higher, her nails scraping against my skin, leaving behind burning trails.

"You have no idea what you do to me," she growled, her voice thick with hunger. "Walking around in that dress, looking at me like you wanted this."

I gasped as her teeth found my collarbone, biting down hard enough to make me arch beneath her. "I did," I admitted breathlessly. "I do."

Lingling pulled back, her dark eyes flashing with something dangerous. "Evil."

She grabbed my wrists, pinning them above my head, her fingers tightening just enough to make me squirm. My heart pounded against my ribs, adrenaline and desire mixing into something intoxicating. I wanted this. I wanted her like this—wild, unrestrained, possessive.

She leaned down, her lips ghosting over my ear. "I don't play nice, Orm."

"Then don't," I whispered back.

That was all the permission she needed.

Lingling's mouth crashed onto mine again, all teeth and desperation, her body pressing me further into the mattress. Every touch, every bite, every rough movement made my head spin. She was everywhere, her hands, her mouth, her heat consuming me entirely.

I moaned against her lips, and she swallowed the sound greedily, her grip on my wrists tightening. "You sound so fucking pretty when you break for me," she murmured, her breath ragged.

My body ached for her, but Lingling wasn't in a hurry. She wanted me undone, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but her name on my lips.

And I wanted to give her exactly that.

Intense, all-consuming, and relentless. She wasn't just touching me—she was claiming me, piece by piece, branding me with every scrape of her nails and every bruising kiss.

Her grip on my wrists didn't waver as she trailed her lips down my throat, biting and sucking hard enough to make sure I'd feel her long after this moment was over. My breath hitched when her teeth grazed my pulse, her tongue flicking over the tender spot like she wanted to savor the way I trembled beneath her.

"You belong to me now," she murmured against my skin, her voice dark, dangerous, and utterly intoxicating. "No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to touch you."

I shivered at her words, something possessive and primal curling in my stomach. "No one else," I agreed, my voice barely more than a gasp.

Her grip on my wrists loosened just enough for her to slide her fingers down my arms, her nails raking over my skin, sending sparks of pleasure through me. The heat between us was suffocating, but I didn't want to escape—I wanted to burn in it.

She sat back for just a moment, her gaze raking over me like she was memorizing every inch of exposed skin, every mark she'd already left behind. Her lips were swollen, her breathing ragged, but her control was unwavering.

Lingling didn't rush. She made me wait, made me writhe beneath her, her hands tracing the edges of my dress without giving me the relief I craved.

"Patience, Orm," she murmured, her lips curving into a wicked smile as she leaned down again, her breath ghosting over my ear. "I want to take my time with you."

I whimpered, my fingers twisting in the sheets as I arched toward her. "Lingling—"

Her mouth cut off my plea, her kiss deep, slow, and devastating. She was in control, and I could do nothing but surrender.

Lingling's hand slid up my throat again, her fingers wrapping around it in a firm, unyielding grip. Not tight enough to hurt—just enough to remind me who was in control. My breath caught, my pulse pounding against her palm, and she drank in my reaction with dark, hungry eyes.

"You look so pretty like this," she murmured, tilting my chin up with her thumb. "All mine."

Her other hand traced down my body, slow and teasing, making me squirm beneath her. The pressure on my throat tightened just slightly, sending a delicious wave of heat through me. I gasped, my body arching toward her, and she smirked like she knew exactly what she was doing to me.

She leaned down, her lips brushing against mine—not kissing, just teasing. "I want to hear you beg for it."

I whimpered, my hands gripping her wrists, but I didn't try to push her away. I didn't want to. I wanted more. "Please," I whispered.

Lingling made a pleased sound, her fingers tightening for just a moment before loosening again, letting me take in a shaky breath. She kissed the corner of my lips, then my jaw, then lower, marking me with every touch.

"That's my good girl," she murmured against my skin.

I gasped as she pushed my dress higher, exposing more skin to the cool air and her burning touch. Her nails scraped lightly against my thighs, and my breath hitched, anticipation coiling tight in my stomach.

"You're shaking," she murmured, her voice thick with amusement and something darker, something possessive. She pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my hip, her tongue flicking against my skin before she bit down just hard enough to make me cry out.

I clenched my fingers into the sheets, my body arching toward her, desperate for more. "Lingling—"

She hummed in response, her breath warm against my skin. "Patience, Orm," she said again, but this time, there was a wicked edge to it. A promise.

And then she got lower.

I felt her hands on my thighs, spreading me open, and my breath caught in my throat. My mind was a haze of need, my body already lost to her, but she didn't give in right away. She hovered, teasing, letting the anticipation drive me insane.

"Look at you," she murmured, her lips brushing against sensitive skin. "So desperate for me already."

I whimpered, my hips shifting toward her, wordless in my need.

Lingling didn't hold back. She never did.

The moment her mouth was on me, I shattered. A sharp gasp tore from my throat, followed by a broken moan as she worked me over with slow, deliberate precision. My thighs trembled against her shoulders, my hands flying to her dark silky hair, gripping tight as if she was the only thing tethering me to the earth.

But Lingling was merciless.

She didn't just take her time—she took me apart, piece by piece, dragging me deeper into a pleasure so intense it felt unbearable. Every flick of her tongue, every scrape of her teeth, every teasing pause was designed to unravel me.

I couldn't stay quiet.

Each time she sucked, each time she pressed her tongue against the most sensitive part of me, a desperate, helpless cry escaped my lips. The sounds filled the room, echoing against the walls, mingling with Lingling's satisfied hums. She liked this. She liked hearing me lose myself, liked knowing she was the only one who could do this to me.

"You're so loud, Doctor," she murmured between deep strokes, her voice dark with amusement. "Do you want everyone to hear you?"

I barely registered what she was saying. My body was shaking, my back arching, my fingers tangled in her hair as I gasped for air. "I— I can't—"

She gripped my thighs tighter, pressing me further into the mattress, and my words dissolved into a sobbing moan.

"Good," she purred against me before diving back in, relentless and unyielding.

The pleasure built too fast, too intense, overwhelming me in waves. My legs shook violently, my body writhing beneath her, but she didn't stop—not even when I begged, not even when I was already falling apart.

"Lingling—please—!"

She didn't let up. She didn't slow down. If anything, she pushed me further, deeper, until I was too lost to think, too consumed to do anything but break for her.

And when I did—when the pleasure finally crested and shattered through me—I screamed her name. Loud, desperate, wrecked.

Lingling didn't stop. Not yet.

She wanted every last piece of me.

I barely had time to register her words before Lingling's grip on my throat tightened again, sending another sharp thrill down my spine. My body was wrecked, trembling from the pleasure she had already wrung out of me, but she wasn't satisfied—not yet.

She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. "You're still shaking," she murmured, her voice dark with amusement. "But I think you can give me more."

I whimpered, my body hypersensitive, every inch of me alight with the unbearable mix of pleasure and exhaustion. "Lingling—" My voice was hoarse, broken, barely more than a plea.

She hushed me with a kiss, slow and claiming, her tongue sweeping over mine as her fingers tightened just enough around my throat to make my pulse stutter. I gasped into her mouth, my vision going hazy for a moment, my body caught between the floating dizziness of her grip and the deep, aching pleasure still simmering beneath my skin.

"One more, Orm," she purred against my lips. "Just one more for me."

I didn't know if I could—I was already spent, already shaking—but Lingling wasn't asking.

She was taking.

Her free hand slipped between my legs again, her fingers sliding through the mess she had already made of me. I jolted, a sharp cry ripping from my throat as my body reacted instinctively, pleasure slamming through me like a bolt of lightning.

"Oh, you're still so sensitive," she cooed, her grip on my throat loosening just enough for me to suck in a ragged breath. "But look at you—still taking it so well."

I was beyond words, beyond thought, my body betraying me as it responded to her every touch, every whisper, every calculated movement. My hips jerked against her fingers, my breath hitching as she curled them just right, pressing into the deepest part of me.

"Lingling—" I choked out, my hands gripping her arms, nails digging into her skin as I felt myself slipping over the edge again, too soon, too much.

"That's it," she murmured, her lips tracing the shell of my ear. "Give it to me."

Her fingers pressed deeper, her thumb circling exactly where I needed, and that was it—my body gave in, my back arching, my vision blurring as another wave crashed through me, violent and overwhelming.

Lingling's hand tightened around my throat just as I shattered, her grip controlling my breath, controlling me, as pleasure ripped me apart. A broken, wrecked scream tore from my lips, my body convulsing beneath her, my thighs trembling violently as she coaxed every last tremor from me.

She held me there, trapped in the high she had forced out of me, until I was nothing but a gasping, shuddering mess beneath her. Only then did she finally release my throat, her fingers stroking over the marks she had left, soothing even as she admired the way my body had given in to her.

"Such a good girl," she murmured, pressing a lingering kiss against my jaw. "I knew you had more in you."

I couldn't even respond—my body was spent, my mind foggy, my breath still coming in ragged gasps.

Lingling smirked against my skin, her fingers tracing over my trembling thighs, over the evidence of everything she had done to me.

And then she whispered, voice dripping with wicked satisfaction—

"Now I'm done with you."

Lingling sat back on her heels, her dark eyes never leaving mine as she reached for the hem of her shirt. My breath caught, my body still shuddering from the aftermath of everything she had just done to me. Slowly, deliberately, she pulled the fabric over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her in nothing but her bra.

And damn.

My stomach twisted, heat crawling up my neck as I tried—and failed—not to stare.

She was gorgeous. Her toned abs, the smooth curves of her body, the swell of her chest rising and falling with each steady breath—it was too much. I was already dizzy from the way she had ruined me, but now? Now I felt like I was drowning in her all over again.

...

The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, the room dimly lit by the city lights seeping through the curtains. My body was still trembling, every nerve alive and burning in the aftermath of Lingling's touch. My breathing was uneven, my skin flushed, but she held me steady.

Lingling's arms were wrapped tightly around me, one hand tangled in my hair, the other resting possessively on my bare back. My head lay against her chest, listening to the rapid thrum of her heartbeat—just as erratic as mine. It felt surreal, this moment, the intensity of what just happened settling between us like an unspoken truth.

She exhaled slowly, her fingers tracing lazy circles along my spine, grounding me. "Are you okay?" she murmured, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

I nodded against her. "More than okay."

Her grip tightened, as if afraid I would slip away. "Good."

Silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was heavy, full of unspoken thoughts. My fingers idly traced the scars on her torso, feeling the history carved into her skin. I knew she wasn't used to this—letting someone in, being vulnerable. But right now, she wasn't the feared mafia leader. She wasn't the woman who made men tremble at her name. She was just Lingling.

My Lingling

And she was holding me like I was something she couldn't bear to lose.

I tilted my head up to look at her, and our eyes met. Her gaze softened in a way I hadn't seen before, something raw and unreadable flickering behind those dark irises.

I reached up, brushing my fingers against her cheek, right above her mole. "You look different when you're like this."

Her lips quirked into a small smirk. "Like what?"

"Like you're not carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Her expression faltered for a brief second, but then she sighed, her arms pulling me closer until I was practically molded against her. "That's because right now, I'm not."

I smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone before resting my head back against her chest. For now, I didn't need to think about what came next.

Right now, I just wanted to stay in her arms.

Lingling's fingers continued tracing slow, absent-minded patterns on my back, her touch featherlight yet grounding. I could feel her breathing, steady but deep, as if she was memorizing this moment, as if she didn't want to forget how I felt in her arms.

Then, she spoke, her voice quiet but unwavering.

"I don't love you with my heart and mind," she murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "I love you with my soul, in case my mind forgets and my heart stops."

I froze for a second, my breath catching in my throat. The weight of her words settled deep in my chest, burning, consuming. I had never heard something so beautiful, so raw. It wasn't just a confession—it was a vow.

I lifted my head to look at her, and my heart clenched at the tenderness in her expression. The dangerous, ruthless woman everyone feared was looking at me like I was her entire world.

I swallowed, my fingers brushing over the strong line of her jaw. "Lingling..." I whispered, but I didn't know what to say. There was no way to match the intensity of what she had just given me.

So I didn't speak. Instead, I kissed her.

Soft, slow, unlike all the other times before. There was no desperation, no hunger. Just us.

Lingling sighed into the kiss, her hand cradling the back of my head, deepening it in the most delicate way. It was warm, safe, and filled with something that scared me—because it felt like love.

When we pulled away, Lingling rested her forehead against mine, exhaling softly. "I don't know how to love gently," she admitted, her fingers tightening around me. "But I want to try... With you."

I smiled, my chest aching in the best way possible. "Then don't be gentle," I whispered. "Just be real."

Lingling's fingers brushed over my neck, her touch unusually soft, almost hesitant. I shivered under her fingertips, still feeling the ghost of her hands, her teeth, her everything.

Her jaw tensed slightly, and I saw the way her dark eyes flickered—how her gaze lingered on the bruises blooming across my skin, the deep bite marks, the faint imprint of her fingers where she had wrapped them around my throat.

Her thumb traced over one of the deeper marks, and for the first time since I met her, she looked almost... guilty.

"I hurt you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

I tilted my head slightly, leaning into her touch. "You didn't hear me complaining," I teased, my lips quirking up into a small smirk.

But Lingling didn't smile. She was still staring at the bruises, her fingers lingering over the evidence of her own violence.

"I lost control," she admitted. "I don't—" She cut herself off, inhaling sharply. "I don't want to hurt you, Orm."

I reached up, covering her hand with mine, pressing her palm flat against my neck. "You didn't," I reassured her, holding her gaze. "Lingling, look at me."

She did.

"This?" I gestured to the marks. "This doesn't scare me. You don't scare me." I gave her hand a small squeeze. "I wanted this. I wanted you."

She exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping, but there was still something in her eyes, something uncertain. "I just—" She hesitated. "I've never felt like this before."

I smiled, bringing her hand to my lips and kissing her knuckles. "Then let's figure it out together."

Lingling stared at me for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

I smirked. "You love it."

She sighed dramatically, rolling onto her back and pulling me onto her chest, wrapping her arms around me again. "Unfortunately."

I laughed, resting my head against her heartbeat. And as we lay there, tangled together, I knew—this was dangerous. But maybe, just maybe, it was worth it.

I traced my fingers over the mark on Lingling's chest—a burn, small but deep, standing out against her otherwise flawless skin. It was old, but I could tell it hadn't healed cleanly. My fingertips lingered there, my touch featherlight.

She tensed slightly beneath me.

"What happened here?" I asked softly, my voice cautious, not wanting to push too hard.

Lingling was silent for a moment, her gaze locked on the ceiling. I could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath me, but the moment stretched long, as if she were deciding whether to tell me or not.

Then, she spoke.

"When I was younger... new to this world," she started, her voice even, almost detached, "some people thought I was weak. That I didn't belong in the underworld." She let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "I guess they wanted to teach me a lesson."

My fingers curled against her skin. "They hurt you." It wasn't a question.

Lingling's lips pressed together, her jaw tightening. "Beat me to death," she admitted. "Or at least, they thought they did." Her hand came up, covering mine over the scar. "When I was already on the ground, barely breathing, they put out their cigarettes here." Her fingers pressed lightly against the mark. "One after another."

A cold chill ran through me.

I had seen Lingling's scars before, had felt them under my hands, but I never asked. I never wanted to pry. But now, hearing this, I felt something tighten in my chest.

I swallowed, my throat dry. "And what happened to them?"

Lingling's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "They never got the chance to do it again."

I didn't need to ask more. I knew exactly what she meant.

For a while, we just lay there. I traced slow, comforting circles over her skin, and she let me. It was rare to see Lingling like this—unguarded, open, vulnerable in a way I knew she hated.

I leaned down, pressing a kiss to the scar. Her breath hitched slightly, just for a second, before she exhaled and pulled me closer.

"You don't have to carry this alone," I whispered.

Lingling's arms tightened around me, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. Her body was warm, her heartbeat steady beneath my ear.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The weight of her past, the quiet admission of pain—these were things she rarely shared with anyone. But she had shared them with me.

I ran my fingers along the ridges of her scars, memorizing each one like they were stories written into her skin. Scars she had earned, survived.

Lingling finally broke the silence, her voice low. "You're the only one who's ever touched them like this."

I lifted my head, meeting her gaze. There was something raw in her dark eyes, something unguarded.

"They don't scare me," I told her, my voice firm.

Her fingers traced my jaw, then down my throat, stopping where she had left her marks on me. Possessive, almost territorial. A bruise from her grip. A faint red imprint of her teeth.

I could see the flicker of regret in her eyes, even if she didn't say it. Lingling wasn't the type to apologize for what came naturally to her—violence, control, dominance. But right now, she looked like she wanted to.

"You don't regret it, do you?" I asked, a small, teasing smile playing at my lips.

Lingling scoffed, but I could see the hesitation behind it. "Regret?" She leaned in, lips grazing my ear. "Never."

She kissed me then, slow and lingering, nothing like the desperate hunger from before. This kiss was something else—an answer, a promise.

When she pulled back, her fingers brushed over my cheek, near the cut I had gotten from that man. Her expression darkened, her jaw tightening. "You're not safe, Orm."

I sighed, resting my forehead against hers. "I know."

Lingling exhaled sharply, as if that wasn't the answer she wanted to hear. "I can't lose you."

The words were quiet, but they hit hard. I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the feeling of her, of this moment.

"You won't," I whispered.

But deep down, I wasn't sure if either of us could promise that.

Lingling's breath hitched, her grip on me tightening as if she needed something to hold onto. The walls she always kept up, the impenetrable armor she wore around everyone else, had cracked. And now, she was bare—her scars, her past, her soul—all of it exposed in front of me.

Her dark eyes shimmered, not with lust, not with anger, but with something deeper. Something raw. Tears clung to her lashes, refusing to fall, but I could see them. I could feel them.

I lifted my hand, gently brushing my fingers over the burn on her chest. She tensed for a second, but I didn't stop. Instead, I traced the outline of the scar with reverence, like it was something sacred.

"Let me love your scars the way the moon loves the craters on its surface—without question, without hesitation, only with awe." My voice was steady, even as my heart pounded in my chest.

Lingling let out a shaky exhale, her forehead pressing against mine. "Orm..." My name was barely a whisper on her lips, as if she was afraid it might break if she said it any louder.

Her hands cupped my face, her thumbs grazing over my cheekbones. I could see it in her expression—the battle inside her. The part of her that wanted to believe me, to let herself be loved like this. And the other part, the one that had learned love was just another weapon waiting to be turned against her.

I kissed her softly, slowly. Not with hunger, not with desperation, but with all the tenderness I had. I wanted her to feel it. To know that I meant every word.

When I pulled back, she finally let out a breath she had been holding. She blinked, and one tear slipped down her cheek. I caught it with my thumb, and she let me.

Lingling let me see her.

And that was the most dangerous thing of all.