Lianhua awoke to a world of aches.
Her entire body felt as if it had been dismantled and put back together incorrectly. A deep, thrumming soreness radiated from every muscle, and her intimate areas felt swollen, tender, and raw. Yet, beneath the pain was a confusing, lingering, thrumming pleasure, a warmth that coiled in her newly repaired meridians.
She was naked, tangled in the ruined, stained sheets of the bed.
The memories of the past day and a half crashed down on her. The violence. The pleasure. The endless, raw, animalistic coupling. Her mind, her rational self, reeled in horror.
She sat up, her head spinning, and saw him.
Wang Jian was sitting across the room in a simple wooden chair, already fully dressed in clean robes. He was watching her with a calm, patient, and unmistakably possessive smile. He had been waiting for her to wake.
