Though she said that, the hand clasped around her waist didn't show any intention of letting go.
Fu Jinghen sat in the third-to-last row, with belongings placed on the two rows behind them and beside them, and considering his own imposing presence, no one would look back. There was an invisible barrier between the two of them.
There was a sense of secret intimacy.
Wen Qiao quite liked it; she tilted her chin up and kissed Fu Jinghen on the lips, "But you haven't let go of me either, have you?"
The uniquely soft sensation of a woman's lips transmitted all the way to his brain. Fu Jinghen tightened his grip around Wen Qiao's waist, another hand lifting her chin.
Lips met, and the man's deep and muffled words dispersed between the intermingling of their lips and teeth—
"Mhm, that's my mistake."
Though Fu Jinghen admitted to his mistake verbally, his actions, on the other hand, were racing in the direction of making more mistakes.
