Summary: In the aftermath of passion and promises, Chen Yao and Lu Sicheng face the future side by side. With every touch, every breath, every choice, they seal the unspoken vow between them—no more running, no more fear, only forever.
Chapter Nine
The room was quiet, the soft glow of the afternoon filtering gently through the curtains, casting long, lazy beams of light across the rumpled sheets and tangled limbs.
Yao stirred first. Sleep-heavy, blissfully sore, wrapped entirely around him. She realized slowly, blinking against the haze of exhaustion, that at some point during their sleep she had shifted, curled practically on top of him, her thigh thrown high over his hip, her arm draped possessively across his chest. Sicheng lay beneath her, one hand resting loosely on her lower back, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest lifting her with every breath he took. Warm. Steady. Home. She nuzzled against him lazily, letting herself savor the feel of him—until something else caught her attention. Something hot. Hard. Cradled perfectly between her thighs, pressed right where she was still tender and aching for him, even after everything. A slow, wicked flush crawled up her skin. She shifted slightly, experimentally, and the sensation made her breath catch sharply in her throat.
Sicheng groaned low in his sleep, his arm tightening around her instinctively.
A mischievous little smile curved against her lips as she tilted her hips just right, grinding softly against him, feeling the heavy, delicious weight of him sliding perfectly into place. The heat, the friction, the sheer rightness of it sent a shock-wave through her already sensitized nerves. Biting her lip, heart hammering, she inched down, slow and steady, her thighs widening just enough to guide him exactly where she needed him. The moment the thick head of him breached her entrance, her entire body shuddered.
Sicheng's breath hitched sharply, a low, broken sound vibrating from deep in his chest. Still asleep. Still so completely hers.
Yao moved carefully, teasing herself, teasing him, savoring the slow, exquisite stretch as she sank inch by inch down his length. Her head dropped to his shoulder as she finally, fully sheathed him inside her, her body wrapping around his in a way that made her feel claimed, filled, utterly undone.
He stirred beneath her now, his brows drawing together, another ragged sound escaping him as his hips twitched instinctively, seeking more.
Yao whimpered quietly against his skin, her own hips rocking helplessly once, the sweet burn of him stretching her sending pleasure arcing through her spine.
Sicheng's hand flexed against her lower back, sliding down, fingers digging into the curve of her ass, holding her there without even waking fully. "Yao..." he groaned, his voice rough, wrecked, half-dreaming but still desperate for her. The sound of her name, spoken like a prayer, like a promise, undid her completely. She pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss against his throat, her body clenching around him, already trembling from the overwhelming fullness. And still he didn't wake fully. Still he let her lead. Control. Claim. For once, she was the one in charge, the one taking exactly what she needed from him. And she planned to savor every slow, devastating second of it.`
Yao whimpered quietly against his throat, her hands flattening against his chest as she tried to steady herself, tried to breathe through the overwhelming sensation of him filling her so deeply, so completely. She rocked her hips experimentally, a slow, instinctive movement. The effect was immediate—and devastating.
Sicheng's hips jerked upward in response, a low, guttural groan tearing from his chest as his body reacted before his mind fully woke. The unexpected lift of his hips drove him even deeper inside her, and Yao cried out softly, her body clenching around him reflexively, helpless against the sudden sharp rush of sensation. The accidental squeeze around him made Sicheng's entire body seize under her, a sharp, violent shudder running through his muscles. His hand flexed against her hip, his fingers digging into her skin like he was trying to anchor himself—to her, to reality, to the blinding pleasure she had just unleashed. A broken, half-conscious curse spilled from his lips, rough and low, vibrating against the curve of her neck. "Fuck... Yao," he growled, his voice shredded, barely coherent. He finally stirred properly, his other hand sliding up the length of her spine, gripping the back of her head, pressing her harder against him like he needed her closer, deeper, impossibly more.
Yao gasped again as she felt him shift under her, his strength coiling, gathering. And then, without warning, he rolled his hips up once, deep and firm, dragging a desperate, wrecked cry from her lips. The sound—raw, helpless, utterly his—snapped the last fragile thread of his restraint.
In one fluid, unstoppable motion, Sicheng shifted, rolling them over so that Yao landed beneath him with a soft, breathless gasp. He loomed over her now, braced on his forearms, their bodies still locked together so perfectly that she could feel every hard, pulsing inch of him buried deep inside her. His dark eyes burned down into hers, wild, hungry, and filled with something so fierce, so devoted it made her heart ache. "You," he rasped, his forehead pressing lightly to hers, "are playing a very dangerous game, Shorty."
Yao whimpered, her body trembling, her hands sliding up to clutch at his shoulders, nails biting lightly into his skin.
"Do it again," he commanded roughly, his voice so low and wrecked it barely sounded human. "Move."
She whimpered again, lifting her hips shyly, grinding against him. The effect was electric.
Sicheng groaned, deep and brutal, his hands sliding down to her hips to hold her steady, guiding her in a slow, devastating rhythm that made her head spin. He pulled back just enough to thrust into her again, deep, sure, claiming her in a way that left no doubt. No fear. No question. She was his. He was hers. And they were exactly where they were meant to be. Together. At last.
The moment their bodies locked into a slow, devastating rhythm, everything else disappeared. The world narrowed to the press of skin against skin, to the heat and friction and the overwhelming need rising between them like a storm.
Yao gasped, her head tipping back against the pillow as Sicheng drove into her with a deep, deliberate thrust that stole the breath from her lungs. Her fingers clawed at his shoulders, her nails leaving faint red lines in their wake as she tried to hold onto something—anything—against the force of him.
Against the force of them.
Sicheng groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his entire body as he pulled back and thrust harder, deeper, the pace shifting from slow and reverent to something rougher, something fueled by pure, brutal need.
Yao cried out, her voice high and wrecked, her thighs tightening around his waist instinctively as she arched up into him, meeting every thrust with desperate, frantic need. "Yes," she gasped, her voice breaking beautifully against the weight of him, "Sicheng—please—harder—"
The plea shattered whatever control he had left. With a growl low and ragged, he braced one hand against the mattress beside her head and ground his hips harder against hers, the sharp, perfect friction making her sob his name again. He caught her mouth in a brutal kiss, swallowing her cries as he drove into her, rougher now, deeper, relentless, like he couldn't get close enough, couldn't take enough, couldn't love her enough.
Yao moaned against his mouth, her entire body trembling, her nails raking down his back as he thrust into her again and again, filling her so perfectly, so completely she thought she might come undone just from the feel of him moving inside her. Every thrust dragged a new gasp, a new broken moan from her lips, the pace building, the need spiraling tighter and tighter inside her until she was shaking beneath him, sobbing his name against his skin, her body burning, aching, begging.
Sicheng never stopped. Never wavered. He kissed her like he needed her to breathe. Held her like he was afraid she would disappear. Thrust into her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
And Yao gave herself over to him completely. No fear. No hesitation. Just him. Just them. Her body coiled tighter and tighter, the pressure building so fiercely she could barely breathe, barely think. She was so close—so close—she could feel it, could feel herself unraveling with every deep, brutal stroke.
Sicheng groaned against her ear, his voice wrecked, shaking: "Come for me, Yao," he rasped, his thrusts deep and punishing now, the rhythm frantic and beautiful and perfect. "Let go—I've got you—"
That was all it took.
With a broken cry, her body snapped tight, her climax tearing through her so violently she thought she might black out, pleasure crashing over her in wave after unstoppable wave. She clung to him, sobbing his name, her body shuddering uncontrollably as he drove her through it, never letting her fall.
Sicheng followed her over the edge moments later, a low, guttural roar ripped from his chest as he buried himself deep one last time, holding her tight as he came apart inside her. Their bodies locked together. Their hearts locked together. Everything locked together. Exactly where they were meant to be. At last.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the ragged, uneven pull of their breathing, the soft hum of the world outside muffled behind heavy curtains, and the faint, desperate beats of their hearts still racing in perfect, broken rhythm.
Sicheng's weight settled against her carefully, not crushing, but grounding, his forehead dropping heavily to the curve of her shoulder as he fought to catch his breath.
Yao lay beneath him, her body boneless, trembling, her hands slipping up to tangle weakly in his hair, anchoring him to her. Keeping him exactly where he belonged. She could feel the slight tremor in him too—the way even he, so strong, so sure, had been shaken apart by what had just passed between them.
After a few long, slow moments, Sicheng finally shifted, pressing a lingering kiss against the damp skin of her collarbone before gently easing his weight off her, careful not to break the fragile, golden quiet that had wrapped itself around them. But he didn't go far. He never intended to. Instead, he tucked himself against her side, gathering her into his arms with a tenderness that stole the breath from her lungs all over again. One arm slid under her shoulders, pulling her into the broad expanse of his chest, the other curling protectively around her waist, his hand splayed wide against the small of her back as if he needed to feel every inch of her to believe she was really there.
Yao went willingly, curling into him, pressing her face against his bare skin, letting herself be swallowed by the heat and weight and rightness of him.
He kissed the top of her head once—soft, slow, devastating. "You're mine," he whispered against her hair, his voice wrecked and raw and utterly sure.
She nodded wordlessly against his chest, the simple truth of it filling her up so full she thought she might drown in it.
His hand slid up and down her back in slow, steady strokes, soothing and grounding and claiming. "I'm never letting you go again," he murmured, voice thick, his lips brushing the crown of her head with each word. "No matter what. No matter who tries to stand in the way."
Yao's throat tightened painfully, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes—not from sadness, but from the sheer, overwhelming tenderness of it all. From the way he held her like she was precious. Like she was necessary. Like she was his. "You're stuck with me now," she whispered against his skin, her voice shaking slightly with emotion.
Sicheng chuckled low in his chest, the sound vibrating through her where she pressed so tightly against him. "Good," he whispered back, brushing another kiss against her forehead, his arms tightening around her protectively, possessively, endlessly. "Exactly where I want to be."
For a long time, they stayed like that. Tangled together under the soft, rumpled sheets, the warmth of their bodies chasing away every last lingering shadow. No more doubts. No more distance. No more fear. Only them. Only home. At last. The warmth between them slowly shifted from the desperate intensity of earlier into something quieter. Something steady. Something real.
Yao stayed curled against him, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart under her ear, her fingers tracing lazy, aimless patterns against his bare chest. For a while, neither of them spoke, letting the soft hush of the apartment wrap around them. But eventually, she tilted her head up, resting her chin lightly on his chest, looking at him with wide, searching eyes. "What happens now?" she asked softly, the smallest hint of uncertainty threading through her voice.
Sicheng didn't hesitate. Not even for a second. He tightened his arms around her, tilting her face up with a knuckle under her chin so she could see every word written across his face when he said, low and certain: "You come home with me."
The simplicity of it, the absolute certainty, made her breath catch. No complicated plans. No hesitation. Just them. Together. Always.
Yao's lips curled into the smallest, softest smile—real and a little mischievous. "Then..." she murmured, her voice still a little hoarse from everything they had shared, "let's shower, and then go to the college."
He blinked once, caught off guard. "Now?" he asked, amusement creeping into his voice.
She laughed, low and warm, pushing lightly at his chest. "Yes, now."
He shifted, smoothing his hands lazily along her spine. "And what, drag you back kicking and screaming?"
Yao snorted against him. "No dragging necessary." She leaned up, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth—soft, teasing—and whispered, "I want to get my transfer started. I'm not wasting another second."
He grinned against her, fierce and proud, but before he could answer, she pulled back slightly, her eyes gleaming with a wicked light.
"But," she added, wagging a finger at him, "the guys can't know yet."
Sicheng arched a brow. "You want to hide it?"
She shook her head, biting her lip to contain the smirk threatening to break free. "No. I want to see the looks on their faces when I show up at the base. When they realize I'm staying for good."
For a moment, Sicheng just stared at her, something warm and proud and helpless flickering across his face. Then he laughed, quiet, low, wrecked by affection, and tucked her closer against him again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You're evil." he muttered against her hair.
She smiled into his chest. "You love it."
"Yeah," he breathed, his arms tightening around her. "I do."
Without another word, they finally forced themselves out of the warm tangle of sheets, still touching, still stealing small, lingering kisses between the lazy shuffle of gathering clothes and the low hum of the morning around them. Because they had a future to start. Because there was no more running. Only forward. Only home. Only together.
The shower had been quick, more laughter and stolen kisses than anything else, filled with the quiet hum of whispered promises against damp skin and lazy fingers tracing familiar paths. By the time they were dressed and out the door, the air between them had settled into something warm, steady, filled with that almost electric excitement of finally moving forward, no longer trapped by fear or doubt. The ride to the university passed quickly, Sicheng's hand resting lightly on Yao's knee the entire way, grounding her, anchoring them both with that small, constant touch. It felt easy. Right. The way it was always supposed to be.
The administration building was blessedly quiet when they arrived. After a short wait and a few official forms, Yao stood from the polished oak chair at the front desk with a neat packet of paperwork in her hands and a tiny, fierce smile on her lips. "It's official," she said, glancing up at Sicheng as they stepped out into the crisp afternoon air. "The transfer will be complete in a week."
He grinned, slow and proud, reaching out to tug her closer by the edge of her jacket, dropping a kiss onto the crown of her head without a care in the world if anyone saw. "Good," he murmured, his voice low and satisfied. "Means I don't have to come back here and drag you home."
She laughed softly, leaning into him for a second, savoring the solid, steady weight of him at her side. They had just started down the steps of the building when a voice called out from behind them.
"Yao?"
She froze instinctively, turning slightly as a tall, slightly awkward young man jogged up the steps toward them, a bright, hopeful smile breaking across his face. Yao blinked, surprised. "Daniel," she said, recognizing him instantly. One of her classmates from her very first year at Cambridge, one who had always lingered a little too long after study groups, who had always found a reason to sit near her, help her carry her books, offer her coffee even when she didn't ask. He was nice. Friendly. But even now, it was clear as day, the way his gaze locked onto her, the way his expression softened in a way that went far beyond casual friendship.
Sicheng stiffened subtly beside her. He didn't move. Didn't speak. But Yao could feel the shift in him immediately, the sudden coil of tension tightening in the hand resting lightly at the small of her back. Possessive. Protective. Territorial. It was instinctive, the way he straightened, the way his presence seemed to grow heavier, more palpable, like he was silently daring anyone to even think about taking one step closer.
Daniel, oblivious or maybe just too hopeful, smiled warmly at Yao, his hands shoved nervously into the pockets of his jacket. "I haven't seen you around lately," he said, a little too eager. "I was hoping we'd run into each other before term ended."
Yao smiled politely, shifting subtly closer to Sicheng without thinking, her shoulder brushing his.
Daniel's eyes flickered briefly to the movement, his smile dimming slightly—but he recovered quickly. "You look great," he added, his voice dropping just a bit, the weight of the words hanging between them longer than was appropriate.
Beside her, Sicheng's fingers tightened slightly against the curve of her back, a low sound rumbling from deep in his chest that only she could hear. A warning. A reminder. That she wasn't standing here alone anymore.
Yao glanced up at him, a small, secret smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, feeling a spark of mischief bloom quietly inside her. Turning back to Daniel, she said brightly, "Thanks. I'm actually transferring home."
Daniel's smile faltered again. "Oh. Really? That's... sudden."
Sicheng's hand slid further around her waist, not possessive exactly, but firm. Unmistakable. She didn't step away. She leaned into him.
Daniel hesitated, clearly floundering for something else to say, something else to anchor himself. But there was nothing left to offer. Because she had already chosen. Because she was already exactly where she belonged. After a few awkward goodbyes, Daniel drifted away, the energy bleeding out of him with every reluctant step back toward the main building.
Yao turned to look up at Sicheng, a teasing glint in her eyes. "You were going to growl at him, weren't you?"
Sicheng arched one brow lazily, his mouth curving into a small, smug smirk. "Wouldn't have had to," he muttered, low and rough as he pulled her firmly back against his side. "You handled it."
She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in months, the sound soft and genuine as she tucked herself closer against him. "Jealous much?" she teased, nuzzling her nose against the underside of his jaw.
He bent down, brushing his mouth lightly over the shell of her ear. "Territorial," he corrected, his voice sending a shiver straight through her. "Very different."
She shivered and smiled, her heart thundering for a whole new reason now. Because there was no more doubt. No more distance. No more pretending. She was his. He was hers. And soon, very soon, the rest of the world would know it too. They drove back to her apartment in a comfortable silence, the weight of everything that had changed settling around them like a second skin—warm, familiar, permanent.
When they stepped inside, Yao paused just inside the doorway, looking around at the small, worn space that had been her world for the past couple of years. The battered couch. The scratched coffee table. The chipped edges of the kitchen counter. It wasn't much. And somehow, in this moment, it felt even smaller than she remembered. She turned back toward Sicheng, her arms folding loosely across her chest. "Everything but my clothes and personal stuff can stay," she said softly. "It all belongs to the college anyway. Part of the student housing program."
Sicheng lingered in the doorway for a second longer, his sharp gaze sweeping over the cramped living room, the threadbare rug, the secondhand feel clinging to everything. A muscle in his jaw ticked once. He shut the door behind him with a soft click before muttering under his breath, half to her, half to himself: "That explains it."
Yao blinked at him, tilting her head slightly. "Explains what?"
He crossed the small space toward her in a few slow, deliberate steps, his hands sliding into the pockets of his jacket, the tension in his shoulders barely hidden. "Why you live in a place this damn small," he said, his voice rough, low. "With furniture that looks like it's been dragged through three decades."
Yao opened her mouth to protest—to say it wasn't that bad, that it had been fine—but he cut her off, shaking his head.
"And here I was," he muttered, his mouth curling into something not quite a smile, not quite a frown, "wondering why your brother—Chen Tao—of all people, would let you live like this if he was the one paying for it."
Yao flushed slightly, biting her lip. She had known. Had always known. Chen Tao would have moved her into a much better apartment if he could have. But she had refused. Because she didn't want special treatment. Because she wanted to prove, to herself, to the world, that she could survive without leaning on anyone's name. Especially not the Chen family's. "I wanted to do it on my own," she said quietly, her fingers playing with the hem of her jacket. "Prove that I could."
Sicheng's expression softened at that, the hard line of his mouth easing. He stepped in close, towering over her, his hand reaching out to tilt her chin up so she had no choice but to meet his gaze. "You don't have to prove anything to me," he said quietly, fiercely.
"I know." she whispered.
"You never had to prove anything. Not to anyone." he repeated, softer now, his thumb brushing lightly over her jaw.
She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes for a brief second, letting the truth of that settle deep inside her, chasing away the old, stubborn fears still clinging to the edges of her mind. When she opened her eyes again, he was still there. Solid. Steady. Home.
"Let's pack your things," he said, brushing a kiss against her forehead. "And then we go home."
Yao smiled, small and real. Home. She liked the sound of that. Liked it even more knowing exactly who would be waiting for her at the other end.
Packing didn't take long. It couldn't have, really. Most of what filled the tiny apartment wasn't hers to begin with. The worn couch, the scratched coffee table, the tired mattress—all standard issue for the student apartments tied to the university housing program. The only things that truly belonged to Yao were crammed into a few battered suitcases and a couple of neatly labeled boxes: clothes, books, some personal notebooks, her favorite tea set, a few framed photos she had stubbornly hung on the cracked walls. She moved around the apartment methodically, pulling things from shelves and drawers, her movements practiced and efficient.
Sicheng leaned against the doorway for a few minutes, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with an unreadable expression. Then he pushed off the frame and crossed to her side, reaching for a stack of books she was struggling to balance.
"You don't have to stand there like a boss inspecting the help, you know," she teased, tossing him a sideways look as she stuffed a few more clothes into a suitcase.
Sicheng snorted low in his throat, his mouth curving lazily. "I'm supervising," he said smugly.
"You're pretending to supervise," she corrected, her voice dry, eyes sparkling now with mischief.
"And doing a damn good job," he muttered, bumping her hip with his.
She rolled her eyes and shoved a folded sweatshirt into his chest. "Make yourself useful, Captain Lu."
He caught it easily, grinning as he tucked it into the open suitcase beside him. "Bossy."
"You like it," she said without thinking, the words slipping free with far too much familiarity.
Sicheng paused, glancing down at her, his eyes darkening slightly. "Yeah," he said, his voice lower now, rougher, as he closed the suitcase with a soft click. "I really do."
Her cheeks flushed as she ducked her head, pretending to fuss with the next box. But the smile tugging at her lips was impossible to hide. They moved through the apartment quickly after that, teasing and laughing, stealing kisses when neither could resist—the kind of kisses that left her breathless and dizzy, pressed up against the walls or the counter or whatever surface happened to be closest.
At one point, Sicheng tried to lift two boxes at once, misjudged the weight, and nearly toppled backward into the battered couch. Yao burst out laughing as he righted himself with a muttered curse, the grin spreading across her face wide and free and so beautiful it made something ache deep in his chest. When everything was finally packed, her life condensed into three suitcases, two boxes, and a worn-out backpack, they stood for a moment in the middle of the now almost-empty apartment, the air around them strangely heavy despite the laughter still lingering.
Yao glanced around once, taking in the scuffed floors, the faded curtains, the worn countertops. And then she looked up at him. And smiled. Because there was no sadness. No regret. Only anticipation. Only home. Waiting for her.
Sicheng stepped closer, slipping his hand into hers, lacing their fingers together without a word. She squeezed back, her heart so full it hurt. "Ready?" he asked quietly, his thumb brushing across her knuckles.
She nodded. "Yeah," she whispered. "I'm ready."
He leaned down, brushing his mouth softly against her temple, the kiss lingering. "Good," he murmured. "Because I'm not giving you another chance to change your mind."
She laughed against his chest, pressing closer. "No chance," she promised. Together, they turned toward the door, carrying her small world between them. Leaving behind the loneliness. Leaving behind the half-life she had been living. And stepping forward. Toward a new beginning. Toward home. Toward them. Exactly where they were always meant to be.
As Sicheng hauled the last suitcase into the back of the rental car, Yao leaned against the passenger door, tugging out her phone with a small, nervous flutter in her chest. She hadn't told her brother yet. She hadn't told anyone outside of Sicheng and the university. Her fingers hovered over the screen for half a second, then moved quickly, tapping out a simple, straightforward message.
Yao: Coming back to China permanently. Transfer is in progress. Will land in Shenzhen, whenever I land.
She hesitated, thumb hovering over the send button for the briefest moment, and then she hit it. The message sent. Delivered. Yao exhaled slowly, slipping her phone back into her pocket, her heart still racing a little too fast even though she knew this was exactly what she wanted. She was pulling the door open to climb inside when her phone buzzed sharply in her jacket. She pulled it out again, frowning and immediately huffed a startled laugh.
Chen Tao: If I see one damn hickey on you, I'm murdering Lu Sicheng.
Yao clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sharp, bright burst of laughter that tore free, doubling slightly against the car door.
Sicheng, climbing into the driver's seat, raised an eyebrow lazily. "What's so funny?"
Yao slid into the passenger seat, grinning uncontrollably as she held up the phone so he could read the message.
Sicheng snorted, low and completely unbothered, reaching over to buckle her seatbelt with a slow, exaggerated precision that made her stomach flip all over again. "He can get in line," he muttered, clicking the buckle home and leaning in close enough that his breath brushed the shell of her ear. "You're covered in worse now." Yao flushed scarlet, swatting at his chest weakly, but he only grinned, smug and satisfied, as he pulled back and started the car. "And besides," he added as he pulled out of the narrow lot, glancing at her with that lazy, wicked glint she was starting to recognize too well, "he'll have to catch me first."
Yao groaned, burying her face in her hands as the car rolled down the street, the weight of fear and sadness that had once haunted her replaced now by something infinitely lighter, infinitely better. Home was waiting. Chaos was inevitable. And she wouldn't have it any other way.