The massive glass doors slid open, revealing the city skyline glittering far below. Wen Yanyi's penthouse was a world apart — sleek marble floors, soft ambient lights, and walls of glass that framed the night like a living painting. This was her sanctuary, a place where no one saw the princess with porcelain skin and perfect manners — only the woman she was crafting beneath it all.
The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound as she slipped out of her ivory slip dress. It clung to her like a whisper, delicate and almost weightless. Beneath it, her lingerie was a bold contrast — a deep black lace set that barely contained the generous swell of her bosom. The cups were cut low, pushing her curves forward so that the soft flesh spilled slightly over the edges, as if eager to taste fresh air.
She paused for a moment, letting her fingers trace the scalloped edges of the bra, feeling the heat radiate from her own skin. The tight lace hugged her torso, emphasizing the tiny waist she had sculpted over the past year — a waist so narrow a single hand could wrap around it, fingers almost meeting on her back.
Her long, bouncy hair fell loose around her shoulders, a wild halo framing her face as she turned slowly to face the enormous floor-to-ceiling mirror across the room.
She slid one hand over her cheekbone, letting her fingertips drift down the soft curve of her jaw, trailing to her neck where the pulse fluttered beneath her skin. Her other hand moved lower, fingers skimming just beneath the lace band of her bra, teasing the sensitive skin of her ribs.
Her lips parted, wet and rosy, her tongue tracing slow circles along their edge. A soft breath escaped, almost a whisper, as her eyes locked onto her reflection — the quiet seductress who hid behind delicate dresses and a shy smile.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she let her fingers slide beneath the strap of the bra, feeling the warmth of her own skin. Her hand moved to cup one breast, fingers kneading gently, thumb circling the taut nipple that pressed eagerly against the lace.
Her breath hitched — a light, breathless sound caught deep in her throat — as her body responded to the delicate torture. Her chest rose and fell, the rhythm quickening, a faint flush spreading over her skin.
She dropped to her knees in front of the mirror, the soft carpet cool against her bare legs. Wrapping the silk sheet from her bed around her body, she clutched it tight over her chest, the fabric slipping with every movement, allowing teasing glimpses of her curves beneath.
Her hand traced a path from her collarbone down to the swell of her breasts, fingers dancing over every sensitive spot — a trail of fire igniting in her veins.
Her hair fell forward in wild waves, hiding part of her flushed face, but her eyes shone fierce and hungry as she shifted her hips, pressing the sheet-wrapped curves against the soft carpet beneath her.
A low, breathy moan slipped from her lips — fragile, trembling, but filled with the promise of more.
She rolled her shoulders back, arching her spine to expose the delicate curve of her throat and the dip of her waist. Her free hand tangled in her hair, pulling gently until a shiver ran through her.
Her other hand ventured lower, slipping beneath the folds of the sheet, fingers tracing the smooth skin of her thigh, drifting upward to the sensitive hollow of her hip.
The soft moan she released was deeper now — a sound caught between pain and pleasure, her body arching instinctively, craving more.
Her breath came in short gasps, lips parting as her tongue darted out to wet them again, glistening and inviting. The sheet slipped further, baring more skin, revealing the delicate lines of her slender frame that her elegant dresses always concealed.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to the sensation — fingertips pressing, sliding, exploring the landscape she'd sculpted herself: the generous swell of her bosom, the narrow cinch of her waist, the smooth curve of her hips, all burning beneath her touch.
Her hand found its way back to her breast, fingers kneading slowly, thumb circling the hardened peak. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out, but a breathless whimper escaped instead — soft, trembling, utterly hers.
She shifted on her knees, tilting forward so her chest pressed into the plush carpet, the fabric of the sheet bunching beneath her. The subtle friction sent sparks racing through her nerves.
The moan she gave was rawer now — a mix of ache and delight, rising and falling with each careful movement. Her fingers tangled once more in her hair, pulling gently as she dipped her face toward the carpet, face flushed, lips parted and glistening.
The room was filled with the sound of her breath, heavy and uneven, her heart pounding like a secret drum.
When her hand finally dropped from her hair, it slid down her back to the small of her waist, fingers splaying wide as she stretched her body toward the mirror. Her reflection caught every slow curve — every small tremor of desire playing across her skin.
She smiled, dark and knowing, biting her lip as the pleasure curled tight inside her like a flame ready to burst.
Her breath caught once more, a long, shuddering gasp escaping her lips, before she gathered herself, sitting back on her heels and pulling the sheet firmly around her.
A sharp ping from her phone startled her — a message from Chen Jinyi, filled with bright emojis and an innocent, eager question. Yanyi's lips curved into a secret smile.
The game had begun.