The grand hall fell silent, its opulence now a dim backdrop for the two figures left alone. The air grew heavy with unspoken desire, flickering oil lamps casting long, trembling shadows across the polished wooden floor. Lü Bu, towering and fierce as a storm-swept peak, could no longer quell the inferno roaring within him. His heart thundered like war drums before a charge, each beat pulling him closer to the exquisite creature seated beside him.
With a boldness born of lust and wine, Lü Bu reached out, his calloused fingers brushing against the impossibly delicate curve of Diao Chan's waist. The crimson silk of her gown, a whisper-thin veil that clung to her like a lover's caress, yielded beneath his touch, its vibrant hue shimmering like molten rubies in the lamplight. The fabric felt softer than a lotus petal kissed by dawn's first dew, and her waist seemed boneless, pliant as warm jade in his grasp. He drew her closer, his grip firm yet trembling with the ferocity of his need. Her scent enveloped him—jasmine laced with something sweeter, like ripe peaches plucked at summer's peak—intoxicating his senses. He yearned to crush her lithe form against his own, to claim her then and there amidst the hollow echoes of the banquet hall.
Diao Chan did not resist. Instead, she melted into him like a docile bird seeking shelter, her slender frame pressing against the broad expanse of his chest. The coarse weave of his warrior's tunic, embroidered with threads of gold and crimson, rasped against the silken smoothness of her robe, a contrast that sent a shiver through her—one she did not conceal. She tilted her head back, her starlit eyes shimmering with a liquid allure, waves of unspoken promises dancing in their depths. Her gaze locked onto his, heavy with tender longing, and when she spoke, her voice was a honeyed caress, each syllable dripping like molten amber into the heated air between them.
"Chan'er is unworthy," she murmured, her tone so soft and beguiling it seemed to stroke Lü Bu's very soul, "yet to serve a general as mighty as you… it must be a blessing earned across three lifetimes." Her voice, sweet as sugared plums, curled around his heart like a silken thread, unraveling him with every syllable. The intimate whisper of her name—Chan'er, a tender secret shared between them—sounded like a silent permission, an unspoken beckoning that set his blood aflame. It melted his bones to molten wax, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of her flattery and the yielding press of her body against his.
With her name, "Chan'er," whispered like a forbidden melody against his ear, the soft heat of her breath brushing his skin, Lü Bu felt the last threads of distance between them dissolve into a haze of raw desire. He lowered his gaze to drink in the sight of her, his breath catching in his throat as if ensnared by a celestial enchantress woven from starlight and sin. The few cups of wine they had shared during the feast had painted her cheeks with a flush as delicate as peach blossoms in bloom, the rosy hue creeping across her porcelain skin like the first blush of spring, trailing down her slender neck in a way that made his pulse quicken. Her lips, parted and glistening with the faint sheen of wine, shimmered like a crimson lotus in the lamplight, an invitation so potent it drew him closer with an almost primal need. Beneath the whisper-thin crimson silk of her gown, her slender frame seemed ethereal, a fragile illusion shattered by the breathtaking perfection of her breasts—exquisitely full, their soft, rounded mounds pressing boldly against the taut fabric with each quickened breath. The silk clung to her like a second skin, outlining their curves in such tantalizing detail that he could scarcely tear his eyes away, each inhale revealing the faint shadow of her collarbone, the creamy expanse of her décolletage, and the subtle, hardened peaks of her nipples straining beneath the sheer crimson veil—a vision so intoxicating it stoked the fire in his chest to a roaring inferno.
Lü Bu's hands tightened around her, his calloused fingers sinking deeper into the yielding softness of her waist, the crimson silk of her gown slipping beneath his grip like liquid fire, teasing his senses with its fleeting smoothness. The heat of her body bled through the thin layers separating them, searing his skin where they pressed together, her warmth a siren's call against the rough expanse of his warrior's frame. His desire, fueled by wine and her intoxicating nearness, burned like wildfire through dry tinder, untamed and all-consuming, each heartbeat a hammer against his ribs. He bent his head, his lips hovering just above the tender shell of her ear, his breath hot and ragged as it fanned across her skin, stirring the silken strands of her hair like a lover's sigh. The faint musk of his scent—leather, steel, and the sharp tang of sweat from a day on the training grounds—mingled with her floral sweetness, jasmine laced with the ripe allure of summer peaches, creating a heady alchemy that clouded his mind with primal need.
"Chan'er…" he growled, her name a low, guttural rumble in his throat, laced with a hunger so fierce it bordered on desperation. His lips brushed the delicate curve of her ear, lingering there to savor the shiver that coursed through her, the silken strands of her hair grazing his cheek as he pressed himself closer, the coarse stubble of his jaw scraping against her flawless skin with a delicious friction. His hands roamed upward, fingers tracing the elegant line of her spine through the flimsy silk, feeling the subtle arch of her body as it yielded to his touch, a silent promise of surrender that drove him to the edge of restraint. Every fiber of his being ached to devour her, to tear away the fragile crimson barrier between them and sate the molten need that pulsed through his veins like liquid iron, threatening to consume him whole.
Diao Chan tilted her head back slightly, her starlit eyes half-closed, long lashes trembling like the wings of a captive butterfly, a delicate dance of feigned shyness and subtle resistance that only inflamed him further. The intimate echo of her name, "Chan'er," still lingered in Lü Bu's mind, a whispered siren's call that stoked his yearning to shatter the fragile distance between them and claim the sweetness of her surrender—a conquest as inevitable as any battlefield victory he'd ever seized. He leaned down, his voice a low growl as he murmured, "Chan'er…" against her ear, the sound rough with longing, his chiseled features shadowed with the unshakable confidence of a warrior who knew no woman could resist the storm of his charm nor the steel of his will. His lips descended upon hers, a handsome predator in the flickering lamplight, her cherry-red mouth hesitating beneath his, not fully yielding, her breath catching in a soft, teasing whimper as she pressed her lips together in a coy pretense of restraint, their plush warmth a tantalizing barrier that trembled against his own. But Lü Bu, his desire a molten tide, pressed harder, the heat of his mouth insistent against hers, a general breaking through defenses as he had countless times with spear and sword—his tongue tracing the seam of her lips with a slow, deliberate pressure that teased and coaxed with the same relentless precision he wielded in battle. Her feigned defense wavered, her lips quivering under the unrelenting heat of his assault, until they parted with a shuddering sigh, blooming open like a lotus under the dawn, her surrender a triumph he savored as keenly as any war won. He surged deeper, his tongue delving into the silken warmth of her mouth, tasting the faint sweetness of wine and honeyed plums as it mingled with her own, sending sparks of heat coursing through his veins like wildfire through dry grass. Each stroke of his kiss grew more ravenous, savoring the plush softness that melted against him, her breath hitching in tiny, intoxicating sighs against his skin, each one a siren's call driving him further into the abyss of desire.
As Lü Bu claimed his triumph, he kissed Diao Chan deeper, like a warrior seizing his first victory on the battlefield. The taste of her surrender urged him onward, her yielding lips kindling a hunger he could barely restrain. Through the delicate fabric of her gown, her exquisite breasts came into view, their soft curves teasing him, enticing him to venture further. His kisses deepened, fierce and unrelenting, as Diao Chan surrendered to his passion freely. Her unguarded submission only emboldened him, the fire in his chest flaring into a wildfire of raw desire.
With a bold sweep of his hand, he reached for the forbidden softness beneath her whisper-thin crimson silk gown, the fabric so sheer it seemed to dissolve under his touch. His fingers hovered just above the swell of her exquisite breasts, aching to feel their weight, their warmth, to claim every inch of her as his own right then and there. The thought alone made his pulse hammer like war drums, his body taut with the primal urge to possess her entirely. Tentatively at first, he allowed his fingers to graze the silken surface of her gown, the sensation sending a jolt through him as he began to stroke gently, reverently, as if mapping the contours of a sacred prize. Her soft sigh in response was a melody to his ears, urging him to linger, to savor, to press further into the intoxicating unknown.
As his grasp on her breast tightened, his kneading grew fiercer, a hungry edge to his touch. His thumb brushed against her hardened nipple, sending a shiver coursing through her. A sudden realization struck Diao Chan—her submission might lead her to lose more than she intended—and she shuddered at the thought. Gently, she caught his hand, her slender fingers wrapping around his with a touch as cool and smooth as polished jade, yet warm with the heat of her own restrained desire. She lifted her gaze to meet his, her luminous eyes shimmering with a delicate blend of playful reproach and tender pleading, her voice a soft, honeyed whisper that curled around his heart like a silken ribbon.
"General, please, not so hasty," she breathed, her tone dripping with sweetness, laced with a coquettish lilt that stirred an ache in his loins. "Chan'er will be yours in time—yours to cherish and ravish as you please. But my father lingers in the inner hall. Should he emerge and find us so entwined, it would bring shame upon us both. Why rush this moment and risk the greater plan?"
Her words wove a beguiling tapestry of flirtation and reason, her voice as soft as a summer breeze yet edged with a knowing restraint that tugged at the fraying threads of Lü Bu's control. His desire blazed hotter than ever, a molten inferno searing through his veins, though he couldn't deny the wisdom in her plea. Yet his body rebelled against reason—his hand lingered at her breast, where her collar had already slipped loose from his fervent touch, revealing half of her bare breast to his ravenous gaze. The whisper-thin silk of her gown did little to conceal the warmth and yielding softness beneath, nor the hardened nipple that pressed against the fabric. Even through the delicate barrier, he could feel the plush curve of her, the subtle bounce of her flesh as she shifted, a tantalizing promise of what awaited him. It drove him to the brink of madness, his fingers itching to tear her collar fully apart, to cup and knead the silken mounds that haunted his every thought.
His breath came in ragged gasps, each one laden with her intoxicating scent—jasmine and ripe peaches, now mingled with the faint musk of her arousal, a heady blend that clouded his mind. He gazed at her face, her full lips glistening red and slightly swollen from his relentless kisses, a testament to her yielding to his charm. "Your father has already promised you to me," he growled, his voice low and gravelly, thick with impatience and unbridled need. "What does it matter if he sees? You're already mine, Chan'er." His hand tightened instinctively, fingers pressing into the soft curve of her breast through the silk, as if poised to tear the fabric apart. The sensation sent a jolt of raw hunger coursing through him, her breast yielding beneath his possessive grip, mirroring the fierce, unyielding glint in his eyes.
As his hand continued to knead her breast, his thumb brushed over her nipple, exploring the yielding softness beneath. Diao Chan let out a soft, breathy cry at his touch, her teeth catching her lower lip in a gesture torn between shy protest and reluctant delight, her cheeks flushing a deeper crimson beneath the wine's rosy glow. She dared not push him away, her body trembling faintly in his grasp, caught between surrender and caution. The air between them thrummed with unspoken longing, their closeness a live wire sparking with heat—until a faint cough echoed from the inner hall, slicing through the sultry haze like a blade.
It was Wang Yun.
Lü Bu's heart jolted, his hand freezing mid-motion. He turned his head, catching the faint sway of the inner hall's curtains, where Wang Yun's shadowy figure loomed just out of sight. Though reluctance gnawed at him, he knew better than to press his luck in this moment. With a frustrated grunt, he reluctantly released his hold. Diao Chan seized the chance to ease back half a step, her delicate fingers trembling as she adjusted her disheveled hair and tugged her collar closed, though not before the silken gown betrayed the faintest outline of her hardened nipple, the fabric clinging to her curves like a lover's whisper. The flush on her cheeks had yet to fade, a deep crimson that glowed like embers in the lamplight, and a subtle, enigmatic smile played at the corners of her lips—part tease, part promise.
"General, do not rush," she murmured, dipping into a graceful curtsy that offered him another tantalizing glimpse of her deep cleavage, the loosened collar of her gown framing her curves like a whispered promise to linger in his memory. She felt the searing heat of his gaze trace over her, her voice a soft, sultry hum—barely louder than a mosquito's drone yet laced with a honeyed warmth that coiled around his senses like a silken thread. "The days ahead are long, and Chan'er will not fail to repay your ardent affection."
Lü Bu's gaze lingered on her bewitching form as she slowly retreated toward the inner chamber, her hips swaying with an effortless grace that set his blood aflame. It was as if a thousand claws scratched at his heart, urging him to follow, to claim her then and there—yet he was bound by the moment's cruel interruption. He seized a cup of wine and downed it in one fierce gulp, the burn of the liquor doing little to quell the molten heat surging through him. Clenching his jaw, he muttered under his breath, a vow as much to himself as to her: "Chan'er, this is but a fleeting pause. You will be my next conquest. When I seize you again, you'll feel the full force of my desire."