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Jinshi’s heart races.
The cold stone of the cave is hard on his knees, but he barely notices. Not with Maomao’s thigh beneath his hand and her hips aligned with his. He didn’t mean for it to go so far—but now it has.
It has and all he can think about is how badly he wants to feel his lips against hers. It might be the first and last time, but he’ll make it a good one. A memory he can return to night after night when his days have him falling apart.
Jinshi leans down. Down. Pulled toward Maomao like the tide before the moon.
He pauses, the warmth of Maomao’s mouth brushing against his, until he feels the soft and welcoming sigh of her breath. She melts beneath him as he kisses her.
Finally.
Finally.
Jinshi is kissing her and all it took was two near-death experiences to get here. His hand slides up her thigh, finding only cloth. It would’ve been easier if they landed in this situation before putting their robes back in order.
Still, it’s easy to push their clothes out of the way again. He’s certain they both have more laces than this, more layers, but the thought is lost in the wake of Maomao’s bare skin against his hand.
She’s warm and soft and still a little bit damp from their dip in the river. Thinner than he expected albeit with the trim muscles of someone used to working on their feet all day.
“Do you still want to pretend it was a frog?” Jinshi asks, his hand sliding infinitesimally upward. He feels like his skin is on fire. Rather than being dizzy, he’s never felt more alert. Maomao’s cheeks are flushed and her lips are kiss-swollen red.
Jinshi fears he might ruin her, if she doesn’t ruin him first. He needs to hear her say it. Needs to know that he isn’t alone in the bone-deep ache of love.
“There was a frog,” Maomao insists, “but this wasn’t it.”
Her slender fingers wrap around his cock and Jinshi nearly comes then and there. It’d been hard enough to bite back a moan when she’d been unintentionally feeling up his balls. Now, with nothing in their way, it’s near impossible.
He isn’t going to last long—a fact, not a premonition. He can’t remember the last time he came by his own hand and he’s never been allowed another’s. Not because he hasn’t had offers, the letters he’s received alone could form a veritable mountain, but it’s never been a risk that he could allow into either of his lives.
Maomao’s leg rises and finds purchase against his hip. Their size difference hardly seems to matter at all as he lines up and pushes into the wet heat waiting for him.
Maomao gasps and Jinshi doesn’t smirk, not even at the proof that he’s more than the size of a somewhat large frog.
He’s fairly certain he’s going to lose his mind and it’s going to be all because of this girl beneath him. He leans down and presses his forehead to her damp hair. She smells like river water, but he imagines he can still detect a whiff of herbs.
“Maomao,” Jinshi whispers right into her ear. She shudders beneath him, around him. He doesn’t know how he ever could’ve let himself believe once would ever be enough. He needs this—needs her—in his life more than he’s ever needed anything else.
There’s something she should know about him, something he desperately needs to tell her, but it can wait a little bit longer. When they aren’t otherwise occupied.
Maomao’s fingers draw trails through his hair and down the bare skin of his back. Jinshi thrusts slow and gentle as he can. He’s close, oh so close, and he wishes they might have a chance for a second round.
He always thought, if they ever gave into this, there’d be a bed involved. Not hard stone barely warmed by the sun.
Maomao squeezes around him and Jinshi’s hand tries to cling for purchase against that stone. He’s never—he can’t—this is their first time together and he’s going to waste it. He can’t come inside her, though, that’ll only raise more questions and cause more problems. He needs to think. He needs to move.
“Master Jinshi?”
Jinshi thrusts harder than he means to, rocking Maomao beneath him, a broken whine of a sound tearing out of his throat. “Maomao.”
“Master Jinshi.”
The voice is more insistent this time. It’s masculine and impatient and tearing Jinshi’s world apart at the seams. Hard as he tries to ignore it, he opens his eyes to the much familiar close-up view of his desk.
No cave. No Maomao.
Only Gaoshun and—of course. An uncomfortable stickiness that gives away the fact that he’s come all over himself again.
Jinshi pushes himself upright, hoping Gaoshun either can’t smell the mix of sweat and come clinging to his skin or will have the good grace not to say anything. Also, that Jinshi can deal with whatever this is quickly and get on with changing his clothes. “What is it now?”