The words hit the present Jian Ci like a physical blow. Disbelief. Dread. A horrible, creeping warmth he didn't want to acknowledge. He did it. He actually did it.
He had imprinted his chaotic, broken psyche onto the person he loved without knowing it. He had marked Yu Xi as his own in the most fundamental way possible.
The memory didn't care about his crisis. The fucking continued, a relentless, sweaty, filthy grind. His past self was chasing his own end, his hips slamming forward with a final, desperate intensity.
The feeling of Yu Xi's body clenching around him, milking his cock, the hot, wet spill of his own release deep inside, Jian Ci felt the ghost of it all, a sickening echo of pleasure that twisted his gut.
He watched himself collapse, a dead weight on top of Yu Xi, utterly spent. The psychic storm had gone silent, leaving only the sound of their harsh, mingled breaths in the dark cave.
