In the dead of the silent night, Ling Hong could no longer suppress the longing in his heart. His eyes radiated a dazed, scorching heat.
He was like a wildfire igniting spontaneously in a forest, setting vast swaths of soft, dry grass ablaze like a carpet; he was like a plundering, roaring gale, sweeping mercilessly across a lush plain rich with rivers.
The man's tall, powerful figure, his firm abs and pecs—every single muscle line was charged with raw, carnal desire. Beneath his scorching skin flowed a strength as potent as volcanic magma, making it impossible for one to resist the urge to sink into depravity alongside him.
The female beneath him had her long, dark hair splayed across the grass. A thin sheen of sweat, cooled by the air, trickled down the lines of her muscles and into the blades of grass, dampening the deeper layer of turf and soil.
