The realization should have given Yang Yixue pause.
Instead, she only tightened her grip slightly and began to stroke him with slow, exploratory movements, feeling every ridge and vein beneath her fingers.
The scent of sex still hung heavy in the air, mixed with the lingering sweetness of the women who had come before her.
Yang Yixue's expression remained calm, almost serene, even as a faint flush rose across her cheeks.
She could not complain.
She had already sworn a Dao oath and it was binding, absolute, and irreversible.
If Lin Feng ever demanded her death, a single word from him would be enough, and she would obey without the slightest hesitation or regret.
That same oath now guided her hand as she continued to explore the massive length that filled her palm, accepting both the situation and the man without resistance.
