95: Chapter 95 Not Smoking Is Not for Money

Zhao Yaqin's hands wrapped around his neck, her face pressing closer.

Wang Yang reached out and pushed the bowls and chopsticks on the table aside, the dishes clinking together with a crisp sound.

He swept Zhao Yaqin up and placed her on the table.

Zhao Yaqin gave a startled cry, instinctively tightening her grip around his neck.

"Go... go to the bedroom."

Wang Yang chuckled, lowering his head to peck her on the lips.

"Right here. Today, let the heavens be our quilt and the earth our bed."

Zhao Yaqin's face turned even redder; she bit her lip, not refusing.

Wang Yang lowered his head and kissed her lips.

The fragrance of the wine mingled with her scent, both mellow and sweet.

Zhao Yaqin responded to him, her hands fumbling across his back.

Wang Yang's hand slid down from her waist, reaching under her skirt to touch the skin of her thigh.

Smooth, hot, and trembling slightly.

His hand moved upward, touching that thin layer of lace.

Zhao Yaqin shivered all over, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Wang Yang's hand wandered over her body, unzipping her tight-fitting skirt.

The skirt slipped from her shoulders, piling at her waist.

The black lace bra encased her full softness, shimmering faintly under the light.

The matching panties were thin enough to be transparent, with purple lace edges visible.

Wang Yang's breathing grew heavy.

He lowered his head, kissing her collarbone and moving all the way down.

Zhao Yaqin tilted her head back, her hands braced on the table, her body leaning slightly backward.

Her hair fanned out, draping over her shoulders and falling onto the table.

The light shone on her; her skin was glowing white, her curves rising and falling like a painting.

Wang Yang's hand reached into her underwear, touching that place.

Zhao Yaqin shivered all over, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Wang Yang unfastened her bra, the black lace sliding away, leaving that delicious sweetness completely exposed to the light.

There was only one thought in Wang Yang's mind.

He lifted her waist, letting her brace herself against the table.

Zhao Yaqin braced her hands on the table, her face buried in her arms, her ears red enough to drip blood.

The tight-fitting skirt was piled at her waist, the black lace bra hanging from her arm, swaying gently with her breathing.

Under the light, her spine was as smooth as satin, her dimples deep, her hip line rounded.

Wang Yang stood behind her, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Sister Yaqin, let's celebrate properly tonight."

Zhao Yaqin bit her lip and nodded gently.

Wang Yang's hand rested on her waist, slowly moving downward.

The night outside was thick, and the city lights were turning on one by one.

In the room, the sounds continued for a long time.

Three hours later.

The night outside was impenetrably thick, and the city lights were turning off one by one.

Only a few scattered streetlights remained in the distance, like stars scattered across the human world.

Wang Yang leaned against the headboard, holding Zhao Yaqin in his arms.

She curled up in his arms like a satisfied cat, her cheek pressed against his chest.

Her breathing was even, her eyelashes resting quietly.

Her hair was scattered across the pillow, making her skin appear even fairer.

A thin quilt covered her body, revealing smooth shoulders and arms, which were densely covered in hickeys.

Some deep, some shallow, layered over each other like proof of having been fiercely loved.

The bed was a mess.

The quilt was crumpled into a ball, pillows scattered here and there, and the sheets were a tangled mess.

The tight-fitting skirt was tossed at the foot of the bed, the black lace bra draped over the nightstand, its thin straps dangling down.

The unfinished red wine and leftover food were still on the table, with the bowls and chopsticks piled together.

The candlestick had tipped over to the side, the candle long since burned out.

Wang Yang reached out to grab the cigarette case from the nightstand, pulled one out to put between his lips, and reached for the lighter.

The moment the flame touched it, he took a deep drag, the smoke swirling in his lungs.

Then it slowly drifted out from his nostrils, curling upward in the dim light.

Zhao Yaqin stirred, snuggling closer into his arms, her fingers lightly drawing circles on his chest.

"What are you thinking about?"

Wang Yang looked down at her.

"Nothing much."

Zhao Yaqin looked up, saw the cigarette in his mouth, and wrinkled her nose.

"Smoke less, it's bad for your health."

Wang Yang chuckled, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

He reached out to wrap his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer to him.

"Alright, I won't smoke anymore."

Zhao Yaqin smiled with satisfaction and pressed her face back against his chest.

Her fingers continued drawing circles, one by one, slowly, as if counting his heartbeats.

"Xiaoyang."

"Hmm?"

"Today is the happiest day of my life."

Wang Yang looked down at her.

"Why?"

Zhao Yaqin thought for a moment.

"Because you are here. Because the bad guys were caught. Because..."

She paused, her voice as light as a feather.

"Because I feel that life will only get better from here on out."

Wang Yang felt a warmth in his heart and lowered his head to kiss her forehead.

"It will."

Zhao Yaqin smiled, closed her eyes, and snuggled into his arms.

Her breathing gradually became even, and her fingers stopped, resting on his chest, motionless.

She was asleep.

Wang Yang looked down at her.

She looked very well-behaved in her sleep, her long eyelashes covering her eyes, her lips slightly parted, her breathing soft.

There was still a smile on the corners of her mouth; who knew what sweet dreams she was having.

He reached out and gently brushed the stray hair from her forehead.

He picked up the cigarette case from the nightstand again, took one out to put between his lips, and grabbed the lighter.

Just as the flame touched the cigarette, a mechanical voice suddenly sounded in his mind.

[Ding! System notification: Smoking is harmful to the baby's health. Please think of the next generation, Host, and reduce your smoking.]

Wang Yang froze for a moment, then looked down at Zhao Yaqin in his arms.

She was still carrying his child in her womb.

Smoking was his own business, but the child was innocent.

He would absolutely never admit that he was doing it for the money, absolutely not.

He was doing it for the child, for the next generation, for the flowers of the motherland.

Wang Yang took the cigarette out of his mouth, tossed it on the table, and threw the lighter aside as well.

[Ding! The Host has high awareness; the System is deeply gratified.]

Wang Yang rolled his eyes in his heart.

"Shut up."

He held Zhao Yaqin tighter and closed his eyes.

Not long after, he also fell into a deep sleep.

The next day.

In the eastern suburbs of Yuntian City, a detached villa.

The heating in the living room was turned up high; outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was a neatly trimmed garden, where a few wintersweet flowers had bloomed, bright yellow.

Zhang Shouren sat on the sofa with a cigarette between his fingers; the ash had accumulated for a long section, but he had forgotten to flick it off.

The ashtray on the coffee table was stuffed with cigarette butts, and the tea had long since gone cold without him taking a sip.

He was in his early fifties, his hair combed slick and shiny, wearing a dark cashmere sweater.

He wore an expensive watch on his wrist and looked every bit the successful man.

But at this moment, his face was as gloomy as the sky before a storm, his brows knitted into a "river" shape.

"How is it going?"

Zhang Shouren looked up at the woman descending the stairs.

Wang Feng, his wife.

Forty-three years old, she was extremely well-maintained, her skin fair and delicate, without even a single fine line visible at the corners of her eyes.

She was wearing a form-fitting black knit dress that clung tightly to her body, outlining her full curves.