Shen Yuan gasps and arches into Binghe's touch, her hands tightening in his hair so she can grind against his face, utterly shameless in a way that makes her face burn. She takes back everything she just said—she never wants him to stop. It's so, so different than being given a blowjob was, the pleasure flickering and inconsistent and maddening and building, building, building on itself. "Binghe. Binghe—"