Chapter 51: Devoured Whole

Chapter 50: Devoured.

Wen Yicong turned her head abruptly.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and outside the window, the world was bathed in brilliant sunlight.

Yet, the blackout curtains in the Study Room were drawn tight, sealing off every sliver of light behind the heavy fabric.

The entire world was plunged into darkness.

The man’s tall frame stood amidst the shadows.

His features were silhouetted against the light, indistinct; from Wen Yicong’s angle, she could only make out a cold, sharp outline.

He stood there, motionless, like a silent statue.

Combined with the faint, gentle, and calm tone of his voice, his presence felt all the more gloomy and dark.

Wen Yicong’s heart hammered against her ribs.

Thump, thump.

It beat so fast it felt as if it might leap right out of her throat.

Feeling both guilty and panicked, she did not know how to answer his question.

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound escaped.

Just then, the tall man in the shadows took a long stride, walking directly toward her with a slow, deliberate pace.

His custom-made leather shoes were spotless, making not a sound as they pressed into the carpet.

Yet, Wen Yicong acutely sensed a shift in the atmosphere.

As he loomed closer, a fierce, chilling pressure swept over her like an invisible wave.

Reflexively, Wen Yicong retreated.

Behind her, a rustling sound emerged from the temperature-controlled glass tank.

The Albino Silver Ring snake raised its upper body, its triangular head lifting slightly.

Its vertical pupils stared fixedly at the world outside the glass in the darkness, its tongue flicking out from time to time, emitting a strange hissing sound.

Before her, the man arrived.

A vast shadow enveloped Wen Yicong, trapping her in the narrow space between him and the Albino Silver Ring.

For a fleeting moment, her back pressed against the cold glass of the tank.

The chill seeped through her thin clothing into her skin, making her shiver.

There was nowhere left to retreat.

Watching the man draw ever closer, a flicker of fear danced in Wen Yicong’s eyes.

At the same time, she performed a subtle swallowing motion, her throat moving lightly.

In an instant, Mo Shaoshang stood still before Wen Yicong.

His eyelids lowered slightly, and his blue-black eyes, hidden behind his lenses, watched her with calm composure.

Then, his gaze swept over her face and glanced at the Safe Deposit Vault at the bottom of the temperature-controlled glass tank.

Guessing something, he raised an eyebrow slightly.

He remained silent.

Wen Yicong’s eyelashes fluttered.

For some reason, even though this man had not said a single word from beginning to end, she felt an invisible, immense pressure wrapping around her, sweeping her up.

It was like a spiderweb, like a swamp, like the boundless, perilous deep sea.

She knew he was waiting for her to speak.

Waiting for her to take the initiative and give him a reasonable explanation.

Thinking of this, Wen Yicong’s pupils constricted.

She bit her lip and tried to squeeze out a few words.

I, I didn’t see you after I returned to the Manor House, so I came to the Study Room.

I accidentally discovered that there was such a cabinet under the glass tank of Silvio...

Her heart hammered like thunder.

As she spoke, she feigned composure, struggling to cover up the fact that she had met with Pei Xizhou today.

I thought this cabinet looked exquisite, so I just reached out and touched it.

I didn’t mean anything else by it.

Once the words fell, the large Study Room fell into a deathly silence once more.

Only the ticking of the wall clock and the hissing of the Albino Silver Ring remained.

A few steps away, Mo Shaoshang stared straight at her, neither speaking nor making a move.

Wen Yicong bit the bullet and met his gaze, breathing deeply, trying to make her expression look as it always did.

She only felt that in this dim, gloomy world, the man’s blue-black eyes were like two bottomless seas.

One second they were calm, the next they would whip up a hurricane, swallowing her whole.

Tick, tick.

Time slipped away, second by second.

Just as Wen Yicong was terrified, with her tension and panic reaching their peak, the cold man opposite her finally reacted.

As if he had discovered something particularly interesting, a trace of amusement flickered in Mo Shaoshang’s blue-black eyes.

He leaned down slightly.

Wen Yicong instinctively dodged backward, her lower back pressing tight against the edge of the temperature-controlled glass tank.

However, at that very moment, a sharp hiss came from behind her.

Hiss!

The Albino Silver Ring seemed startled by her sudden movement; it lunged at her, mouth wide open, revealing sharp, venomous fangs.

Its speed was astonishing.

The pale snake body shot out within the glass tank, its triangular head slamming hard against the glass with a muffled thud.

Its fangs pierced the transparent wall, leaving two shallow scratches.

Its vertical pupils were filled with vicious murderous intent, staring at her as if it would break through the glass in the next second and tear her to pieces.

Catching this out of the corner of her eye, Wen Yicong fled in the opposite direction in terror.

In doing so, she threw herself right into the trap.

Her entire body collided with a cold, hard, and solid chest.

Immediately after, long arms wrapped around her, winding like vines.

With a hook and a press, he had her tightly imprisoned in the blink of an eye.

Wen Yicong let out a soft cry.

Her soft, feminine curves pressed firmly against the man’s body.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her cheeks flushed a deep, uncontrollable red.

Mo Shaoshang in a suit was restrained, calm, noble, and ascetic.

But Wen Yicong knew that this male body hidden beneath the suit was strong and sturdy.

It was filled with a primitive, wild beauty and an astonishing sense of power...

The next second, two fingers pinched her chin and lifted it.

Mo Shaoshang lowered his eyes, carefully scrutinizing the beautiful, flushed face in his palm, then leaned down, drawing close to her, and pressed his thin lips against her trembling eyelashes.

Piccolina, odio che mi mentano, he said softly.

His Italian was as low and soft as velvet, every syllable kissing Wen Yicong’s eardrums.

Baby, I hate lies the most; I will never forgive them.

Wen Yicong’s heart sank heavily.

She bit her lower lip, not knowing how to respond.

Then, the man’s lips continued to wander downward, slowly covering her trembling lips as he whispered, Ma con te, farò sempre un’eccezione.

But with you, I will always make an exception.

While he whispered, he gently stroked her brows and eyes, which were filled with unease, with the back of his finger, a faint arc forming at the corner of his mouth.

Don’t be so nervous, Teacher Wen, Mo Shaoshang said.

I said I wouldn’t hurt you.

At a time like this, how could Wen Yicong not be nervous?

She was panicked to the extreme and could only take a deep breath, trying to steady her voice as she attempted to change the subject: W-weren’t you supposed to go out for work today?

Hmm, Mo Shaoshang replied.

His kisses had already landed on her neck, dense as silk, making her body heat up and her heart itch.

Wen Yicong’s breathing was in chaos, but she couldn’t resist her curiosity.

Panting slightly, she pressed against the large hand that had snaked into her hem: Then why are you still at home?

Official business is important...

Piuttosto che stare ad ascoltare quei vecchi geriatri idioti fare discorsi, preferisco stare qui con te.

(Rather than listening to those idiot geriatricians give speeches, I prefer to stay here with you.)

Wen Yicong’s eyes grew moist, her face flushed even redder, and she let out a soft hum.

Mo Shaoshang bit her lip and added in a hoarse voice: Esco prima di cena, ma prima... quattro ore tutte nostre.

Lasciati viziare, piccolina.

(I’m leaving before dinner.

But before that... four hours all to ourselves.

Let yourself be pampered, little one.)

Wen Yicong’s eyes flickered, wanting to say something more, but all her words were swallowed by the man.

He kissed her lips.

In this damp, sticky, deep kiss, Wen Yicong’s gaze gradually blurred, and her thoughts became hazy and confused.

A moist, rosy flush crept to the corners of her eyes, and her fingers curled tightly, grabbing his suit jacket.

The word viziare was very intimate and ambiguous in Italian; used between lovers, it carried a sense of being spoiled to the point of breaking.

She wasn’t actually sure if her understanding was accurate.

Lasciati viziare could be translated as let yourself be pampered.

It seemed it could also mean... to be played until broken. * The wind blew in from the half-open window, blowing a gap in the blackout curtains.

A narrow beam of light leaked into the Study Room, falling diagonally across the floor.

Tiny specks of dust swirled and drifted in the beam.

Light and shadow intertwined, the room filled with allure.

Recalling it afterward, Wen Yicong couldn’t even remember how it all happened.

She only remembered being kissed by the man until she was muddled and intoxicated.

In a daze, she had been placed by him on the desk in the Study Room.

In her memory, she had sat across from this desk countless times as a rehabilitation teacher, reporting on Airi’s progress.

Those neat, orderly documents, rigorous reports, as well as the fountain pen and paperweight, were all casually swept aside by the man, becoming the backdrop for their wild intimacy.

Her skirt was hiked up.

Her two slender ankles were pinched, lifted, and spread apart.

Then, the man buried his head and kissed down.

Eating deeply, sucking heavily.

Wuu...

Wen Yicong tilted her neck back.

Her cheeks grew redder and redder, her entire skin steamed to a pale, thin pink.

Her two slender calves rested on the man’s broad shoulders, trembling and swaying lightly.

Her ten toes, exposed to the air, were bare and glistening, cute, and currently curled tightly.

There was a certain string, pulled tighter and tighter, tangled more and more.

In less than five minutes, Wen Yicong’s taut nerves snapped completely.

She lost all strength, falling back limply onto the desk.

Mo Shaoshang then straightened up, looking down at the girl lying on his desk.

The young woman’s rosy, tender lips were slightly parted as she panted softly, her cheeks flushed, her eyes unfocused, looking completely lost.

A few strands of hair were dampened by sweat, sticking to her rosy, pink cheeks, making her look both charming and helpless.

Seeing her in this state, Mo Shaoshang’s heart softened, a sense of infinite tenderness surging within him.

Yet, at the same time, a contradictory psychology arose.

He wanted to bully her more fiercely, to pamper her more violently.

To play her until she was thoroughly ripe, played until broken.

Until she was ruined...

The dark tide in Mo Shaoshang’s eyes grew more turbulent, surging like a roaring flame burning in the depths of an ice sea.

He stared straight at her, his breathing growing heavier, his eyes catching fire.

He reached out, his fingers gently stroking her hot, smooth cheeks, her swollen, soft lips, and the corners of her eyes stained with tears.

In fact, for a man of his background, there was never a shortage of women showing interest.

Socialites, celebrities, supermodels—he had seen too many beauties of all kinds, yet he had never felt interest in any of them.

He once thought he was naturally lacking in passion for the affairs between men and women.

Until he met her.

Only then did he understand that he was just a mortal man after all.

That he was not without desire.

His sea of desire was too vast, immense, and deep; for a long time, it had been sleeping in the depths of his soul, waiting for someone who could awaken it.

And this girl, who was sometimes as pure as snow and sometimes as charming as a demon, was that one-of-a-kind existence.

She used her smile, her voice, and her body to awaken him, awakening a desire for conquest that was stronger than ever before.

He craved her so much.

Craved her to the point of pain, craved her to the point of hysteria, craved her to the point where his soul was trembling.

But what about her?

This little liar who told lies, who craved his kisses, craved the sensory stimulation he gave, craved the pleasure he provided, yet just minutes ago, had looked at him with that kind of expression.

How to describe that look?

It was filled with fear and suspicion, intertwined with wariness and defense.

As if he were a man-eating viper, a beast that drank blood and ate flesh...

Why?

Why did she look at him with that expression?

Why?

Pondering this, Mo Shaoshang’s gaze grew deeper, the light in his eyes becoming increasingly gloomy and insane.

So, one day she would also see him as a monster, fear him, despise him, and leave him, right?

In a fleeting moment, this thought took root in Mo Shaoshang’s mind, sprouting and growing wildly.

It was like a fatal toxin, spreading crazily through his limbs and bones.

And just then, the soft little darling beneath him let out a soft hum.

As if she had just recovered from the ultimate comfort, her blurry, moist eyes slowly focused, looking at him wetly, as if she finally had the strength to speak.

Such a delicate baby—after being satisfied once, even her voice was sweet to the point of being cloying, hoarse and soft.

She looked at him, blinking her eyes in confusion, and as if remembering something, she said: I don’t have four hours for you.

Rossellini, I still have to teach Airi this afternoon.

Mo Shaoshang’s thin lips pressed tight, his blue-black eyes locking onto her.

He didn’t speak.

The little liar waited for a while, and seeing he still didn’t make a sound, her brow furrowed into a knot.

She didn’t know where she found the courage, but she actually reached out a bare little foot and kicked him, reminding and urging him: Hurry up and let me go.

The girl’s smooth, pink toes scraped against the man’s tight, lean waist and abdomen.

Through several layers of fabric, it was like a cat’s paw, making one’s heart itch.

And her soft, muddled voice was the most potent potion at this moment.

Both aphrodisiac and life-taking.

The last shred of calm and restraint in Mo Shaoshang’s eyes shattered completely.

He caught that slender ankle, hooked her toward him, spread her two legs, pushed them high, and stacked her white, fleshy body directly up.

Completely exposed to his desire. ...

Wen Yicong was caught off guard, a soft, hoarse cry spilling from her lips as she blurted out: If you don’t let me leave, what will happen to the afternoon class?

The man said hoarsely: I’ll give you time off.

The second the words fell, a storm crashed down.

Before Wen Yicong could even recover, she was devoured by the man, skin and bone. * In their previous intimate encounters, Mo Shaoshang was keen on comforting her and kissing her, but had never crossed the line to the final step.

Therefore, this time, Wen Yicong naturally assumed that the man would stop at the critical moment as well.

However, she was wrong—terribly wrong.

The man, having completely lost control, turned into a fierce beast.

Hot, frantic, sweeping everything away.

After the most difficult part passed, the white light before her eyes came in waves.

An indescribable feeling gathered and piled up in the depths of her body, growing more and more, fuller and fuller.

The storm, powerful to the extreme, washed down.

Wen Yicong’s soul was melted, and she could only keep her little face red, whimpering and begging, like a small flower swaying in the wind and rain.

She was also like a small animal whose throat had been bitten by a beast, softening into mud under the man’s thunderous offensive, spilling out one broken, charming plea after another.

She had known for a long time that Mo Shaoshang was extremely good at disguising himself, appearing one way on the outside and another on the inside.

She had also always known that although he seemed cold, he was actually obsessed with her body to the extreme, and every time they were alone and intimate, he had a thousand ways to make her soul-shattered.

But, despite having had so many experiences and having made so much mental preparation, when it truly came to the point of reality, she still crumbled easily, weak, helpless, and without a shred of ability to resist...

After the first time on the desk, perhaps feeling the desk was too hard and would detract from the experience, the man picked her up, as she was soft as a puddle of water, and placed her on the sofa.

This three-seater leather sofa was large, soft, and of excellent quality.

Wen Yicong had sat here countless times as a rehabilitation teacher to teach her employer, discuss Airi’s rehabilitation plan, and report on the child’s progress.

At this moment, just like the desk, it had become a secret realm where she and the man were wildly intimate.

In a hazy, delirious state, Wen Yicong felt her body being flipped over.

Her soft, weak waist was pinched by a pair of large hands and lifted.

He arranged her in the posture of a kitten stretching.

Suddenly, he struck in from behind. ...

In just a fraction of a second, Wen Yicong’s body went limp, and she cried even harder.

She tilted her tear-stained, flushed little face back, bobbing and swaying under the fierce, domineering possession from behind, her entire mind scattered.

She had no strength left.

Above.

Mo Shaoshang listened to the charming moans in his ear, feeling increasingly agitated, his scalp tingling, his movements becoming more and more wanton and wild.

For a moment, the soft body beneath his palms twisted violently again.

The ultimate feeling of being wrapped attacked every nerve.

He closed his eyes slightly, his chin lifted, his sharp, well-defined jawline tightening.

Sweat slid down his sexy contours, dripped, and sank into her messy hair.

After that wave passed, what followed was an even fiercer, more aggressive storm.

I don’t know how much time passed.

The Study Room finally quieted down.

Sunlight slanted in, and several used condoms were scattered all over the floor... * Wen Yicong didn’t know how she left the Study Room or how she entered Mo Shaoshang’s bedroom.

Her whole body was as soft as water; she didn’t even have the strength to lift a finger.

Her consciousness was dim and heavy, as if floating on the clouds or sinking into the deep sea.

Only in the hazy chaos did she feel warm water washing over her body, and two long, slender hands with thin calluses gently cleaning her.

She was lazy, like a kitten that had eaten its fill, leaning against the strong, powerful embrace behind her, closing her eyes and letting the other person do as they pleased.

Then came clean pajamas, a soft bed, and a warm quilt.

She was gently placed into the covers, as if she were a fragile piece of porcelain.

After a long while, Wen Yicong finally regained her senses and strength.

She opened her eyes in a daze, rolled her eyes, and saw Mo Shaoshang sitting by the bed, looking down at her.

His gaze was deep and focused.

Before long, he reached out, his fingers gently stroking her lips.

The touch was warm, with thin calluses, lingering in a caress.

Wen Yicong looked at Mo Shaoshang, and for some reason, she suddenly opened her mouth and took the man’s long finger into her mouth.

She bit down lightly with her teeth.

Mo Shaoshang’s gaze darkened abruptly.

He lowered his head, leaning close to her, his nose almost touching hers.

Still hungry? he asked in a low voice, his words full of implication.

Wen Yicong’s face turned even redder.

She spat out his finger and scolded lightly: I meant for you to stop touching me...

Aren’t you going out?

Why haven’t you left yet?

Mo Shaoshang pinched her chin and rubbed it lightly in a punishing manner.

Want me to leave so much? he said, his voice low.

Not a bit reluctant to see me go?

It’s not like you aren’t coming back, Wen Yicong muttered, and suddenly remembering something, she couldn’t help but complain dejectedly: It’s all your fault.

I didn’t even go to teach Airi this afternoon...

Mo Shaoshang didn’t respond.

His palm gently stroked her soft, smooth waist, and as he stroked, his mind stirred.

He lifted her little chin, wanting to kiss her again.

Just then, knock, knock.

The bedroom door was knocked on from the outside.

Wen Yicong, lying on the bed, heard the knocking and turned pale with fright.

Afraid of being discovered by others, she didn’t hesitate for even a second, scurrying into Mo Shaoshang’s arms in a panic, like a startled little rabbit, wishing she could burrow into his body.

Sensing the wholehearted reliance of the treasure in his arms, Mo Shaoshang smiled.

After holding the little darling and patiently soothing her, he spoke in a calm voice toward the door: Who is it?

The next second, Lin Ke’s voice came through the door panel, respectful and measured: Sir, it is time to depart.

Understood.

The footsteps gradually faded away and disappeared. ...

Wen Yicong finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, she pushed him and urged him in a low voice: Hurry, Assistant Lin is already urging you.

What’s the rush?

Mo Shaoshang bit her lip lightly.

He paused, then suddenly whispered: Does it hurt?

Wen Yicong blinked, a bit slow to react: What?

Just now.

Wen Yicong’s large eyes blinked, and after she realized what he meant, the temperature on her cheeks soared instantly.

After a long while, she lowered her head and replied in a voice as thin as a mosquito’s: Only a little at the beginning... it didn’t hurt after that.

This man, indeed, had a superior physique and was incredibly strong...

Fierce beyond words.

In every aspect, he could easily make a woman obsessed and addicted.

Having received his answer, Mo Shaoshang’s mouth curled up very slightly.

His high nose bridge rubbed against her petite nose, and he said softly: Be good and wait for me to come back.

Hmm.

Wen Yicong curled her lips at him, hugged him again, and pressed her soft cheek into his neck.

Smelling the clear, pleasant cold fragrance on the man and listening to his steady, powerful heartbeat, she felt warm inside, a trace of soft sweetness spreading.

Yet at the same time, the Safe Deposit Vault in the Study Room couldn’t help but surface in her mind again.

The silver one, small, embedded at the bottom of the glass tank. ...

Not knowing what she was thinking of, the smile on Wen Yicong’s face faded a little. * Mo Shaoshang was gone.

Wen Yicong put on her robe and walked to the window, watching the black Rolls-Royce drive out of the iron gate and disappear at the end of the tree-lined path.

She closed the curtains, walked back to the bed alone, and sat down.

Her legs were still aching and weak, and her limbs were feeble.

Every sensation reminded her of the hearty, wild entanglement in the Study Room not long ago. ...

Wen Yicong’s face was flushed red, and she quickly shook her head, forcing herself not to reminisce.

She looked up at an oil painting in the room.

Mo Shaoshang’s painting.

In the center of the painting was the sea at night, deep blue waves rolling, and a lonely moon hanging in the sky.

In the corner of the painting was a small boat, tiny, looking lonely and desolate, drifting in the boundless deep blue.

Looking at this painting, Wen Yicong couldn’t help but be lost in thought.

Her mind was a bit empty; for a very brief moment, it seemed she wasn’t thinking of anything, and yet it seemed she was thinking of many, many things.

The art studio in Mo Shaoshang’s Mo Manor Cellar, the stubborn blues under his brush, that Safe Deposit Vault, and Pei Xizhou’s meaningful words...

Suddenly.

Ding!

Her phone rang, indicating a new message.

Wen Yicong came back to her senses, lit up the phone screen, and checked it.

Sender: Pei Xizhou.

Pei Xizhou: [How is it, Teacher Wen?

Did you gain anything in the Study Room?] Wen Yicong stared at this line of text, her heart suddenly beating faster.

In a moment, she bit her lip and hesitantly typed a reply: [There is indeed a Safe Deposit Vault in Mr.

Mo’s Study Room.] After a second’s pause, she couldn’t help but type again: [What exactly is inside it?

Do you know?] The message was sent.

She stared at the screen, waiting for a reply.

After about two minutes, a new message popped up. [Does Teacher Wen really want to know?] Wen Yicong’s eyes flashed suddenly.

She remembered the instructions from Principal Zhang Yao when she first started.

Zhang Yao warned her not to pry into the employer’s privacy, not to ask about the employer’s private affairs, and absolutely not to cross the line.

Wen Yicong bit her lower lip, not replying for a moment.

After a while, Pei Xizhou’s message came again: [It won’t be too late to come find me when you’ve thought it through.] Wen Yicong closed her eyes and raised her hand to pinch her brow, her inner self in a tug-of-war, struggling endlessly.

She was Mo Shaoshang’s girlfriend.

They already had such an intimate relationship.

But did she really understand him?

That man was mysterious, powerful, and dangerous.

His eyes hid too many things she couldn’t understand, and his past was wrapped in too many secrets she didn’t know.

After pondering for a long while, Wen Yicong still typed out a line of text: [I want to know.

If it’s convenient, please tell me.] Then, she pressed the send key.

If Mo Shaoshang were just her employer, she would naturally have to keep her place and not pry into the privacy of the employer’s home.

However, she was now his girlfriend, and this relationship made it impossible for her to treat herself as an outsider who had nothing to do with it.

She was indeed too curious about him.

Pondering this, Wen Yicong looked sideways, her gaze once again resting on the deep sea and the lonely boat in the painting.

The sunlight outside the window gradually slanted westward, casting mottled light and shadow in the room.

In the shifting light, everything in the painting seemed increasingly deep and unfathomable.