Just as a newborn instinctively nurses, driven by the desire to eat, or snuggles close to its mother upon feeling cold, driven by the desire for warmth—it is entirely divorced from conscious thought, merely serving the imperative of survival.

Wang Zhuo only knew his body was drawn to Irene by an irresistible impulse, though he couldn't trace its origin. Yet, the sensation was so direct and intense that it caused his desire to erupt, seeking any outlet for a complete and satisfying release.

When his palm settled on Irene’s chest, the girl’s frame gave a slight tremor. This level of intimacy was entirely new to her; she was both astonished by Wang Zhuo’s boldness and directness, and simultaneously captivated by the novelty and thrill of the contact, her mind a complete tangle.

“*”

It must be said that English is a truly curious language; unlike the profound depth of Chinese, an English word often carries a multitude of meanings. Thus, Wang Zhuo’s ambiguous compliment could be interpreted from countless angles, or perhaps, understood by none.

Irene couldn't discern if Wang Zhuo was praising her lips, the feel of her breast beneath his hand, the cooperation she was offering, or simply marveling at his own enjoyment. The only certainty she held was that the current feeling was both wonderfully strange and deeply comforting—and Wang Zhuo felt the same.

This deep kiss was entirely different from the shallow pecks she’d known before. His lips were warm, his tongue supple. Within the fresh scent of his breath lingered an intoxicating aura; the air exhaled from his nostrils carried an indescribable flavor, faintly fishy, sweetly sharp, richly fragrant. As she drew these breaths deep into her lungs, it felt as though she were inhaling a spreading warmth that permeated her body, leaving her tingling and utterly lost in sensation.

Irene had no idea what drug addicts experienced when using narcotics—whether it mirrored the ecstatic highs portrayed in documentaries—but now, she was already soaring. Unselfconsciously, she wound her arms around Wang Zhuo’s neck, blissfully savoring his caress and the deep kiss, feeling as if she had entered the clouds.

The fair-haired girl’s passionate response exceeded Wang Zhuo’s expectations—she was like a canister of gasoline, igniting instantly, now spreading into a raging conflagration. Her movements grew increasingly fierce; she even sucked painfully on Wang Zhuo’s lip, vigorously stirring his tongue as if possessed.

Wang Zhuo’s interest sharpened; mischievously, he let a little of his own saliva pass over. The girl, completely unguarded, accepted it all, swallowing it down as if tasting the sweetest frost.

Through the thin fabric of her light jacket and the soft lace beneath, Wang Zhuo could feel the violent thumping of her heart against his palm as he held her breast. Her hands unconsciously grasped at the back of his head, her body subtly shaking and twisting in his embrace. Her gaze was glazed, her breathing ragged; she was no longer the demure girl of moments before, but a woman utterly lost in passion, like one long deprived.

Wang Zhuo was slightly taken aback. While his kissing technique was practiced and masterful, he hadn't expected it to drive a girl as innocent as Irene to such frenzied heights. It seemed Irene was exceptionally sensitive to the sensation of a kiss, uniquely so.

Because he had a private room upon entering the academy, Wang Zhuo had never been exposed to the culture of "dorm room gossip." However, medical students generally possessed more physiological knowledge than the average young man, so Wang Zhuo was aware that this kind of intense reaction didn't always require reaching the final stage; some people could achieve such a physiological response merely through the caressing of sensitive areas or deep kissing.

Perhaps Irene was one of them?

No sooner had the thought formed than he acted. He poured himself into it, unleashing the peak of his kissing prowess. To heighten the effect, he even quietly undid the buttons on her blouse, using his hand to stroke and stimulate her most sensitive area.

This action yielded immediate results. The girl began to writhe like a serpent, her breathing growing ragged and hot. Her gaze drifted away, and occasionally, a soft sound of sheer pleasure escaped her lips.

Her breasts were firm and perky, possessing excellent elasticity. Wang Zhuo playfully pinched and inspected them, finding no alarming lumps. The tips were a very faint color, just a tempting blush of pale pink, perhaps the size of a Euro coin. As his slightly damp fingertips gently brushed across them, he could feel them rapidly hardening.

A kiss escalating to this point was entirely unforeseen by Wang Zhuo. As he brushed aside Irene’s tangled hair and idly toyed with her small, exquisite earlobe, the golden-haired girl suddenly shuddered intensely several times and clung fiercely to his neck.

Wang Zhuo was instantly familiar with this reaction. He paused, then let out a silent, wry, and joyous laugh—she had actually reached that climax!

Allowing her to hold his neck comfortably, Wang Zhuo affectionately patted her back, his mood one of pure contentment.

It took about half a minute before Irene surfaced from the aftershocks. She released Wang Zhuo and settled back, her hands clutching her collar to cover her chest, gazing at him with eyes that held both shyness and playful indignation.

“What just happened to me?” she managed, caught between laughter and distress. “How could that happen?” “Your body is highly sensitive, more so than most people,” Wang Zhuo replied with a gentle smile. “I’m studying medicine, so please trust me. Although this is a low-probability event, it’s not rare; it falls within the normal range.”

Though neither mentioned it directly, the topic revolved entirely around that word.

“Have you encountered this before?” Irene asked curiously.

“Never,” Wang Zhuo replied, shaking his head with a smile. It had been a long time since he’d engaged in such passionate kissing. Aside from the pure romance of his early relationship days with Gan Shuang, he hadn’t done this in ages—and after that, his focus… well, he wouldn't dwell on that now!

Irene believed Wang Zhuo’s explanation but asked in disbelief, “I was about to pass out, wasn’t I?” Wang Zhuo grinned roguishly, “No, you handled yourself much better than when you fell into the sea this afternoon.” Irene was speechless. This man’s English pronunciation often had minor flaws, and his grammar was frequently imperfect; his speech wasn't fast either. Yet, with this halting, imperfect language, he had managed to move her, enchant her, and even provoke such unrestrained behavior so easily. What sorcery did he possess?

“Didn’t I say it was just a kiss?” she asked, pointing indignantly at her collar. “What is this?” Although her clothes were mostly tidied, her bra was still pushed up around her chest, feeling uncomfortable there.

“That was the interest I collected,” Wang Zhuo winked, displaying an air of entitlement.

“Even loan sharks don’t charge that much interest,” Irene muttered, quickly adjusting herself.

“Were you comfortable just now?” Wang Zhuo inquired. Did he need to ask? Irene shot him a playfully exasperated look; her mind was still slightly foggy.

“Want to go again?” Wang Zhuo coaxed gently.

Irene hesitated. It was certainly an appealing suggestion, but weren't things progressing too fast?

Wang Zhuo cared nothing for the pace of progress. He was returning home in two days; who knew when or if they would meet again? Moreover, Irene was a public figure and extremely busy. If he didn’t strike while the iron was hot, who knew if he’d have another chance tomorrow?

After all, the cultural atmosphere in Europe and America was far more open than in China; few women remained virgins past sixteen. And Irene was in the entertainment industry—she was already halfway submerged in the great dye vat. Perhaps one day she wouldn't resist temptation and would give herself to some handsome man. If he didn't make a move now, when would he?

“Go again? Give me a good reason first,” Irene said with a wry smile.

That phrasing had a style reminiscent of Stephen Chow; placing the key word at the end of the sentence. Wang Zhuo loved this conversational dynamic—novel and amusing, much like the young woman before him, who was full of freshness.

“I saved you twice, the last time from that mosquito-borne illness,” Wang Zhuo declared proudly, holding up two fingers—both signifying the number two and a gesture of victory.

“I paid you for that time,” Irene countered, lifting her chin with a hint of hauteur.

“Is your life only worth a few hundred US dollars?” Wang Zhuo waved his hand dismissively. “That medicine cost more than that. So, you still owe me.”

The debate was merely an excuse to continue, and Irene shrugged, tacitly agreeing with Wang Zhuo’s premise. Wang Zhuo then leaned over, picked up the remote from the table, dimmed the room lights, put on a light, cheerful piece of music, and drew the girl back into his arms.

This time, he managed the rhythm perfectly—unhurried, unforced, always keeping Irene adrift in a sea of pleasure. He slowly undid her buttons again, reclaiming possession of her firm breasts. Her fatal weakness was her lips and ears; when Wang Zhuo whispered near her ear, the intense tickling caused her to tremble uncontrollably.

By the time Wang Zhuo lifted her and carried her toward the bedroom, the girl was beyond refusing what was about to happen. Her center was utterly drenched, so much so that a faint damp stain was visible even on her outer trousers.

But just as Wang Zhuo thought tonight would lead to the fulfillment of their connection, she suddenly stopped him.

“I have an important appointment tomorrow morning…”

“It really won’t work, it’s my first time, and you are too… large!”

“But I have to walk tomorrow, in front of hundreds of reporters and flashing lights…”

Wang Zhuo was utterly speechless, feeling a mix of exasperation and amusement. Was being large a crime? Did that mean he’d have a better chance if he were smaller? He’d never heard of such a thing!

It seemed that even if an inherently mischievous person wanted to cultivate purity, God himself wouldn't permit it. He muttered inwardly, withdrawing the hand resting on Irene’s waist and letting it drift up along the soft curves of her body.

“Since you genuinely have an inconvenience,” he said, “we’ll leave it for today. Let’s try a different method that we both might enjoy—what do you think?”

His voice was low and magnetic; his eyes flickered with an enchanting light. Somehow, Irene understood exactly what he meant.

“How do you know I’ll enjoy your way?” she pouted back.

“Because your lips are too captivating…” Wang Zhuo smiled sincerely, yet with a hint of teasing amusement. “And when I stroke your ears, you become as quiet and obedient as a little kitten.”