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He was completely trapped, their bodies tangling into one.
The pillow sunk.
Qi Jing’s slightly leaned back body was now even tauter, even tenser than a while ago—it was a posture inviting one into taking another step. In his nearly feverish state, Shen Yan’s mind was already clouded, unable to resist such temptation—he leaned in and pressed closely against the lines created by the body beneath him, chasing each gasp the other man breathed, sealing them with his lips.
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