She wriggled in his arms, continually struggling, although her strength could almost be ignored. No matter how much she struggled, she was still in his sturdy arms, unable to shake free even slightly.
Feng Yueming, somewhat displeased and impatient, said, "Someone will take care of your father, Mi Yao. Have you not realized that you are now mine? Why aren't you feeding me porridge?"
What was he worried about? That was her father. Why shouldn't she feed her father porridge? Why should she feed him?
"Feng Yueming, you're hurting me." She frowned and kept pounding on him.
He really did hurt her. His kisses were so forceful, roughly kneading her cheeks and eyes. She didn't know when her face and eyes had provoked him?
Feng Yueming straightened up and stood, looking down at her. Her skin was indeed delicate; just from a short kissing, it had turned red, like a rose spreading its hue.
He half-closed his handsome eyelids.