There was no less action on Lan WangJi's part. Those fair, slender hands swam around Wei WuXian's body with his distinct knuckles before lingering at his waist and his hips, forcefully rubbing the delicate skin at the end of Wei WuXian's thighs. It was as though Wei WuXian had turned into a zither, plucked and strummed under the pair of hands. But the person who played him had not a single trace of the coldness and elegance of playing the seven-stringed zither. What Wei WuXian let out weren't graceful zither notes either, but rather unbridled moans of pleasure.
The Founder Of Diabolism
Others · TheBlackQueen
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