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In the shot, both of their hands reached into the sleeve cuff.
The next second, Pei Muchan's eyelids fluttered uncontrollably twice, and a strange sour sensation rushed from her chest to the crown of her head.
Her nose nearly turned sour, almost embarrassingly instinctively making a sound.
Thankfully, she managed to hold it back.
His hand was a bit hot, his palm large. There wasn't much flesh, and his knuckles were distinct. Now, they were almost interlaced with each of her fingers, the gaps fitting perfectly.
She could feel the veins on the back of his hand throbbing, though Pei Muchan knew very well that it was an illusion; the reality was that she was feeling her own fingertip edges pulsating like a heartbeat.
But still, she couldn't help but breathe rapidly, her whole body tensing up as a result.
With the camera rolling, how could he dare... Even though no one but the two of them would notice the racing of their hearts, concealed by the thick fabric of the sleeves.