Republic of China period
In the private room on the third floor of Tingxue Pavilion, Shen Qingyue leaned against the window and flipped through a poetry album. Lu Shenyan covered her from behind, with his hands on the window frame beside her, and his chest pressed against her back. The copper buttons of his suit vest touched her shoulder blades one by one through the thin silk cheongsam.
He lowered his head, his lips fell on the exposed skin on the back of her neck, and paused for three full breaths.
"Lu Shenyan." Her voice was as steady as words, but the corners of the poetry album in her hand were clenched.
"Hmm." He opened and closed his lips as he spoke, stroking the skin on the back of her neck.
"You've crossed a line."
He laughed, making her spine tingle. The hand slid down from the window frame - the fingertips slid over the collarbone, the edge of the cheongsam collar, and stopped on the thin blood vessel on the side of her neck. Pressing that spot with his fingertips, he could feel the pulse underneath hitting his fingertips rapidly, once, twice, three times. He counted without moving.
"Shen Qingyue," he spoke against the back of her neck, his breath sounding like a dull knife cutting silk, "say it again - who has crossed the line?"
