"Relax."
Song Guanyu faced the desk, held in Ye Yansheng's arms. In the past, they used to hug face-to-face like a koala hug, but now it had become one person's back against the other's chest. That was their current embrace.
She wasn't used to being held like this. She squirmed a little, but Ye Yansheng pressed her waist down. "Don't move. Just let me hold you like this while you write." He rested his chin leisurely on her shoulder, whispering close to her ear.
Her waist was her weak spot; she instantly stopped moving. It wasn't her fault; mostly it was because the man, though telling her to focus on writing, had his large hands clasped on her waist, his thumbs slowly rubbing the fabric of her shirt. Eventually, she felt his thumbs come to rest on her dimples.
Suddenly, a breeze drifted in through the window, carrying a hint of dryness and the moist scent of rain. The wind crept up her legs, giving her goosebumps under the shirt.
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