Beyond the Rift (Campus 1V1) - 5. H

5. H

The fifteen-minute break between classes arrives.

Two seats are empty in Senior Class One and Class A.

The fifth-floor lounge door remains tightly closed.

Ling Jia didn’t closely observe the room’s setup last time she came. This time, she notices a massive glass tank inside.

Raven coils its body. It’s sleeping on black pebbles.

Ling Jia stands by the glass tank. She’s looking at the delicate miniature plants inside.

The outdoor temperature exceeds the indoor one. She left her school uniform jacket in the classroom. She wears only a thin white shirt tucked into her skirt.

No lights are on in the room. The tank’s dim light faintly envelops her. It makes her waist appear even more delicate.

Zong Du’s gaze moves from her shoulder blades to her calves below the skirt hem. After a moment, he lifts her skirt and slides his hand inside.

Ling Jia’s palms press tightly against the glass tank. Her gaze’s unfocused as she watches a tiny swing sway gently.

Zong Du’s touch lacks method. His palm is fully against her skin. As if carefully feeling the temperature difference between them.

His hand slips under the edge of her underwear. It’s touching her soft, warm entrance.

“You’re wet.” 

“Because… it’s itchy.” 

Her breath fogs the glass. The ring on Zong Du’s finger presses against her thigh. Its coldness makes her waist soften.

“Where’s it itchy?” 

Zong Du asks. His fingers trace her entrance. They’re fully enveloping her heat. Without guidance, his fingers find her erect cl!toris. As his index finger touches it, Ling Jia lets out a sound.

“Here?” 

Zong Du asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer before sliding his middle finger into her tight, untouched passage. It’s immediately gripped by her inner walls.

Ling Jia’s fingers curl. They’re grasping at nothing. They’re sliding down the glass.

She bites her lower lip to avoid making more embarrassing sounds.

Zong Du stands from the chair at this moment.

He moves close behind her. His hand withdraws from her entrance to grip her waist. It pulls her against him.

“Why aren’t you talking?”

Her long hair is draped over her shoulder. It is brushed to the left by him. The strands lightly wrap around his fingers.

A slight tug brings a faint sting.

Ling Jia senses his displeasure.

Her legs tremble as she gasps, 

“In this situation, it’s hard for me to think.”

Their bodies press closely. She feels his erect s3x against her buttocks.

The fluids from her aroused desire soak her underwear and dampen his school pants.

Zong Du pulls out her shirt tucked into her skirt. His fingers are slipping underneath. They’re touching her chest through her bra.

He notices that as he grips her br3ast, she grinds hard against his lower body. With a teasing tone, he asks, 

“You feel it here too?”

“It feels a bit uncomfortable.” 

“Where?”

“Here—” 

Ling Jia takes his hand from her waist. She guides it into her skirt to her entrance. Leaning back, her head rests on his shoulder. Tilting her head slightly, she looks at his face and says, 

“Touch it.”

She’s somewhat forgotten why she’s here.

Whether Zong Du messaged her to come get her name tag,

Or she messaged him to ask where he was.

But the result is the same—they’re entangled together.

It differs from what Ling Jia expected.

She thought she wouldn’t become a slave to desire. Yet unfamiliar sensations stir her body into heat.

“When you first came here, you weren’t this bold,” 

Zong Du says. He’s smiling as he looks down at her desire-clouded face. He asks ambiguously, 

“Think I like this act?”

“I don’t really know you.” 

Ling Jia looks into his eyes. Her warm breath grazes his throat like a feather.

“But every time, I have no choice. Zong Du, you know it’s hard for me to survive at Qianchuan…”

She’s showing weakness.

Her eyes seem to glisten with tears.

Zong Du isn’t usually swayed by this.

His interest in women pales compared to his pet reptiles.

But Ling Jia genuinely piques his curiosity.

He’s too bored—Qianchuan is so dull.

The same people play the same scripts over and over.

In contrast, Ling Jia is fascinating. Each encounter is a different scene.

And—

Her body effortlessly ignites his desire.

His fully erect p3nis presses against her soft buttocks. It dents the flesh. His fingers are inside her entrance, part her buttocks. He unzips his pants, pulls out his p3nis, and presses it against her wet seam.

The friction of flesh against flesh feels entirely different from fingers.

His erect p3nis repeatedly brushes her sensitive cl!toris.

The skin-on-skin sensation makes her tremble. He grips her chest. He pulls her back into his arms.

Her ear tips burn red. It’s like ripe strawberries. He stares for a moment, then leans down to bite them.

“Mmm, don’t—” 

She gasps. Her voice’s sticky and soft. A sound she’s never heard from herself.

Zong Du ignores her plea. His lips gently lick her ear tip. while his lower body roughly thrusts against her entrance.

Though he doesn’t penetrate, she softens completely.

A quick learner. He notices her cl!toris’s extreme sensitivity after a few thrusts and deliberately targets it. Her fluids soak their lower bodies. Her white underwear is pulled to her knees. It drips with wetness.

Pleasure stacks repeatedly. Before the first wave subsides, the second hits.

The soul-burning sensation finally brings Ling Jia pain.

She reaches to grasp his p3nis, but he easily stops her. He’s pinning both her hands at her waist.

“So pitiful.”

Seeing her wet eyelashes, he kindly lets her stand and guides her back to the glass tank. He’s giving her something to lean on.

But the glass is too cold. The contrast of hot and cold makes her entrance contract like a touched mimosa. It’s trembling and squirting as it grips his shaft.

“You’re leaking so much—what if you get dehydrated?” 

He asks. His voice is husky with desire.

As if genuinely concerned, he lifts her chin. He makes her look into his eyes.

She licks her dry upper lip with her tongue. She shakes her head: 

“I won’t.”

“Don’t want water?” 

He asks, smiling.

“I want something else…”

 She presses against his shaft. She lifts her hips and clamps her legs. She’s moving up and down. Her forward-leaning body makes it easier for him to grip her br3ast tightly. Looking at Raven sleeping in the glass tank, she says in an overly aggrieved tone, 

“I want a place to sleep.”

Ling Jia knows Zong Du’s favorite sport is shooting.

She knows he loves all thrilling activities.

So it’s not hard to guess the inherent cruelty in his bones.

She isn’t foolish enough to think his few kind gestures mean he’s gentle.

Less than a minute remains before class starts.

The room’s excellent soundproofing makes it feel cut off from the world.

Ling Jia sees her phone on the floor.

The screen lights up—Yi Chuan messages. He’s asking where she is.

But this isn’t an easy question to answer.

She can’t exactly tell him.

She’s on Zong Du, pressed against his s3x, asking for his help.

Zong Du pats her erect cl!toris and picks up the name tag with his name. It’s placed by the glass tank.

His semen shoots into the gap between her thighs.

He reaches to her entrance. He pushes it inside.

Then he uses his name tag to block her leaking entrance.

“Next break, come to me with it still inside, and I’ll help you as you wish.”