Obsessive Pleasure - Chapter 2
To pretend she didn’t care, Liang Yun deliberately placed Chen Yang’s business card right on her dashboard.
She dropped her friend off at home and waved goodbye.
But when she settled back into the driver’s seat, she found the card had vanished.
Liang Yun suddenly felt like laughing.
People who don’t mean what they say, we are all like that, aren’t we?
We think one thing and yet do another.
Her friend was like this, and how was she any different?
Lying in bed, the moonlight painted abstract streaks and patches across the ceiling.
Liang Yun couldn’t fall asleep for a long time. She stared blankly at the overlapping moon shadows, watching them expand, shift, and take on countless forms.
It felt like a hallucination, but Chen Yang’s figure suddenly appeared, accompanied by a tremor deep within her body.
A blush spread across her cheeks, her mind pounded like the aftershock of a fever, throbbing in concentric circles.
Liang Yun reached down, using her fingertips to stroke herself between her legs, biting her lip as she pressed and rubbed her already firm, excited little cl!t.
No amount of stimulation seemed to be enough; she was perpetually just a hair’s breadth away from the peak.
She squeezed an unbearable moan from her throat, then hardened her resolve, pressing the tip of her freshly trimmed nail onto her “red bean” and harshly digging in.
The brilliant explosion of fireworks finally burst forth in a rush of tears.
In that fleeting moment, Liang Yun thought she dimly saw Chen Yang with a smirk playing on his lips.
A sticky, hot wetness streamed down between her fingers.
Curled into a ball, Liang Yun hid herself beneath the thin quilt, gasping for breath.
She had actually climaxed while fantasizing about him.
Liang Yun’s body was still faintly hot, and a film of sweat coated her hair.
She remembered the look on her ex-boyfriend’s face when he broke up with her.
“I’m sorry, I might not be a s3x addict, but I’m no Platonist either. If my girlfriend is constantly frigid, it makes things really difficult for me!”
She wasn’t frigid; she just needed a different set of conditions to climax.
But Liang Yun couldn’t say it aloud, just like so many other things.
Everyone has their secrets. For those who cannot understand, verbal explanations just sound hollow.
The sky outside the window was beginning to show the pale blue of predawn. Liang Yun pressed her fingers to her temple, sighed softly, and checked the alarm clock beside her bed.
Four-thirty.
Once again, she had to accept the fact of a sleepless night.
Liang Yun reached for the pill bottle beside the clock, shook it, and heard a lonely clatter inside.
She had less than a three-day supply left, yet her next refill appointment was still over two weeks away.
A few mornings later, following yet another sleepless night, Liang Yun, who had arrived at the company early via taxi, felt completely restless.
She hadn’t driven herself for days, worried that her recent mental state made it unsafe to be behind the wheel.
As the training supervisor for the English and American Oral Department, Liang Yun had recently worked with her VP to secure an executive crash course for a new biotech company.
This company had recently received government funding and was engaged in several major collaboration projects with a corresponding US firm.
The boss on the other side was demanding and found fault with every detail of the training curriculum Liang Yun’s company offered.
They had interviewed several instructors, but none were satisfactory.
Liang Yun was overwhelmed, and the VP kept breathing down her neck.
She had just had another recommended instructor rejected, making Liang Yun curse silently: What kind of person is this? I’ve never dealt with such a difficult client!
Her headache seemed to worsen. She rested her head on her desk for a moment, then decided to take sick leave. Clutching the now-empty pill bottle, she hurried out of the office.
She never expected to run into Chen Yang in the hospital stairwell.
The doctor’s refusal to renew her prescription was expected. Compared to her initial dosage, her consumption had doubled. No wonder the doctor was giving her that look, the one that said volumes, and suggested she consider alternative treatments.
Seeing the crowded elevator lobby, her already fragile anxiety nearly broke. Liang Yun practically fled toward the far stairwell.
The stairs were old-fashioned and quite narrow.
The moment she stepped out, she missed a step. She instinctively let out a scream, but her mind was strangely blank.
What would happen if I fell?
Would it hurt?
Which would be better: the pain of a broken bone, or the headache that tormented her every day?
She was strangely unafraid; in fact, there was a tiny trace of anticipation.
Liang Yun didn’t fall.
An arm wrapped around her waist, spinning her around and pulling her back up. Her body stumbled into someone’s embrace, her nose hitting them painfully, and tears spilled out.
They weren’t emotional tears; they were purely physiological.
“Careful,” the person holding her said.
Liang Yun looked up. Through her blurred vision, she saw Chen Yang, a slight smirk curving his lips.