Feng Yueming remained motionless, coldly watching her create a scene, "So, you want money? Open your mouth, I'll give you ten thousand."
Mi Yao stiffened.
Feng Yueming's expression grew colder; he hadn't misjudged her. Once money was mentioned, she stopped struggling—truly driven by greed!
He leaned down and kissed her lips once more.
Mi Yao clutched tightly at his shirt collar, her mind in turmoil. Should she reject him? She really hated kissing him, but ten thousand yuan, she desperately needed the money.
By that time, the man had swiftly moved in, and Mi Yao's discomfort twisted her delicate brows.
She had never kissed a man before, but she had done everything else with him. People say kissing should feel good, but she only felt pain.
This man either lacked skill or intentionally tortured her, never showing her any tenderness.
Mi Yao spaced out for a moment, then suddenly, Feng Yueming swept her off her feet.
"What are you trying to do?"