Bai Lingling softened her tone a fraction. "You can let me go first, and then maybe we can speak properly."
Mo Lingxu almost laughed aloud.
Maybe.
Maybe speak properly.
This little liar.
He could smell her, fresh water, faint floral qi from her cultivation, and underneath it all, the sweet heat of her anger and unwilling arousal.
His fangs ached faintly behind his lips; he wanted to sink them into that elegant neck, mark her so deeply even dreams would remember.
But not yet. He loosened his hold fractionally, just enough to let her think she had a chance. "Speak, then," he murmured against her ear, lips grazing the shell. "Tell me how much you hate me while your pulse begs for more."
He could clearly feel the power in her body shifting, gathering, preparing. She was not calming down at all. She was waiting, measuring, looking for the right moment to break free and swing that whip directly at his face.
And because he found this too amusing, he let her do it.
