Chapter 88: Juice

Ming Can buried herself in his embrace, stunned. For some reason, a wave of bitterness welled up in her eyes.

Her body was tightly encircled by his long arms, the force so great it felt as if he wanted to press her into his bones and blood, merging them into one.

The man buried his chin in the crook of her neck, his messy short hair brushing lightly against her cheek. Ming Can was forced onto her toes, her chest pressed against his, and through their clothes, she could hear his rapid heartbeat.

At that moment, Ming Can realized that Chi Xiao must have known exactly what his family expected from this marriage alliance.

He knew full well that she would never agree to such conditions, yet he had no solution. So, he could only bury everything deep inside himself.

Yes.

What was the point of saying it out loud?

With that thought, Ming Can struggled slightly, pressing her hands against Chi Xiao’s chest to push him away a little.

Her eyes were slightly red, but the black and white of her gaze remained bright and steady as she looked directly at him and said calmly, “I wasn’t ignoring you. I just… don’t want to go through with this marriage alliance anymore.”

Her tone was relatively composed, but suddenly, her words took a turn. She gripped his shirt with the hand pressed against his chest, leaned in closer, and warned him, “Even without this alliance, you’re still mine. I want you to stay by my side—always.”

The person she had set her sights on, the only one she had ever liked in her life—how could she possibly let go so easily?

Chi Xiao’s arms remained wrapped around her waist, his chest rising and falling slightly. His cold, fair skin was tinged with a faint, intoxicated flush. His amber eyes gazed at her, as if he were a prisoner who had just been granted amnesty—released from the gallows, the black cloth over his head torn away, only to be met with the blinding sunlight. The sheer astonishment of being alive felt almost surreal.

He took slow, measured breaths, suppressing his tension as a smile gradually surfaced in his eyes. “So… are you saying I should marry into your family instead?”

“That’s right.” Ming Can unceremoniously grabbed his collar, narrowing her eyes. “Do you have any objections?”

Her tone carried the authority of someone in control—absolute, irrefutable. It was as if the slightest hint of resistance from him would have her tying him up on the spot, locking him away forever, never to see the light of day again.

“No objections.” Chi Xiao answered without hesitation. His hand, still resting on her waist, moved in slightly, his fingers tracing the fold at the small of her back through the thin fabric of her loungewear. In a low voice, he murmured, “It’s just… I’d like to struggle a little first.”

The moment his touch deepened, Ming Can’s knees nearly buckled. She clung to his chest for support, her voice trembling. “Struggle how? Negotiate with your dad?”

“Mm.”

“How?”

Ming Can’s impression of Chi Xiao’s father was that of an unyielding, old-fashioned authoritarian—one who tolerated no defiance. After racking her brain for a moment, she asked, “Are you planning to use father-son sentiment to threaten him?”

No matter what, Chi Xiao was still Chi Yanpeng’s biological son—his own flesh and blood, as well as the heir he had meticulously groomed over the years. If Chi Xiao really used this to threaten his father, it might actually have some effect.

After all, no matter how cold-blooded a person might be, it was impossible to simply stand by and watch as the eldest son, in whom they had placed all their hopes, cast everything aside—even renouncing his own father.

Chi Xiao responded vaguely with a noncommittal “Mm.”

But in truth, that wasn’t his plan.

He had already used the father-son sentiment card once—when he first told his father that he liked Ming Can and insisted on marrying into the Ming family, disregarding everything else.

At that time, he had been willing to give up everything the Chi family had to offer, as long as he could be with Ming Can.

That time, his father had relented, agreeing to abandon the arranged marriage with the Chu family and instead reaching out to the Ming family.

But the same trick wouldn’t work twice.

His father was an authoritarian man—if pushed too hard, he just might actually disown him, letting him go off and be with whomever he pleased, severing all ties with the Chi family for good.

Chi Xiao had never been someone driven by material desires. He cared little for wealth or power, and as the saying goes, “One who desires nothing is unshakable.” He wouldn’t have minded being cast out in the past.

But things were different now.

Although Ming Can didn’t like him because of his family’s wealth and status, she had also said that those things were the icing on the cake—something that, if he had, would make things even better.

If possible, he wanted to stand beside her as an equal, to stand at the top together.

How long could mere physical attraction keep a woman’s heart?

Despite Ming Can’s dominant personality—her preference for having everyone under her control—deep down, she admired strength.

She only set her sights on the best.

That was why Chi Xiao wanted to hold onto his position as the Chi family’s heir.

He didn’t want to lose everything and become someone so far beneath her that he was nothing more than a worthless man.

As for how he would negotiate with his father, Chi Xiao hadn’t figured out the exact approach yet, but he had a direction in mind.

Blood ties weren’t the only card he had to play.

He had his mind, his ability to create new wealth—his real value.

“What are you thinking about?” Ming Can rose onto her toes and pinned Chi Xiao against the wall. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Right now, she was as volatile as a fuse soaked in oil. She had already been annoyed with Chi Xiao because of his family’s situation, and now, at the slightest hint of distraction from him, she felt like she was about to ignite—crackling and ready to explode.

“Nothing.” Chi Xiao was pressed tightly against the wall by her, lowering his gaze to look at her with gentle helplessness. “Can I at least put the juice down first?”

Ming Can froze for a moment before remembering that he had been holding a glass of cucumber and snow pear juice in his left hand the entire time—freshly made for her.

“Oh.” She took a step back, releasing the grip she had on his collar. Whether intentional or not, her fingertips trailed down his chest as she let go, brushing lightly over the firm muscles of his chest and abdomen before finally slipping away at the hem of his shirt.

Chi Xiao’s expression remained unchanged, his gaze calm as he looked at her. But his body betrayed him—his muscles tensed instinctively, as if they were subjects bowing to the rule of her fingertips, responding to her teasing touch in an instant.

Inside the bedroom, a short hallway stretched behind them. The ceiling lights cast a warm, golden glow, so soft it felt like it could melt into their eyes.

In that intimate lighting, Chi Xiao noticed a tiny drop of pale green juice on Ming Can’s collarbone, just below her slender, fair neck.

It must have splashed there earlier when she yanked him inside, causing him to momentarily lose his grip on the glass.

Her body temperature seemed quite high. In just this short moment, that little drop of juice looked as if it was about to evaporate from her warmth.

Ming Can was just about to turn around, ready to let Chi Xiao walk further inside.

In the next moment, just as she had stepped back, Chi Xiao pulled her close again. He suddenly lowered his head toward her neck, his warm lips pressing against the skin just above her collarbone—he even seemed to flick his tongue across it.

Ming Can shivered as if struck by an electric current, instinctively grabbing onto his arm to keep her legs from going weak.

“You—what are you doing?”

Chi Xiao straightened up almost immediately, his expression calm and unruffled. “You had juice there.”

As he spoke, he licked the corner of his lips, seemingly savoring the taste. His half-lowered eyelids made his usually indifferent gaze turn dark and deep, like a cunning fox luring its prey.

In his eyes, Ming Can saw her own reflection—her face flushed as if bathed in the colors of the evening sky.

She swallowed, suddenly feeling a dryness in her throat. Without a word, she grabbed the glass of juice from Chi Xiao’s hand and brought it to her lips.

Chi Xiao reminded her, “It’s too cold. Drink slowly.”

Ming Can ignored him, gulping down a large mouthful of the icy-sweet juice. The coolness rushing down her throat was incredibly refreshing.

Suddenly, her wrist was caught. Chi Xiao gently moved both her hand and the glass away before leaning down to kiss the corner of her lips.

Tasting the sweetness of the juice, his gaze darkened even further. Yet, he didn’t deepen the kiss, only lingering lightly before pulling away.

Ming Can felt an itch spread through her heart. Just as she was about to kiss him back, he withdrew, making her instantly irritated. She shoved the juice toward him, snapping, “If you want to drink, take it.”

“No need,” Chi Xiao said with shameless ease. “I only drink what flows from you.”

Ming Can immediately wanted to cover her ears. She couldn’t help but recall what happened last time in the car—how she had made a mess of his face, the entire car filled with the sound of swallowing… This was too indecent! There was no way she was intentionally misinterpreting his words—he was the one being suggestive!

Gripping the glass tightly with both hands, she took another sip, but her eyes betrayed her, instinctively glancing upward to meet the man’s deep, unreadable gaze.

“When are we picking up Miaomiao?” Ming Can suddenly asked.

“Eight o’clock.”

“Oh. Still early.”

She had checked the time earlier—it was about a quarter past six.

The curtains of the master bedroom’s panoramic windows were wide open. The sky in the west was still streaked with vibrant sunset hues, casting a dreamy, colored haze over the city. The entire scene was bathed in a dim, pinkish-purple glow, as if the air itself had been dyed.

“Why did you stop drinking?” Chi Xiao asked.

And then, he lowered his head to kiss her again—once more at the corner of her lips, as if he were determined to taste every last trace of juice that lingered there.

“Didn’t you say it was too cold?” Ming Can murmured softly, still holding the glass. “I think so too. I can’t drink anymore.”

“Then wouldn’t that be a waste?”

“It won’t be wasted.” Ming Can bit her lip, the flickering fire in her dark eyes making her already striking features even more alluring. She lifted the glass with one hand, pressing the rim against her lips but not drinking. Instead, she slowly tilted it, letting the emerald-green juice, speckled with tiny translucent fruit bits, spill from the corner of her mouth. It trickled down her jawline, slid along her smooth, delicate neck, dipped into the hollow of her collarbone, and then continued downward over the soft curve of her chest before vanishing beneath the silk of her loungewear—staining the fabric a faint shade of green.

So cold.

Her breathing grew unsteady, her body trembling involuntarily.

The sticky sensation of the juice seemed to seep beneath her skin, wrapping around her veins and tangling tightly around her racing heart.

Yet, despite it all, her heart pounded recklessly.

Her eyes—like the brightest gems in the world—were now veiled in a thick mist of moisture. The glow within them shimmered through the haze, rippling with an undeniable allure, yet still carrying that unparalleled pride and nobility.

She tilted her head back to look at Chi Xiao, lowering the glass slowly.

“You drink it,” she said.

Her tone was commanding, yet her voice was delicate and crisp, the tail end trembling ever so slightly.

A single glass of juice held several hundred milliliters—more than half had spilled onto her body. Ming Can’s legs were soaked, her silk pants clinging tightly to her thighs, unbearably sticky. The icy sensation seeped through the fabric but was soon warmed by her body heat. By the time the juice trickled down to her feet, she could barely feel the cold anymore.

Chi Xiao gazed at her deeply, as if surprised by her boldness.

“Only with my mouth?”

“Can any other body part be used for ‘drinking’?” Ming Can sounded like a nitpicking elementary school teacher, refusing to allow an incorrect word choice.

“Then that works out perfectly,” he murmured, eyes darkening. “My throat is burning.”

With that, he leaned in, capturing her juice-slicked lips. He traced the shape of her lower lip, his tongue curling around the bits of fruit clinging to the corner of her mouth, drawing them into his own.

“So sweet.”

“You… stop talking.”

“I can’t do that. I made this juice myself—can’t I praise my own handiwork?”

“And besides,” Chi Xiao said lazily, “I told you a long time ago—I was born talkative.”

“……”

Ming Can, flustered by his teasing, flushed an even deeper red. In retaliation, her hands dug into the firm muscles of his shoulders, venting her frustration.

The heat of his lips and tongue soon traveled down to her jawline. His tongue traced the delicate contours of her face with careful precision before following the trail of emerald liquid downward—devoted and delirious in equal measure.