Chapter 171: Before She Walks In

*Runze’s POV*

The water is warm, the bathroom is full of steam. Bael is behind me, which is a situation I am still, after everything, not entirely prepared for.

Not that I would admit this.

I lean back against him anyway. His arm is loose around me, not holding, just there, solid and warm in the way he always runs warm, and I look down at the water surface and watch it move with my breathing and try to remember what I was saying.

Right.

"So you called him," I say.

Bael says nothing.

"You actually picked up your phone and called the doctor and asked him if you could—"

"I only asked if it was medically safe."

"That’s the same thing!"

"It isn’t."

"Bael." I press my hand over my face. "I have to sit across from him at my next appointment. He’s going to look at me and he’s going to know that you called him specifically to ask if we could... if it was safe for you to—"

I can’t even finish the sentence. The sheer embarrassment of it makes my face burn.

"He’s a professional. And Runze, don’t forget we’re married. "

A sound comes out of me. I sink lower in the water until the steam is closer and my face is less visible, which helps nothing because Bael is behind me and can see whatever expression I’m making from above.

"I will never recover from this," I say, to the water.

"You’ll recover."

"I won’t."

His chest moves against my back — that quiet almost-laugh he has, the one that isn’t quite sound. I feel it more than hear it and my face gets warmer, which I would not have thought possible given how warm my face already is.

"I hate you," I tell him.

"You don’t," he says.

No. I really don’t.

His hand moves under the water then, his palm warm as it slides over my hip. It’s not a hesitant touch. It’s completely deliberate, and my breath hitches so hard it hurts my throat.

"The doctor said this part is fine," Bael murmurs, his mouth brushing right against my ear. His deep voice goes low, that rough gravelly tone that always completely ruins my composure. "As long as I don’t press down on your chest or stomach."

I try to look over my shoulder, my heart hammering against my ribs. "He gave you that many details?"

"Of course."

His thumb slides lower, passing my hip bone before his fingers close tightly around my cock under the water.

The sudden friction makes my whole body twitch, a low, needy "Ngh..." slipping past my lips.

It has been weeks of nothing. Weeks of white hospital sheets, of careful space, and of feeling like a glass doll he was terrified to break. To have his hand gripping my dick now, tight and steady, makes my mind go completely blank.

"Bael—"

"Shh... don’t talk," he says against my skin, his mouth tracing a hot line down my neck.

He starts to move his hand, his strokes wet and unhurried. He isn’t rushing. He’s just taking up space, reminding my body exactly how he feels.

Every slide of his palm over my shaft forces a ragged breath out of my lungs. The friction is heavy, thick with the water, and my hands blindly find his forearm. My fingers dig into his muscle just to keep myself steady as a quiet, broken breath escapes me.

He shifts closer behind me, drawing me back against his bare chest until I’m tucked right against him. Through the water, I can feel his own thick, hard dick pressing firmly into my thigh. He’s completely hard, his pulse drumming right where our skin meets, but he isn’t doing anything to fix it.

"Bael... you..." I manage to gasp out, my hand reaching down through the water to find his thigh. "You’re..."

"Don’t," he roughs out, catching my hand and moving it out of the way. His thumb smears hard over the wet head of my cock, and the sudden wave of pleasure makes my knees go completely weak.

"Ah—!"

"If I start now, I’m not going to stop. And you can’t handle me yet."

The blunt reality of it sends a fierce, heavy shiver straight down my spine. He’s holding back his own release because he knows I’m still too fragile for him to lose control.

His hand goes faster, losing that gentle care, pumping my dick with a heavy, steady rhythm that echoes wetly against the water.

The heat pulls tight in my stomach, too concentrated and too direct after so much time away from him.

I arch my back, my teeth sinking into my lower lip to keep from screaming his name, but a string of breathless, high whines still tears out of my throat. His free hand hooks tightly over my hip, locking me into his pace, forcing me to take every single hard stroke.

"Let it go, Runze," he whispers, his lips pressing a hard kiss against my shoulder blade.

The last of my control snaps. I let out a loud, shattered cry, my hips jerking violently against his palm as the orgasm hits. I cum heavily over his fingers and into the water, my whole body trembling in violent, pulsing waves until I am completely breathless and empty.

By the time the steam begins to clear, the water has cooled down to a lukewarm stillness.

I am leaning back against Bael’s chest, utterly spent, listening to my pulse slowly quiet down. His arm is wrapped securely around my waist, his large palm resting gently over my stomach.

I look down at his hand. The lingering warmth of what we just did is still thick in the air, right alongside the intense embarrassment about the doctor that I will probably never quite overcome. But beneath all of it is an immense, quiet certainty.

He waited for me. He called a doctor to ensure I would be safe before he even attempted to touch me, he has given up everything to keep me protected.

"I... I love you," I say to the quiet bathroom.

His arm tightens, pulling me just a fraction closer.

"Me too," he responds softly against my hair.

***

A soft breeze from the open terrace window snaps me out of the memory.

I blink, my face instantly rushing with a deep, burning heat. I quickly lift my palm to my cheek, finding the skin incredibly warm.

"..."

I am sitting in the armchair in the main living room. Breakfast was over not long ago, the steam from the bathroom is long gone, yet my mind is still trapped in the tub.

Beside me, Bael is reading through a digital brief on his tablet. He looks entirely composed, dressed in a simple, dark shirt, showing absolutely no signs of the man who had thoroughly unraveled me only a few hours prior.

Sensing my movement, he looks up. His eyes drop to my flushed face, a tiny, knowing glint appearing in the gray depths.

"Are you warm?" he asks, his voice low and perfectly even.

"I’m fine," I say quickly, shifting my weight against the cushions. To prove it, I lean sideways, resting my head against the solid broadness of his shoulder.

Bael doesn’t miss a beat. He sets the tablet face down on his lap and shifts his arm, wrapping it securely around my waist to draw me closer into his side. I let my eyes close, listening to the steady, calm rhythm of his breathing.

Last night, while the bedroom was dark and the house was quiet, I had finally given him my answer about my sister.

*"I’m ready to see her,"* I had told him, my hand resting over his heart. *"If you’re right there with me, I want her to come."*

And now, she is on her way.

The sound of tires crunching against the gravel driveway carries through the open window. The iron gates of the estate have opened.

In the past, the mere thought of facing Li Feifei would have made my stomach twist into knots.

I would have been terrified of her questions, her judgment, or the reminders of the messy chaos we left behind. But running my fingers against the soft fabric of Bael’s shirt, feeling the unyielding weight of his arm around me, the fear simply isn’t there.

From the hallway, the quiet footsteps of the maids echo as they move toward the front entrance to escort her inside.

"She’s here," I murmur against his shoulder.

"Hm," Bael responds, his fingers pressing slightly into my waist. "I know."

He just holds me steady, letting me take his strength as our own.

To keep myself grounded, I look away from the doorway and let my gaze drift across the sitting room. On the dark wood mantlepiece, two new additions catch the morning light.

The photographer had delivered them yesterday.

The first is a large, elegant frame housing the new family portrait. Grandmother sits perfectly straight in the center, her hands resting on her laps, flanked by Bael and me standing right behind her. I look happy in it—tired, but genuinely settled.

But it’s the smaller frame set on the side table that catches my breath.

It’s just the two of us, taken right at the end of the session when we thought the camera was off. Bael is looking down at me, his face softened by a rare, private smile, while my hand is tucked securely into his.

There is no mistaking what that photo represents. It isn’t a corporate announcement or a strategic alliance.

It is a home.

The double doors of the sitting room click open.

"Master Wuchen, Young Master," one of the maids announces softly, stepping aside. "Miss Li has arrived."

I lift my head from Bael’s shoulder and look up.

Standing at the threshold of the sitting room...

...is Feifei.