With half of her troubles gone, Zhu Shanshan's enthusiasm immediately surged.
She sealed Yang Fan's lips with her fervent, spicy lipstick as a preparation for the feast to come.
Busy with her mouth, and her hands working tirelessly, she devoted herself to the intense emotions at play.
Just then, a knock suddenly resonated at the front door.
The two on the sofa stopped abruptly as if they had been electrocuted.
Yang Fan asked, "It's not that young master coming to find trouble, is it?"
Zhu Shanshan ground her teeth in anger, quickly tidied up her somewhat disheveled clothes, and climbed off Yang Fan's body. Fuming, she said, "You sit tight, I'll go deal with that bastard. If I don't beat him to death today, my surname isn't Zhu!"
