Li Hua nodded and shifted toward the cauldron. "My spiritual energy has recovered but my body is still weak—"
Before she could finish her thought, much less make her request, Mo Xing had already moved. He settled behind her with fluid grace, his legs bracketing her thighs, chest pressed against her back. The sudden intimate contact made her breath catch in her throat. His warmth enveloped her like a living shadow, and she could feel his breath stirring the hair near her ear.
How am I supposed to concentrate, she thought, painfully aware of every point where their bodies touched.
"Don't stop, my Little Tempest." The words came out hoarser than his usual smooth tone, his breath hot against her ear. The way he said it—half command, half barely contained desire—sent a shiver down her spine.
