Against the Algorithm

Chapter 47: More Than Enough

She didn't answer—couldn't—not right away. Because her heart was hammering in her chest and her body was humming with sensations she'd never experienced before, too wrapped up in the warmth of him, the overwhelming presence of him pressed so closely against her. But she didn't pull away. Not even a little. And that, to him, was everything.

He lowered his head again, pressing a kiss just beneath her jaw—slower now, softer—his hand still grounding her, not urging, not demanding, just there. "Whenever you want me to stop," he whispered, lips brushing her skin, "say the word."

And she—voice small, trembling, but sure—barely managed to breathe out, "I... I don't want you to stop."

That was all he needed. His breath was slow and even, but inside, Lu Sicheng was holding on to a thread—because everything about this moment demanded more than restraint. It demanded reverence. She was beneath him, flushed and trembling, her wide hazel eyes fixed on his, not from fear but from the weight of what she was trusting him with.

Herself.

All of her innocence, all of her uncertainty, all of her want—quiet, unspoken, but so real. He moved with deliberate care, brushing a knuckle down the side of her cheek, then leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. Nothing rushed. Nothing hard. Just a connection—steady and grounding. Then he murmured against her skin, voice low and rough, laced with warmth and something deeper. "I'm going to push your skirt up now," he said quietly, his hand sliding slowly from her waist down to her thigh. "Okay?"

She nodded, breath catching, her fingers still clutching his shirt.

"I need to hear you, Yao-er." he whispered again, eyes locked to hers.

"O–Okay." she whispered, voice barely a breath.

His hand slid beneath the soft fabric, slowly pushing the skirt up past her thighs, careful not to startle her, his fingers never brushing anywhere they shouldn't. When he got the hem up to her hips, he leaned in again, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth as his hand shifted to cradle the back of her knee. "I'm going to guide your leg around me," he said next, his voice soothing, low. "Just so I can feel you closer."

"Okay." she breathed, a blush rising high on her cheeks.

He lifted her leg slowly, wrapping it around his waist, her foot settling lightly at the base of his spine. He adjusted his own body with measured precision, letting the pressure of her cotton-covered core press against the hardness straining behind his jeans. Then he rocked into her—slow, shallow, controlled.

Yao gasped, the sound breaking in her throat as her head tilted back, eyes fluttering. The contact was overwhelming, the friction sparking along her nerves in ways she'd never felt, never imagined. It was still clothed, still safe—but intimate in a way that stole the breath from her lungs.

His hand returned to her hip, steadying her, grounding her. "You're doing so well," he whispered against her temple, voice almost reverent. "You feel... incredible." Another rock of his hips. Another soft, muffled whimper from her lips. "Still okay?" he asked, holding her gaze even as he moved against her in that slow, grinding rhythm that made her thighs tighten around him.

She nodded quickly. "Y-Yeah. I'm okay..." Her voice was shaking, her hands still latched onto his shirt and hair like he was the only thing keeping her together. And he was. Because in that moment, she was his and she trusted him to hold her through every new feeling he awakened. And he would. Step by step.

The pace shifted—not by accident, not in haste, but with purpose.

Sicheng's hips ground into her with more pressure now, each thrust just a little firmer, more deliberate, the tension in his body winding tight with every movement. The friction between them—still clothed but searing—was dragging both of them into a rhythm they couldn't pull away from.