Against the Algorithm

Chapter 47: More Than Enough

Yao whimpered softly, her voice catching as the fabric of her panties slid just right across her sensitive center with every roll of his hips. The sharp, wet sound of her breath mixed with the whispered gasp of his name—"Cheng-ge..."—and it shattered what little composure he had left.

He pressed his forehead to hers for a beat, trying to catch his breath, trying to center, but the way her legs tightened around him, the way she arched against his body, trembling and gasping beneath him—it was more than he'd ever allowed himself to feel.

And then it happened.

Her fingers gripped him tighter—one hand fisting his shirt, the other sliding up around the back of his neck as if she couldn't stand any space between them. She trembled beneath him, her body arching and grinding shyly with his, searching for more without words. A soft tearing sound reached his ears—her breath had caught hard, the sound half moan, half gasp—and it took him a heartbeat to realize the stitching on her skirt had given beneath the pressure of their movements, splitting slightly at the hem as her body responded to him with a desperation he hadn't expected.

He groaned low, a sound barely restrained, deep and guttural in his throat. Her name slipped past his lips like a prayer. "Yao..." Still, he didn't lose control. Not completely. Instead, with a hand still braced at her waist, he moved slowly, carefully sliding his other hand up under the hem of her shirt, palm warm as it traveled the soft curve of her stomach, inch by inch. "Tell me if I need to stop," he whispered, voice strained and thick with tension, eyes locked on hers even as he moved.

She shook her head, cheeks flushed, breath trembling. "You don't... you don't have to stop..."

His hand found the band of her bra, and then, gently—so gently—he cupped her through the fabric, his palm fitting perfectly against her breast, his thumb dragging just above the edge.

Yao gasped, her back arching, her hips rocking up to meet him again. Her leg tightened around his waist, grounding them together as she chased the pressure, the friction, the heat spiraling through her lower belly. It was happening again. That now-familiar coil—tight, aching, beautiful—twisting low in her stomach, building faster this time, stronger, her nerves already raw from memory and instinct.

Sicheng was breathing harder now, each grind of his hips growing more urgent. His mouth pressed to her neck, teeth scraping against that sensitive spot just beneath her jaw as he groaned—deep, desperate, wrecked. He could feel her softness clenching under him, could feel the way her body responded to his rhythm, his voice, his touch. And for the first time in his life— He felt himself unraveling. Right there. Fully clothed. Still in his damn jeans. Coming apart because of her. Because of the way she trusted him. Because of the way she trembled beneath him, whispered his name like it was something holy. Because this wasn't just lust. It was everything.

Yao's breath was trembling now, coming in soft, broken gasps as her fingers clenched into him—one hand tangled in his hair, the other curled tight into the back of his shirt like she needed him to stay, to anchor her against the wave building low and fast in her body. Her head tilted back against the pillow, exposing the soft line of her throat, her flushed skin glowing in the low light of the room. Her lips parted as a soft, breathy whimper slipped free—desperate and aching.

"Please..."

It wasn't loud.

It didn't have to be.

That one word—pleaded so openly, with so much trust—ripped through Sicheng like lightning.

He groaned low, deep in his chest, and pressed his hips harder into hers, grinding with a slow, powerful roll that left no space between them, just the firm pressure of his body cradled perfectly between her trembling thighs. The feel of her. The way she moved with him. The sound of her voice, breathy and broken on his name. It was undoing him. He dropped his mouth to her ear, his breath hot and heavy as he dragged his lips along the shell before his voice slipped through—low, rough, and full of unrestrained heat. "Come for me," he growled, his hips grinding deeper, firmer. "Just like this."