Against the Algorithm

Chapter 47: More Than Enough

He didn't say a word. He just walked them both right to the bed and tackled her gently onto the mattress, the bounce of the comforter muffling her squeal as he shifted above her, straddling just enough to pin her without weight. And then his hands attacked. Fingers digging into her sides, teasing the spot right beneath her ribs and just at her lower back where he knew she was most ticklish.

Yao shrieked and lost it. "No— S-Sicheng, stop! That's cheating! You hooligan—!"

But he just grinned down at her, utterly focused, unbothered as her peals of laughter spilled between gasps and squirming attempts to escape. Her hair fanned out over the pillow, her eyes watery with joy and fluster, and her limbs a flurry of motion as she tried to push his hands away. "You throw things at me," he said evenly, fingers still tormenting her sides, "you deal with the consequences."

"I—can't—breathe—!"

"Should've thought about that before you used a pillow as a weapon."

She bucked under him, breathless, tears pricking the corners of her eyes from laughter as her voice cracked between squeaks and gasps. "You—you're evil!"

"I'm motivated," he corrected smoothly, hands finally slowing as he leaned in close, bracing himself above her. "And next time you throw something at me?"

Her breathing was still ragged, laughter spent, eyes glassy and wide.

He brushed his lips across her flushed cheek and whispered, "Pick something lighter."

Yao made a wounded sound.

And from the floor outside her door, Da Bing let out a long, exhausted sigh, as if to say not again.

Yao lay beneath him, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts, her face flushed a deep, rose-tinted red as her laughter slowly faded into quiet breaths. Her braid was fanned out across the pillow, her lips parted as she tried to gather her breath, and her hands rested limply against his chest—no longer pushing, but not pulling him closer either.

And then it hit him.

Lu Sicheng froze.

Completely.

His eyes, sharp and golden, flicked downward for the first time in several seconds—and what he saw made the breath catch in his own throat. His body was settled fully against hers, lying between her parted thighs, pressed in close, almost too close, the weight of him cradled by the way her legs curved naturally around him. She was wearing that soft, flowing skirt, the one that had fluttered lightly when she walked, and now it was bunched slightly around her hips, leaving just enough space—just enough pressure—to make his entire frame tighten.

He didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Her flushed skin. Her scent. Her softness beneath him. The warmth. The trust.

And then—

His gaze dropped lower. There, nestled against her skin, where the collar of her top had shifted, was the medallion he had commissioned just for her. The one that now rested right over her heart.

White gold.

The Lu family crest etched in its center. Encircled by delicate, shimmering rubies. His mark—not one hidden, not one temporary—but one worn against her skin in plain view, quiet and permanent. His mother's design. His commission. His gift. His meaning.

A subtle weight settled low in his chest.

Yao shifted slightly beneath him, her breath still quick, her hands finally beginning to move again as her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt. She blinked up at him, eyes still wide and hazy, unaware of the storm slowly building behind his eyes. "Cheng-ge?" she whispered, voice soft and breathy.