Page 41 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

Ting-zhi struggled to remember where his father was, “Ancestors.” he managed. His father was away on a trip to their ancestral home to thank the ancestors, “Rites.”

“You. Go away.” He thought he said it loudly enough, but it came out as a weak croak.

Yun-si didn’t go away. Of course she didn’t. Stubborn woman.

“Go away.” He tried again but the rasp was muffling his words. His vision blurred at the edges. Everything felt too hot, too tight. He tried pushing at her to make his point but nearly fell.

She was trying to help him stand. Her small hands under his arm, around his waist. Too close. She smelled like peach blossoms. Why did she always smell like peach blossoms?

“Hold on,” she was saying, voice tight with worry. “Just a few more steps. I’ll get you to your bed and then fetch the physician.”

Hold on. Right. He was holding on. Barely.

The drug that was slipped into his wine at the palace was turning his loins to fire. Every nerve ending screamed. And Si-er, sweet Si-er with her careful concern and gentle hands, was the worst torture of all.

They made it through his door. Across the room. Nearly to the bed.

Then her foot caught on the edge of the floor carpet.

She fell backward.

He fell with her, unable to catch himself. His weight crushed her into the bed, and her sharp gasp cut through the haze in his mind.

No. No no no no no.

He tried to push up, to get away from her softness, her cool skin. But his arms wouldn’t cooperate. Everything was heat and need and her scent everywhere.

Something wet dripped onto his cheeks.

Tears.

He was crying. The humiliation of it burned almost as hot as the aphrodisiac raging through his veins.

“Zhi-zhi?” Her voice cracked, held the barest hint of a panicked sob. “Zhi-zhi, are you okay? Please don’t scare me. I’ll go get a physician now.”

Must send her away.

The thought was distant. Drowning.

But her scent, that sweet peach fragrance, slammed into him as the aphrodisiac raced through his veins. His face pressed into the curve of her neck and before he could stop himself, he breathed her in. Slowly, just breathing in her scent. Slowly, uncontrollably, his mouth opened against her throat to taste more of her.

He began softly, sucking at the side of her throat, so gently that it was barely there.Just a little, he told himself, even as his body screamed for more.Just a little.But the side of her throat was so close to her ear, and his lips moved there because it was the most natural thing in the world. He nibbled at her ears, andfelt a tremor pass through her body. Then her face. Her eyes, Her nose. Then down again, desperate and seeking.

His hand slid higher, over the curve of her breast, and even through the layers of silk, he felt her softness. He cradled her breasts, kneading it, caressing it, until he could feel her peaks stiffen. And he heard Yun-si whimper.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, his back. Not pushing away. Holding on.

He made a sound against her skin. Half groan, half sob.

He moved lower, desperate to feel her breasts with his lips, seeking more of her skin. But a sharp jerk in his scalp stopped him.

His hair was pulled tight, caught in her ornaments.

The pain carved reason into the muddled fog of his mind.

Stop.

Stop.