Chapter 4

On the second week, when Chen Mo came, he brought a small box of chocolates.

He did not even know why he had brought them. He had spotted them at the supermarket on the way over and bought them on impulse. The box had Japanese lettering on it; it looked elegant and expensive.

Jiang Tang took the box and froze for a moment.

"For me?"

"Yeah."

She opened it, looked inside, picked out one piece, and put it in her mouth, chewing slowly.

"Pretty sweet," she said. "But during treatment I can't eat too many sweets. It affects taste judgment. I'll leave these here and eat them after work."

She put the box in the drawer, then washed her hands, changed gloves, and prepared the equipment. Everything went just like last week, but this time, when Chen Mo lay down on the bed, he was less tense.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked as she squeezed lubricant into her hand.

"All right."

"Any sensation after you went home last week?"

"No."

"Did you try on your own?"

He was silent for a moment. "I did."

She looked up at him. "And?"

"Still no good."

She nodded and said nothing, continuing with the prep work.

This time the internal exam was quicker. She pressed with her fingers a few times and said it was fine, then started removing her own clothes.

This time Chen Mo did not turn his head away.

He watched her movements, watched her peel off the white treatment gown and reveal the body beneath.

It was the same underwear, white and tight, cutting shallow red marks into her skin.

She noticed his gaze and said nothing. She just crawled to his side and started the first stage of treatment.

This time her movements were more natural than before.

When her lips touched his skin, she could feel him tremble lightly, but he did not pull away.

Slowly she moved lower, using her lips, her tongue, the inside of her mouth to stimulate him bit by bit.

His response came faster than last time. In less than five minutes, he was already fully aroused.

She lifted her head to look at him.

"Good response today."

His face was a little red, but he said nothing.

She sat up, squeezed on some lubricant, spread it over herself, and then straddled him.

This time she didn't move right away. Instead she sat on him and looked at his face.

"Look at me," she said.

He raised his head and met her eyes.

"When the treatment starts, keep looking at me," she said. "Don't close your eyes, and don't look away. Watch my expression, watch my body's reaction. That makes the stimulation work better."

As she spoke, she slowly lowered herself.

He could feel the process of her body taking him in, inch by inch, little by little.

Her expression changed with it, her brows drawing together slightly, her lips parting, her breathing growing heavier.

She could feel the tightness deep inside him, feel it opening her up and entering her.

She started to move.

"Look at me," she gasped. "Look at me..."

He watched her face.

It was flushed red, the color spreading from her cheeks down her neck and to her chest.

Her gaze had gone a little unfocused, her pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted, the tip of her tongue licking at her lower lip every so often.

A fine sheen of sweat had begun to gather on her forehead, tiny beads of moisture glittering under the light.

Her hands braced against his chest as her body rose and fell.

With every movement, the softness of her breasts swayed with her, rocking in front of his eyes.

He could see something hardening beneath the thin fabric, pushing out and rubbing against the cloth.

"Touch..." She caught his hand and pressed it to her chest. "Touch here..."

He felt that little point. Hard, small, brushing against his palm. She let out a soft cry and her body trembled, but her pace only grew faster.

"Yes... just like that..." Her voice came in broken breaths. "Do you feel it...? Inside me... it's moving..."

He felt it.

Deep in her body, each contraction seemed to answer his touch, answer his movements.

In his arms, on top of him, she was completely open, completely taking him in.

He could see every change in her expression, hear every gasp, feel every tremor.

"Almost..." she cried out. "I'm almost there... Harder... harder..."

He thrust harder. He used every bit of strength he had. That sensation surged up from deep inside, building, building, and then--

Still nothing.

He was panting, drenched in sweat. She was panting too, her body still trembling lightly, taking a long time before it gradually settled.

She got off him, knelt to one side, and lowered her head, breathing hard for a long while.

Then she looked up at him.

"This is more serious than I thought," she said, her voice still a little shaky. "In a level-three obstruction, you're one of the most stubborn cases. The final link in the nerve conduction chain has completely broken down."

She picked up the aspirator, took a sample from him, and tasted it.

"The concentration is even higher than last week." She set the aspirator down. "The fluid can reach the doorway, but it just can't get out. It's like there's a door that's always shut."

He lay there and looked at her.

"Then what do we do?"

She was silent for a moment, then said, "Change the approach. Next time you come, I'll try a different position, a different angle, a different kind of stimulation. Also, next time you come, you can bring something with you."

"What kind of thing?"

"Something that helps you relax," she said. "Some people need visual stimulation, some people need auditory stimulation, some people need a particular kind of touch. Think about it: what can make you completely relax, stop thinking about anything, and sink all the way into it?"

He thought for a long time, then said, "Music."

"What kind of music?"

"Piano pieces. Chopin."

She nodded and made a note on the tablet.

"Okay. Next time you come, bring headphones and your music. We'll try again."