Shocking! A three-year-old brings his aloof mother to their door.

Back in his office, Mo Ye locked the door behind him.

He supported He Wanqing from behind by the waist, causing her to lean forward slightly, her high heels making a soft sound on the carpet.

Her face was flushed, and her heart was pounding like a rabbit's.

Her eyelashes trembled gently, like a butterfly fluttering its wings.

Shall we begin?

She asked herself quietly in her heart.

This was the first time she had ever done something like this in the office, and she was so nervous that her palms were sweating.

Mo Ye walked to the desk, gathered the scattered documents on the table to one side, and then took a book from the bookshelf next to him and placed it under the seat where He Wanqing was about to sit.

Then, he grabbed her waist with both hands, gently lifted her, and placed her on the table.

He Wanqing looked down at her desk—the place where she usually signed documents and approved contracts—now the place where she sat and waited.

She bit her lip, her voice barely audible, "Mo Ye... let's not do this, okay? Tonight, tonight, okay?"

Mo Ye lowered his head and gently kissed her lips, then straightened up, looking into her eyes with a hint of inquiry in his voice: "What's wrong? Doesn't your sister like it?"

He Wanqing's fingers unconsciously twisted on the edge of the table, her knuckles turning slightly white. She lowered her eyes, avoiding his gaze, her voice soft and gentle: "I don't like being in the office..."

Mo Ye looked at her slightly furrowed brows and tightly pursed lips, and nodded.

He should respect her opinion.

He bent down again, picked her up from the table, and made sure she was standing steadily on the ground.

He Wanqing nestled in his arms, her face pressed against his chest, her voice muffled and tinged with apology: "Mo Ye... I'm sorry."

Mo Ye reached out and gently tapped her head, the force so light it was like flicking away a speck of dust.

He lowered his head, his lips brushing against the top of her head, his voice soft but every word earnest: "You must never say sorry to me."

He Wanqing snorted and snuggled closer to him, her voice carrying a hint of coquettishness: "You're going to beat me up."

Mo Ye smiled, reached out and pinched her little cheek, which was soft and fluffy, like squeezing a ball of cotton candy.

"So how are you going to punish me?"

He Wanqing poked her chin with her index finger, tilted her head and thought for a while, but couldn't come up with a solution. Her voice was muffled as she said, "I haven't thought of anything yet."

Mo Ye picked her up from the ground, turned around and walked into the lounge, gently placing her on the bed.

He bent down and kissed her forehead: "Think it over before you tell your husband."

He Wanqing hummed in agreement and obediently closed her eyes.

Mo Ye straightened up, took off his shirt, revealing his lean chest and well-defined abs, then took off his shoes, put on slippers, and went into the bathroom to wash his feet.

He Wanqing lay on the bed, turned to her side, and watched his back as he entered the bathroom, swallowing hard.

She felt a tickling sensation in her heart, as if countless ants were crawling in her veins.

She sat up in bed, put on her slippers, walked over, hugged him from behind, and rubbed her face against his bare back.

Then she reached out her delicate hand and groped his chest, her fingertips sliding from his collarbone to his lower abdomen, and then from his abdominal muscles to his waist.

Mo Ye looked down at the hands that were roaming over his body and smiled.

He turned around and began to help her undress.

The shirt buttons were undone one by one, and the zipper of the pencil skirt was pulled down from top to bottom, the fabric slipping off her body to reveal her fair skin.

When He Wanqing was stripped down to only her underwear and panties, she suddenly realized—how come she only had these clothes left?

Her face flushed bright red, and she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of embarrassment and urgency, "You bad boy!"

Mo Ye looked down at his chest, where a pair of fair and soft hands were covering his abdominal muscles, their fingertips counting each muscle individually.

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, his gaze shifting from her hand to her face, his eyes carrying a hint of "Look at you, you still have the nerve to talk about me."

He Wanqing followed his gaze downwards and realized that her hand was still stuck to him, as if glued on.

She turned her head away a little guiltily, but only for a second before turning back.

Her gaze slid from his defined abs to his taut waistline, from his waistline to his broad shoulders, and then back from his shoulders to his abs.

She swallowed.

She loves it.

She reached out and pushed hard.

Mo Ye was caught off guard and fell backward onto the bed.

He Wanqing flipped herself onto him, straddling his body, her hands on his chest, looking down at him.

Mo Ye placed his hand on her waist, his voice low, with a hint of suppressed laughter: "Stop playing around, or I'll lose control."

There were two little people fighting in He Wanqing's heart.

The sentimental person said, "This is the lounge, not the office, so it's okay."

The rational little man said, "Sure, go ahead."

Her hand rested on his chest, feeling the undercurrent within him through his heartbeat.

She bit her lip, and finally spoke, her voice soft and gentle, as if trying to convince herself:

"This is a lounge, it's for resting... not an office."

Mo Ye smiled as he looked at her conflicted yet earnest expression, her little face flushed red.

He nodded, his voice gentle: "Okay."

After saying that, he removed his hand from her waist, preparing to roll over and pin her down.

He Wanqing immediately placed her small hands on his chest to stop him, her voice both urgent and shy: "No, I want to be on top!"

Mo Ye lay back down, put his hands behind his head, and looked at her.

His lips curled up, and his eyes were filled with laughter, as if he were watching an interesting little theater.

He held her slender waist, his voice low and filled with indulgent pampering: "Okay, move yourself."

He Wanqing's face flushed red instantly, her voice rising several octaves in a mixture of urgency and embarrassment: "What did you say?!"

The two quickly became frank with each other.

Clothes were scattered on the carpet beside the bed, a white shirt pressed against a black pencil skirt, like two withered flowers.

Mo Ye's gaze swept over her carefully, from her eyebrows and eyes to her collarbone, from her collarbone to her waistline, from her waistline to her legs, and then from her legs back to her face.

He had only one thought in his mind: How could this person be so beautiful?

A beauty that is flawless from every angle; every inch of it seems to have been meticulously sculpted by God.

Suddenly remembering something, He Wanqing asked, "What about that one?"

Mo Ye was taken aback: "What?"

Then he remembered, slapped his forehead, and a look of annoyance appeared on his face: "I forgot to bring it."

He Wanqing looked at him, her voice tinged with panic: "What if we don't have that?"