Chapter 7: And You Still Say You Won’t!
He Siming’s fingertips trembled slightly as he replied, “Wait for me.”
That drug’s effects were actually lingering—hadn’t they sweated so much last night? Was it really not completely flushed out?
Jiang Rong hugged the blanket and rubbed his face against it. He was still relatively clear-headed right now; asking something like this of someone he’d only known for a short time really did make his face burn with embarrassment.
He tried hard to keep his voice down. “Then come quickly.”
The hand holding He Siming’s phone unconsciously tightened.
He hadn’t originally needed to come over today, but last night’s events had happened too suddenly, and he needed to do something to distract himself.
Xia Ruoyi, a first-year graduate student, saw He Siming return after taking the call and smiled as she asked, “Siming, can you take a look—does this logic seem a bit off?”
Xia Ruoyi spoke very gently, the smile on her face equally soft. She was favored by their professor for her professional ability and was the kind of girl many male students admired.
However, anyone with eyes could tell she liked He Siming, while he seemed oblivious. Quite a few people felt it was a pity for the brilliant goddess.
He Siming said, “Go ask Liu Xing to take a look. I’ve got something to do—I’ll head out first.”
The Liu Xing he recommended was a second-year graduate student, also Xia Ruoyi’s senior.
Sharp-eyed as she was, Xia Ruoyi noticed that the usually expressionless He Siming had sounded much gentler when he was on the phone. A flicker of jealousy rose in her heart. But then she thought—maybe it was a family member.
Her smile remained unchanged. “Then are you still coming to the dinner tonight?”
They were all working on the same project under one professor, so group dinners were common. He Siming didn’t attend very often.
He Siming declined politely and directly. “Sorry, I have something tonight, so I won’t be joining.”
Xia Ruoyi said, “That’s a shame.”
He Siming said nothing, picked up his backpack, and left straight away. Compared to the project at hand, Jiang Rong needed him more.
After He Siming left, the smile on Xia Ruoyi’s face faded by half. Being rejected wasn’t new to her. Maybe if she persisted a little longer, she could warm his heart. After all, He Siming spent a lot of time in the lab—they’d see each other often. Proximity bred opportunity.
She thought confidently: He Siming wouldn’t get away.
The five-star hotel Qin Dali had booked last night wasn’t far. After having lunch at the hotel with Jiang Rong at noon, He Siming had gone back to his off-campus place, then driven back to campus. Now he drove straight to the hotel.
A three-kilometer drive, with traffic lights, should have taken at most ten minutes—but this time, from getting in the car to getting out, it took only five. Without realizing it, he’d pressed hard on the accelerator.
Jiang Rong had curled up on the bed in a different position, lying where He Siming had slept the night before. He wrapped himself into a cocoon, inhaling the faint traces of pheromones left in the blanket and pillow. Once again, he was being tormented by his heat—today even more fiercely than yesterday, as if a ferocious tiger were hidden inside him.
Waiting for his remedy to arrive became its own form of torture, yet it was also filled with expectation.
The doorbell rang.
Only then did Jiang Rong remember that He Siming didn’t have a room card. He had to force his weak body up to open the door.
Hands and feet soft, he made his way over, opened the door, and leaned against it with one hand on the handle, barely supporting himself from collapsing.
Jiang Rong’s body trembled slightly. When he saw He Siming, all the pheromones in his body surged toward him, and Jiang Rong leaned into him.
He Siming caught him in stride, only feeling that the peach scent he’d smelled all night yesterday was even richer now.
Jiang Rong looked the same as last night—was the drug in the alcohol still at work? This didn’t look like illness. His cheeks were flushed pink again, like a tempting little peach.
As a young man, his metabolism should have been good. And they’d sweated so much yesterday—multiple times, to the point where his hair was soaked and there wasn’t a single place on his body that hadn’t sweated.
He Siming wrapped an arm around that soft, slender waist he’d held before and supported him as they walked inside. “You were fine when I left at noon, weren’t you? Is the drug acting up again? Should I take you to the hospital?”
After all, this was Ding Yan’s fault. If he hadn’t drunk that glass of alcohol, none of this would’ve happened. His words carried a trace of concern he himself didn’t notice.
Jiang Rong clung to his shoulder and shook his head. “I didn’t take any drugs. I’m in heat.”
He leaned toward He Siming’s lips, tugging at his collar. He Siming wasn’t wearing a dress shirt today, but a T-shirt. “He Siming, can you hug me, kiss me?”
He Siming hadn’t expected him to make demands the moment he walked in. “Jiang Rong, something about this isn’t right.”
Pressed against him, Jiang Rong found the T-shirt collar hard to pull and instead slipped his hands inside to hug his waist. The warmth of his fingertips burned He Siming.
Frowning, Jiang Rong explained, “I’m in heat right now. You know cats, right? Adult cats that aren’t neutered go into heat. I’m the same. I have a heat cycle too. If I don’t get your pheromones during heat, I’ll be very, very, very uncomfortable.”
He repeated the extent of his discomfort.
He Siming said, “Of course I know cats go into heat, but you’re not a small animal.”
Jiang Rong’s chest tightened with grievance, tears streaming down his face. “But I don’t want this either. There aren’t any Alphas here, and I differentiated into an Omega—and you still don’t want to help me. Wuwuwu…”
Watching Jiang Rong cling to him and cry at the drop of a hat, He Siming’s heart softened completely.
He wiped away his tears and kissed him. How could even his tears smell like peaches?
He Siming gave in. “All right. No hospital. I’ll help you—but just like last night?”
At noon, Jiang Rong hadn’t been like this at all. As for this so-called heat, he didn’t believe it. That drug was definitely problematic—it even altered a person’s state of mind.
Did he really not need to see a doctor? He Siming could feel Jiang Rong’s body trembling slightly.
The pheromones inside Jiang Rong were restless. They liked He Siming very much and wanted to merge with him.
He Siming had never thought to describe a person with the word “sensual,” yet now he wanted to use it for Jiang Rong.
Before long, another hand appeared at his waist.
Jiang Rong hadn’t left the hotel all day. After He Siming left, he’d taken a nap, wearing only a top.
Acting on instinct, he pushed He Siming onto the sofa and straddled his lap, unconsciously rubbing against him in his arms.
He Siming took a deep breath. This time, he was the one feeling uncomfortable—thoroughly teased.
“Are you sure you want to start now? Not eating dinner?”
Yesterday had been their first time, using the supplies Piaoliang had provided. He had no experience and had hurt Jiang Rong at first. Later, once he got the hang of it, they’d fallen into sync. Still, he worried whether Jiang Rong could withstand his intensity.
“But I only want to eat your pheromones,” Jiang Rong said honestly, following his heart. That was exactly what he wanted.
He Siming noticed that from yesterday to today, Jiang Rong kept repeating two words: “pheromones” and “heat.”
He felt that Jiang Rong was being controlled by the drugs right now and wasn’t very clear-headed. With a light laugh, he asked, “What do my pheromones smell like?”
Jiang Rong lowered his head and licked his Adam’s apple. “Lime. Smells good.”
The lick sent a shiver through He Siming. Jiang Rong had even used reduplication. He pressed Jiang Rong down and bit his neck in return.
Jiang Rong froze, then exposed the back of his neck to him. “Can you bite harder?”
His neck was long and elegant. He Siming’s fingertips brushed along it. He leaned in and sniffed, inhaling—the peach scent still lingered, like a freshly ripened peach showing off its tender, juicy skin, making one crave it again and again.
He placed a light kiss on Jiang Rong’s neck.
He Siming didn’t hold back his praise. “You smell great too—peach. I really like it.” He thought that maybe Jiang Rong hadn’t taken the wrong drug after all; otherwise, he would never have discovered this lively, interesting side of him. “Jiang Rong, has anyone ever told you you’re really good at this?”
Being kissed felt wonderful to Jiang Rong. He met He Siming’s deep, peach-blossom eyes—pure, without a trace of impurity. “Hm? Good at what?” As if dissatisfied with how light the kisses were, he added, “Use more force.”
He Siming lowered his head and took a big bite of the peach. “…And you still say you won’t!”
