Chapter 29: The “Overcrowded” Changing Room of the Hot Spring Trip

Her voice pressed against my ear, very low, so that only I could hear.

“What’s so good about their bodies?”

“You’re only allowed to look at me.”

I froze for a moment, and my face suddenly began to burn.

I wasn’t looking at anyone else, but she wouldn’t listen to my explanation.

She pulled me into the Changing Room.

Her fingers pinched the first button of my shirt, and her voice was muffled behind my ear.

“I’ll help you change.”

The buttons were undone one by one.

Her movements were very light, her fingertips occasionally brushing against my skin, and every touch made my whole body tremble.

Her breath spilled onto the back of my neck, warm and rhythmic.

However, her breathing also seemed to grow heavier.

It wasn’t the steady rhythm from before; it carried a hint of urgency, as if she were enduring something.

“Don’t shake.”

Her voice carried a smile, but her breath was unsteady.

The shirt was pulled down, and my arms were slipped out of the sleeves.

The slightly cool air of the Changing Room pressed against my skin, causing a fine layer of goosebumps to rise.

Her fingers slowly slid from my shoulders to my arms, then from my arms back to my shoulders.

Her fingertips brushed across my shoulder blades and stopped for a moment.

“Here,” her voice dropped even lower, her lips almost touching my skin, “you were ticklish here when we bathed last time.”

I bit my lip, not daring to make a sound.

Someone was talking next door, and someone was laughing.

Her fingers didn’t move away; instead, they lightly drew a circle on my shoulder blade.

Her breath was pressed against the back of my neck, sometimes heavy, sometimes light, as if she had been burned by something.

The fabric of the swimsuit was pulled over my head, sliding past my shoulders, chest, and waist.

She helped me pull the straps into place, her fingertips brushing across my collarbone, not withdrawing immediately.

She stopped there and pressed down lightly.

“This Rabbit Swimsuit,” her voice was muffled behind me, a bit hoarse, “I spent a long time picking it out.”

Then, the straps were adjusted, the clasp was fastened, and the hem of the skirt was smoothed out.

But she didn’t step back.

Her fingers slowly slid from my collarbone to my shoulder, then from my shoulder to my arm, and back again.

Her fingertips brushed against my skin, very slowly, as if she were touching something very precious.

Her breathing became heavier, pressed against my ear, one breath after another, each one longer than the last.

“Xiao Yan,” my voice was trembling, “I’m… I’m dressed now, right?”

“Not yet.”

Her voice carried a smile, but her breath was completely disordered, a hint of panting mixed into her self-righteous tone.

“What’s not…”

“The straps,” she said.

They were clearly already in place.

But her fingers pinched the straps and adjusted them again, her fingertips sliding from my shoulder to my back, slowly tracing the pattern of the straps.

The palm of her hand pressed against my bare skin, frighteningly hot.

“Is it done?”

“Wait a moment.”

Her fingers wrapped from my back to the front, stopping at my ribs, brushing against them lightly.

I trembled all over and bit my lip.

Her own breath hitched for a moment, as if she had been struck by something, and then she exhaled more deeply, the air spilling onto my neck and making my skin go numb with heat.

“It’s a bit crooked here,” she said.

Her fingertips drew circles on my ribs, one circle, two circles.

Her palm was pressed against my skin, warm, and every circle she drew made me want to hide, yet I couldn’t escape.

Her fingers began to shake, a very light trembling that traveled from her fingertips to my skin.

“Is… is there anywhere else…”

“The back.”

Her voice was very low, carrying a hint of raspy hoarseness.

Her fingers slid from my ribs to my back, her palm pressing against my spine as it slowly slid upward.

One section, two sections, three sections.

Her fingertips stopped between my shoulder blades, pressed lightly, then slowly slid down to rest on the side of my waist.

Her breath was pressed against the back of my neck, getting heavier and heavier, like the panting after a long-distance run.

“It’s crooked here, too.”

As she spoke, her fingers gave a light pinch at the side of my waist.

The tip of her nose brushed against the back of my neck, and her lips accidentally touched my skin.

Her own breathing missed a beat.

“Mmph…”

I covered my mouth, the sound leaking through the gaps in my fingers.

“Don’t move.”

Her lips were almost pressed against my ear, her voice incredibly hoarse.

“I haven’t finished dressing you yet.”

‘But I’m already dressed.’

‘She’s lying.’

However, I couldn’t remain standing.

Her fingers slid from the side of my waist to my thigh, reaching under the hem of the skirt to smooth it out.

Her fingertips were like snakes, brushing against the skin of my thigh, very slowly.

Her lips were pressed against my ear, her breath heavy and hot, hitting my auricle over and over.

“Is it done?”

My voice was shaking.

“Wait a moment.”

Her fingers slid from my thigh back to the side of my waist, her palm pressed against my skin as she slowly moved up, stopping at the lower edge of the top.

Her fingertips brushed against it lightly, then withdrew.

Her chest was pressed against my back, and her heartbeat traveled through two layers of fabric — thump, thump, thump, thump — just as fast as mine.

“Xiao Yan —”

“It’s a bit tight here,” she said, her voice muffled in my ear, carrying a tremor she hadn’t even noticed herself.

“Let me adjust it for you.”

Her fingers wrapped from my back to the front, her fingertips stopping at the side of my chest.

She lightly pulled the fabric outward and then let go.

Her fingertips brushed across my skin with a faint, lingering pressure.

Her breath caught in her throat, letting out a very soft sound that seemed like a sigh.

My legs finally went completely weak, and I leaned back against her.

She caught me steadily.

But her body was also burning.

Where it touched my back, it felt like a ball of fire was blazing.

“Stand properly.”

Her voice was low, carrying a pant.

“It wouldn’t be good if others saw.”

Someone pulled a curtain next door, and the sound of footsteps approached and then faded away.

Her lips brushed against my earlobe, lightly taking it into her mouth and grinding it with her teeth.

She was the first to let out a gasp, a soft one, as if she couldn’t help herself.

“Mmph…”

I bit my lip, the sound squeezed out of my throat like a small animal whimpering.

“A rabbit’s cry.”

Her voice carried a smile, but her breath was a mess.

The tip of her nose rubbed against the back of my neck; after rubbing, she didn’t leave, but pressed against my skin and took a few breaths.

Her fingers slid from my chest to the side of my waist, and then from my waist to my back, her palm pressed against my skin as it slowly moved down.

She stopped at the small of my back and pressed lightly.

“Here,” her lips were pressed against my ear, her voice soft and hoarse, every word trembling, “it’s crooked here, too.”

‘It clearly isn’t crooked.’

Her fingers drew circles on the small of my back, one circle, two circles, three circles.

My knees were so weak I could hardly stay upright; I relied entirely on her support to keep from sliding down.

Her breathing grew heavier and heavier, pressed against my ear, as if being scorched by something.

Every gasp carried a subtle tremor.

Her lips moved from my earlobe to behind my ear, touching it lightly once, then again.

Then she opened her mouth slightly, taking the skin behind my ear into her mouth, her tongue brushing against it.

Her own breathing suddenly seized, as if she were burned by her own action, and she let out an extremely soft gasp muffled in her throat.

“Mmm…”

I covered my mouth, the sound muffled in my palm.

“Keep it down.”

Her lips were pressed against my ear; I could feel the vibration with every word she spoke.

Her voice was as hoarse as if it had been rubbed by sandpaper.

“Others will hear you.”

There were indeed other people in the Changing Room.

Someone was drying their hair, the sound a constant drone.

Someone was talking, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

My face was so hot it felt like it was about to ignite.

I bit my lip, not daring to make a sound.

The tip of her nose slid from behind my ear to my neck, rubbing against it before stopping.

Her breath spilled onto my skin, hot and itchy, sometimes heavy and sometimes light, as if she couldn’t control the rhythm.

Her lips pressed against me, lightly taking me in, her tongue brushing against me.

Her own gasps were muffled against my neck, short and hurried.

“Xiao Yan…”

My voice was like the buzzing of a mosquito.

“Hmm?”

Her lips were still on my neck, not leaving.

Her voice was no longer a normal speaking voice; it carried a suppressed, soft hoarseness.

“Where… exactly is it not on right…”

She laughed.

With her lips pressed against my skin, I could feel the curve of her mouth turning up.

But her laughter was also shaking.

“Nowhere is on right.”

Her voice was very low.

Her fingers slid from the small of my back to the side of my waist, giving a light pinch.

“Here, here, and here.”

With every “here,” she gave another pinch.

My waist, my ribs, my shoulders.

The strength was neither light nor heavy, but each time it made my body shrink back.

Her own breathing grew heavier with every pinch, as if every touch made it harder for her to endure.

“You’re lying…”

My voice was trembling.

“Mm,” she nodded, her lips brushing against my earlobe, her voice hoarse and soft, “I’m lying to you.”

Her voice was very light, a self-righteous tone mixed with a pant.

After finishing speaking against my ear, she took a deep breath with her eyes closed, as if she were enduring something.

I was speechless.

Her fingers slid from the side of my waist to the front, stopping on my collarbone and slowly tracing it.

From left to right, from right to left.

Then she moved down, stopping at the edge of the swimsuit’s neckline.

Her fingers were shaking, more violently than before.

Her fingers paused at the edge of the neckline for a moment, and then she withdrew them, holding me by the waist.

Her forehead rested against the back of my head, her breath heavy and hot, detectable even through my hair.

“There.”

Her voice was muffled in my ear, so hoarse it was almost unintelligible.

“You’re dressed now.”

‘I was already dressed ages ago.’

‘She was lying.’

But her fingers still didn’t withdraw; they remained pressed against the side of my waist, her palms burning, her whole body trembling slightly.

“Is it really done?”

I asked.

“Mm.”

She nodded, but her hands didn’t move.

Her breathing hadn’t leveled out yet, hitting my neck in heavy and light bursts.

“One more touch.”

Her lips brushed against my earlobe, her voice soft and hoarse, carrying a hint of entreaty.

“Just one.”

Then her fingers slid from the side of my waist to my back, and from my back to my waist, slowly drawing a circle.

“Done.”

She withdrew her hands, her chin resting on my shoulder.

Her voice was muffled, still panting.

“It’s really done.”

She untied the knot of the scarf.

The moment the fabric slid down from my eyes, the light stung, making me squint.

She stood in front of me, looking down at me.

The light of the Changing Room was behind her, outlining her silhouette in a halo of light.

Her face was completely flushed, the tips of her ears so red they looked like they might drip blood.

Her lips were slightly parted, and her breathing hadn’t fully recovered yet.

There was a thin layer of mist in her eyes, making them frighteningly bright.

She reached out and helped tuck the hair messied by the scarf behind my ear.

Her fingertips brushed against my cheek, still trembling.

“Your face is so red.”

She smiled, her voice still a bit hoarse.

“…You did it on purpose.”

“Mm,” she nodded, not feeling guilty at all, though the roots of her ears turned even redder.

“Let’s go.”

She took my hand, her palm burning hot.

“Let’s go to the hot spring.”