Dogs

Luo Zhao struggled desperately in the tide, but the more she struggled, the deeper she sank.

Her reason told her she should push him away, her pride told her she could not yield, but her body was far more honest than either.

What was ordinarily concealed beneath reason and pride—all it took was one gentle touch, and it would come fully awake.

And when Gu Chengyin pulled her into his arms in that high-handed way,

Luo Zhao's mind went completely blank. Reason had already begun to crumble,

and when reason exited the stage, instinct took its place.

And her instinct had long since been molded into the shape of Gu Chengyin.

This was the fruit that had finally ripened after one suppression after another.

Luo Zhao craved being controlled by him, craved being handled roughly by him.

In this moment, she was not the Crown Princess, not Her Highness, not the peerlessly elegant Luo Zhao.

She was merely a woman who wanted to be utterly claimed by Gu Chengyin.

These desires—on ordinary days Luo Zhao crushed them deep in her heart, so deep she dared not even face them herself.

She was the Crown Princess—the future Empress of Great Luo.

How could she harbor such shameful thoughts?

It was too humiliating, too abnormal, too unfitting for a Crown Princess's image.

So Luo Zhao suppressed them, pressed them down as hard as she could.

Pressed into the deepest, darkest corner of her heart, pretending they had never existed.

But Gu Chengyin pried that corner open.

Not with tenderness, not with sweet words, but by pulling her into his arms in the most overbearing way possible.

Then he placed his hand on the back of her neck, firmly holding her life in his grip.

To any normal person, this would have been a lethal threat—but to Luo Zhao, it became the key that unlocked that door.

Because her subconscious had always been waiting for this moment, waiting for Gu Chengyin to claim her in that most extreme fashion.

To pull her down from the pedestal of Crown Princess, to let her be a woman who could be weak, and who could also drown in desire.

Gu Chengyin's silence, in Luo Zhao's world, became a soundless scrutiny.

He must be looking at her.

Looking at this wretched version of herself.

The thought made Luo Zhao's face burn even hotter, red enough to catch fire.

She should have felt ashamed, should have wished she could crawl into a hole.

But strangely, beneath the shame hid something even more secret.

She was excited—perversely so—because he had seen her like this.

Gu Chengyin saw it.

Saw her most shameful, most disgraceful, most unspeakable side.

And since it had already been seen, there was no need to hide it anymore.

Luo Zhao opened her eyes. Her eyelids slowly rose, revealing the mist-laden eyes beneath.

That mist was not tears, but the dampness that comes only with desire.

It made her pupils shine all the brighter, like a lake after fresh rain, rippling with light.

Luo Zhao's gaze collided with Gu Chengyin's.

This time she did not flinch, did not look away—she simply stared straight at him.

Her eyes had changed. A moment ago there had been humiliation in them, shame, a trace of unwillingness at being forced.

But now, those emotions seemed to have been devoured by something, wiped clean away.

In their place was a look Gu Chengyin had never seen in her eyes before.

It was longing.

Raw, unguarded, almost ravenous longing.

"Master Tutor—"

Luo Zhao's voice was faintly hoarse, carrying a languid, honeyed depth that only came after passion.

Each word seemed scooped straight from a jar of honey—sweet and sticky, refusing to dissolve as it hung in the air.

She called him "Master Tutor," but in truth,

to Luo Zhao, Gu Chengyin was never simply her Crown Princess's tutor, nor some so-called betrothed.

Her relationship with Gu Chengyin had been sealed from the very first moment they met.

And because his hand was still wrapped around her neck, Gu Chengyin's voice carried a hint of pressure.

His tone was deeper than usual, as though forced out from the back of his throat.

"You... you want to choke me, don't you?"

As she spoke, Luo Zhao's gaze drifted from his eyes to his hand—

the hand still clasped around her neck.

Her eyes lingered on his knuckles for a breath, then returned to his face.

The corners of her lips curled upward slightly, carrying expectation, and temptation, and a plea that was almost coquettish.

Gu Chengyin's pupils contracted. Of course he caught the meaning beneath Luo Zhao's words.

The emphasis was not on "choke," but on "want."

Luo Zhao wasn't asking him why he was choking her—she was confirming something:

You want to choke me, right?

You did it on purpose, right?

You want to completely own me, right?

Luo Zhao was asking Gu Chengyin for confirmation.

Confirmation that his roughness was not accidental, but intentional.

Confirmation that his control was not a threat, but a claim.

Confirmation that the suffocation he gave her was his way of showing he cared.

Gu Chengyin suddenly felt his throat grow dry. His gaze tangled with hers.

This Her Highness's eyes no longer held the dignity of a Crown Princess, nor the reserve of a royal heir.

Only the softness and attachment a woman shows when looking at the man she loves.

But beneath that softness lay something that made his heart tremble.

"Your Highness—"

Gu Chengyin began, but stopped after the two words, as though weighing his next words, or waiting for her reaction.

Luo Zhao's reaction came faster than he expected.

When she heard "Your Highness," her brows twitched.

Not in displeasure, but in awkwardness.

The title was too formal, too distant—not what she wanted to hear in this moment.

What she wanted to hear was something more excessive, something more degrading.

Something only Gu Chengyin would call her.

Gu Chengyin was silent for a breath, and then he spoke.

"Good Doggy."

Three words, simple and plain, yet they were like a key that flung wide the half-open door buried in Luo Zhao's heart.

Her eyes lit up instantly, bright as the most radiant star in the night sky.

The corners of her lips lifted upward, spreading into a nearly reckless smile.

That smile held no shyness, no reserve—only immense satisfaction.

Then Luo Zhao reached out and took hold of the hand Gu Chengyin had placed around her neck.

Her fingers were slender and warm, covering the back of his hand, curling gently.

"You can use a little more force."

Her voice grew huskier still because of the grip on her neck, carrying a unique timbre that came only from slight pressure.

As though each word was being squeezed out from somewhere very, very deep.

When Luo Zhao said this, her gaze never left Gu Chengyin's face.

There was no shame in her eyes, no hesitation—only a devout openness.

As if what she had said was not "you can use a little more force," but "you can love me a little more."

Gu Chengyin's fingers did not move. His gaze lingered on Luo Zhao's face for a long, long time.

So long that the expectation in Luo Zhao's eyes began to fade, bit by bit, replaced by a faint whisper of unease.