She bit him, but he didn’t hide his lips. She bit his brow and didn’t knit. He didn’t hum a word in a row. It seems that even if she bit him, it would be better than being bitten by her. The bloody breath of her heart blended with each other and she couldn’t tell whether it was her or him.
His body is as hot as a bomb, and he is about to burst into rage. He is like a wounded beast tearing at her clothes and biting her skin. His fingers are eager to