Chapter 103 I Just Want to Stay Home with My Little Ancestor

The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows over the two people embracing.

Lu Er sat comfortably on Song Jingmo’s strong thighs, his cheek pressed against his warm chest.

He tilted his head slightly, blinking his watery, peach-blossom eyes, and asked softly, “It’s been more than three months… how did the check-up go?”

Song Jingmo reached out and gently stroked Lu Er’s delicate face with his fingertips. “The results are very good.”

Looking into Lu Er’s sparkling eyes, the corners of his lips curved into a meaningful smile.

His voice lowered, magnetic and seductive: “That’s why I can… bully you without restraint.”

The last few words were spoken almost right into his ear.

The warmth made Lu Er shiver slightly.

Yet, instead of being overjoyed, Lu Er pouted and poked Song Jingmo’s firm chest with his index finger in a small act of protest.

“Good results, and you still brush me off?” he complained softly.

“You always just taste a little, never fully… leaving me hanging. Do you have no interest in me, that’s why you never let me have any?”

The more Lu Er spoke, the more justified he felt, his eyes watering slightly—a picture of a little wife feeling neglected.

Song Jingmo held his fidgeting fingers. “You just came back from Africa and went through the whole Ye Qingge situation. You’ve gone tens of hours without rest—your body is at its most exhausted.”

“I was worried that if you pushed yourself, your body wouldn’t take it. Don’t overthink it.”

He gently brushed his nose and asked, teasingly, “So who’s more impatient? Hmm? More impatient than me?”

Lu Er turned to face him, sitting on his lap with his arms wrapped around his neck, burying his face in his neck.

His voice muffled, tinged with a sob: “Song Jingmo… you’re really good to me.”

Recalling the painful experience six years ago, he couldn’t help but complain: “Six years ago, I was sick for over a week, aching all over. My mom even misunderstood me, thinking I’d done something bad, and kicked me out while scolding me for ages.”

He was young then, experiencing something like that for the first time, still burning with fever.

Being scolded by his mother indiscriminately left him feeling wronged and helpless; even now, thinking about it made his chest ache.

Though Lu Er spoke vaguely, Song Jingmo understood fully, and his heart ached sharply.

He hugged him tightly, voice full of remorse and tenderness: “I’m sorry, Er Er. I was such a jerk back then, didn’t notice you were unwell.”

Back then, he had been so furious at his bluntness and that bank card, he had lost his reason, only hurting him with cold words, completely unaware of his discomfort.

Now, thinking back, Lu Er’s pale face and occasional unease weren’t entirely out of guilt or fear.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?” Song Jingmo’s voice was hoarse with guilt. “Even if you just acted a little spoiled, I would have forgiven you for anything.”

At that age, liking someone meant having no principles.

Lu Er’s voice wavered with tears: “I was scared of you back then. You said I was disgusting. I thought I had ruined you… I felt so guilty I didn’t dare come to you.”

“I never felt ruined,” Song Jingmo closed his eyes, resting his chin on his head. “I was just furious at that bank card, thinking you were trying to buy me off… like paying for a prostitute.”

Looking back, he admitted he had been both stupid and arrogant.

Someone who wouldn’t even spend a bottle of water was willing to give a card to make amends. That had been Lu Er’s clumsy way of showing care and apologizing.

“I regret being so headstrong and foolish back then. Just because of that little pride, I trapped myself in loneliness for six years.”

“If I could do it all over, I’d take your card, shamelessly cling to you… stick to you. If one day isn’t enough, a month. If a month isn’t enough, a year.”

“One day, I’ll make you completely mine.”

The last words were whispered almost into his earlobe, scorching and possessive.

Lu Er’s heart raced, his whole body going weak, the previous sadness and grievance thrown far away.

His eyes glimmered with wet allure. He moved closer, pressing his nose to his, voice soft and sweet:

“So… Doctor Song… can you make me yours now?”

His words were a spark, igniting Song Jingmo’s long-suppressed desire.

His gaze darkened, brimming with overwhelming lust and deep affection.

Without hesitation, he scooped him up horizontally and strode toward the bedroom.

As his body sank into the soft mattress, Lu Er’s heart thumped wildly.

Song Jingmo’s tall frame loomed over him, his fiery kisses raining down—both dominant and gentle, impossible to resist.

In the flurry of passion, he lifted slightly.

Breathing heavily, voice hoarse: “Er Er… where did you put it?”

Lu Er’s cheeks turned scarlet, his gaze darting away, toes curling.

He buried her face in the pillow, murmuring faintly: “Why are you asking me… about… this kind of thing…”

Song Jingmo chuckled lowly, amused by his shy reaction, tone indulgent: “You stayed home today, prepared a candlelight dinner, took those pictures… wasn’t it for this?”

Lu Er: “!!!”

He felt utterly mortified, like a peeled shrimp, completely exposed.

He vaguely pointed toward the bedside drawer.

Song Jingmo opened it, then gently covered it again, soothing him patiently.

“Er Er, I love you.”

He repeated it over and over, controlled and tender: “Okay?”

Lu Er tilted his head and kissed his throat.

This made Song Jingmo abandon his last bit of restraint. His broad hands slid over his bare back.

Lu Er arched instinctively, peach-blossom eyes brimming with physiological tears, long lashes damp and sticking together.

His natural reaction made Song Jingmo chuckle lowly.

“Er Er… you’ve been so good these six years~”

It was only him, no one else.

So innocent, so pure… he truly loved it.

Lu Er sobbed softly, fingers weakly clutching the sheets beneath him.

Outside, the night was pitch dark. Song Jingmo lifted him: “Do you want to eat a bit more?”

The food from earlier had already been burned off by four hours of exercise.

Lu Er was too tired to even move his fingers, burying his face in Song Jingmo’s sweat-dampened neck.

He whimpered softly: “I want to shower… sleep… so tired…”

Song Jingmo kissed his sweat-damp forehead and reddened eyes tenderly: “Alright, I’ll carry you to shower.”

The next morning, Lu Er woke up sore all over.

Groggily opening his eyes, he was surprised to see that Song Jingmo hadn’t gone to work as usual, but sat at the bedside, quietly reading a book.

“Song Jingmo?” His voice still hoarse and lazy from the night before. “Why didn’t you go to work?”

He put the book down, gaze gentle, and smoothed the messy strands of hair on his forehead: “I was afraid you’d be uncomfortable. I took two days off to stay home with you.”

Lu Er’s heart swelled with sweetness, but he habitually complained, a hint of coquettishness: “I’m not that delicate.”

Song Jingmo played along, smiling in his eyes, leaning down to peck his lips softly:

“Okay, it’s me who doesn’t want to work.”

“I just want to stay home with my little ancestor.”