Chapter 130 I’m Not Old at All

“Click.” The hotel room door closed behind them, and Song Jingmo locked it.

Lu Er felt the world spin around him. Before he could even let out a scream, Song Jingmo had securely lifted him up.

The next second, his hips landed on the narrow little cabinet by the entrance, the kind used for keys and ornaments.

The top was very narrow—less than thirty centimeters wide.

Sitting there, most of his hips hung off the edge, leaving him completely unbalanced.

Startled, he let out a soft gasp and immediately wrapped his long legs tightly around Song Jingmo’s lean waist.

“What are you doing? It’s too narrow! What if I fall?”

Lu Er was both shocked and embarrassed, his arms wrapping around Song Jingmo’s neck.

Song Jingmo, pleased by this display of complete dependence, supported his hips firmly with one hand, pressing him closer to him.

With the other hand, he slid into his slightly open down jacket, pressing precisely against his waist over his thin shirt.

His warm lips, filled with urgency and a hint of punishment, pressed onto Lu Er’s graceful collarbone.

He bit gently, leaving a subtle sting and a tingling, wet sensation.

“Mmm…”

Lu Er shrank his neck, his breathing immediately uneven.

But he quickly remembered something and tried to turn his head away.

Pressing against Song Jingmo’s solid chest, he panted lightly: “Wait… wait a moment.”

Song Jingmo lifted his head in dissatisfaction, his deep eyes still rolling with lingering desire and confusion at being interrupted.

Lu Er pointed to his face, then to his cashmere sweater, which was already at risk of getting ruined.

His tone was a mix of annoyance and helplessness: “I still have makeup on—foundation and eyeliner. If it rubs onto your clothes, it won’t come off.”

Song Jingmo’s Adam’s apple moved, and he finally released him.

But his hand on his waist didn’t move, his voice low and husky: “Go remove your makeup first.”

Lu Er felt as if granted a pardon and quickly jumped down, legs a bit weak when they touched the floor.

Bathroom.

Lu Er opened his neatly lined-up bottles and jars. He dampened a makeup remover pad with eye and lip remover, carefully placing it over his eyes.

Song Jingmo leaned leisurely against the doorframe, eyes glued to him.

Seeing the delicate, fair lines of his neck revealed as he tilted his head back to remove his eye makeup, his gaze darkened.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms lightly around his waist from behind.

His chin rested in the hollow of his neck, warm breath fanning behind his sensitive ears.

His palms glided over his flat abdomen and waist through the thin fabric, radiating heat.

“Need some help?”

His voice whispered into his ear, deep and husky, sending shivers down his spine.

Lu Er’s hand trembled, almost spilling the remover into his eye.

He pushed lightly with his elbow, grumbling: “Just stand still. That’s the biggest help you can give me.”

He didn’t want him to “help” too much or tonight’s makeup would never come off.

Song Jingmo chuckled lowly, finally staying still.

Yet his arms remained around him, sticking like a giant charm behind him.

Trying to distract him, Lu Er started a conversation: “Weren’t you asking earlier why I put on such beautiful makeup? Is it for a drama?”

“Mm.”

Song Jingmo answered casually, his gaze lingering on his slender neck and the soft hair falling forward as he bent his head.

“A city drama about mistaken identities and rich heirs—a typical over-the-top plot. The heroine is Ye Qingge.”

Song Jingmo rubbed his nose against his temple, still scented with makeup remover, not particularly interested in the topic.

Lu Er continued: “Oh, by the way, Ye Qingge knows you came and wants to invite you to dinner tomorrow night to thank you for saving her last time.”

Song Jingmo finally raised his eyes slightly: “Do you want me to go?”

“I don’t mind,” Lu Er said lightly. “She just wants to show appreciation. And Qingge’s a nice person—just treat it as a friend gathering.”

“Okay, then you arrange it.”

By now, Lu Er had finished removing his makeup. He lathered his face with cleanser, scrubbing carefully.

Rinsed with water, his skin looked moist and translucent, like a freshly peeled egg. The steam gave it a faint pink glow.

Under the bathroom light, his face radiated softness—less seductive than with makeup, more pure, more youthful.

Song Jingmo looked at his clean, beautiful face in the mirror and couldn’t help but reach out, gently pinching his cheek with his fingertips.

His eyes openly filled with admiration: “All those bottles weren’t wasted. You really are a delicate beauty, Lu Er.”

Lu Er felt his heart flutter from the compliment, but teased: “What delicate beauty? You’re the most handsome in the universe.”

He pinched the slightly dry back of his hand from all the hand sanitizer and washing, worrying: “You need to take care of your skin too, you know?”

“I’ll buy you skincare tomorrow and supervise you. Doctors staying up late for shifts age the fastest.”

Song Jingmo’s gentle expression instantly faded, his brows barely knitting. He thought of that actor Cong Jinyue from before, and a surge of protectiveness rose.

“Age?”

His tone was unreadable: “Do you think I can’t compare to those young, energetic guys in your drama crew?”

Lu Er’s heart skipped a beat. Not good.

He plastered on a sweet smile: “I was just joking. Song Doctor, you’re not old at all. In your prime, full of charm… forever eighteen in my eyes.”

Song Jingmo only glanced at him, silent, and turned to adjust the shower water.

But the atmosphere around him radiated low pressure: displeased, uncommunicative.

Lu Er moved closer, hugging his waist from behind, nuzzling his back: “Are you mad?”

“I was wrong, okay? You’re not old at all. You’re the most masculine, most handsome, and youngest doctor I’ve ever seen.”

Song Jingmo remained unmoved, silently adding essential oils into the bathtub.

Lu Er stepped in front of him, tiptoed, and quickly pecked him on the lips: “Don’t be mad, please?”

Song Jingmo still kept a straight face, gently helping him undress. His movements were tender, but he didn’t speak.

He picked up the body wash, lathered, and scrubbed with a deliberately distant aloofness.

Lu Er tried teasing him several times, even drawing patterns with foam on his chest.

Song Jingmo only glanced lightly, maintaining his cold persona, lips pressed tight, silent.

Lu Er finally gave up, frustrated: “Song Jingmo, are you planning to cold-shoulder me all night?”

He turned off the water, grabbed a large towel, wrapped him completely, and carried him out of the bathroom.

Gently setting him on the soft bed, he leaned over him.

His wet hair dripped onto his smooth chest.

His deep eyes locked onto him, voice low and husky from restraint: “No cold war.”

Then he bent down, biting lightly below his collarbone as a punishment, leaving a clear bite mark.

Hearing him gasp in pain, he raised his eyes: “I’ll prove it to you… with actions.”

His fierce kiss fell again, hotter and more possessive than before.

Between their lips, Song Jingmo insisted: “I’m not old at all.”

“Not in strength… nor in spirit.”