Chapter 91
At some point, Poppy wasn’t sure when, someone slipped a cup of plum wine into Mingxi’s hand—and then another.
Lysandra yelled, “Bottoms up, Fox Boy,” and that sealed his fate.
He was pressed close to Poppy’s side, warm and loose-limbed, smiling far too softly for a man who usually guarded every emotion like a state secret. His sixth tail kept brushing her hip.
“Yueguāng…” he murmured, voice low and honey-sweet against her ear. “I think I’m drunk.”
She smiled, fingers sliding into his. “You think?”
He blinked at her like she was the moon. “You’re beautiful.”
“Mingxi,” she whispered, cheeks warm. “Come inside with me.”
He followed instantly.
The moment the door slid closed, the outside world faded—music, lanterns, laughter—leaving only the soft glow of a foxfire lantern and the golden hush of moonlight.
Mingxi leaned against the doorframe as if it held him upright.
“Wife,” he breathed with what sounded like a little wonder and a little awe. “My wife.”
Poppy stepped close, her palm against his chest. “And my husband.”
He dipped his head and kissed her—slow at first, tasting of plum wine and reverence. His hand cupped her cheek as if he needed the grounding, as if holding her steady meant steadying himself.
When she tugged gently at his collar, he exhaled sharply. “Careful,” he whispered. “If you look at me like that… I won’t last the night.”
She kissed his jaw, feeling the shiver that ran through him. “Mingxi…”
His breath hitched. “Yes.”
“I want you.”
The sound he made was barely human.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his arm sliding around her waist to lift her effortlessly. Her back pressed to the wall, his forehead resting against hers, breath warm and unsteady.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, as if begging her not to. “Tell me to slow down.”
“I won’t,” she breathed. “I want all of you.”
His control snapped, but not in a rough way. In a way that felt like devotion breaking open. He carried her to the low bed, laying her down with almost ceremonial care. His hands trembled as he brushed a lock of hair from her face.
“Yueguāng… may I?”
She nodded. “Please.”
He bent to kiss her throat, slow and savoring, as if memorizing every place she let him touch. His hands slid along her sides, thumbs stroking circles that made warmth pool low in her belly.
When her robe loosened, he stilled. “Are you sure…?” His voice cracked, soft and disbelieving.
“You lying here… looking at me like that. Yueguāng, I might fall apart.”
She guided his hand to her thigh.
“I want you to.”
Magic shivered around them.
His tails fanned out and then wrapped around her hips, her legs, her waist, instinctive, protective, heated with foxfire. Not tight—never tight—but suggestive, devotional, wanting.
“Mingxi…” she whispered, her fingers curling into his hair.
He kissed her again, and this time it wasn’t slow. It was hungry, honest, everything he’d been restraining for weeks.
Their bodies fit together as though they had been molded to match. Her thighs parted under the gentle sweep of his hand, and he inhaled sharply against her mouth, something almost broken in the sound.
“Poppy,” he whispered. “I love you. By every flame in my blood. By every tail I’ve earned. I love you.”
“Then show me,” she whispered. “Show me all of it.”
He touched her like devotion. He worshipped her breath by breath. His mouth traced warmth along her throat, her collarbone, the slope of her shoulder, leaving heat blooming everywhere he kissed.
She slid her fingers under the edge of his robe, feeling the taut line of his back. He shuddered at her touch, whispering her name like a vow.
The world narrowed to warmth and foxfire.
Tails curled around her thighs, stroking softly, each touch sending electricity through her. His breath trembled against her skin.
“Yueguāng… I can feel you,” he rasped, as if overwhelmed. “Your heart, your body, your magic… everything. Gods, it’s too much—”
“It’s not enough,” she whispered, pulling him closer. “Mingxi, I want all of you.”
When he finally moved above her, when they came together in a slow, breathless joining, the foxfire in the lantern flared. She clutched his shoulders as warmth rushed through her, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that was both grounding and incendiary.
He held her like she was the center of the universe. She held him like she had finally found home.
Their breaths quickened. Their bodies moved together as though guided by something older than words, older than foxfire, older than the moonwell itself.
The crescendo hit her like a wave—her back arching, his breath breaking against her neck—and with a soft, glowing burst, a new tail unfurled behind him. His seventh. Silver bright. Newborn luminous.
Trembling with emotion, he froze, forehead pressed to her shoulder. “Yueguāng,” he whispered, “I… this only happens when—”
She cupped his face, guiding him to look at her. “It’s because you love,” she murmured, kissing him softly.
His lips trembled against hers. “I do,” he whispered. “More than I knew I could.”
He held her through the aftershocks, tails wrapped around both of them like a cocoon of silver warmth. She traced his jaw with her fingers until his heartbeat steadied.
When they finally drifted to sleep, tangled in each other, the last thing she felt was his seventh tail curling protectively around her waist and a small, quiet warmth deep in her center answering it.