Kinky towards The Celebrity Heartthrob

It happened again.

Charles lifted his eyelids slightly, glancing at the hand that had deliberately brushed against his arm.

The girl's skin was fair and delicate. In the cool 17-18°C weather, her fragile fingertips were tinged with a soft pink. That faint pink was now grazing his bare arm from time to time as her arm swayed.

The combination of her slightly cool temperature and the softness of her fingertips felt like a feather brushing against his skin.

Charles had lost count of how many times this overly "enthusiastic" neighbor had taken advantage of him.

Just like before, the accumulating tingling sensation became impossible to ignore. Charles was about to move away, but this time, she wasn't satisfied with mere light touches. Before he could roll his wheelchair forward, she grabbed his hand...

His left hand was gently cradled by her cool hands. Charles tilted his chin slightly, finally shifting his gaze onto the girl's face.

She might act like a perverted little fiend, but she was undeniably attractive.

Her face, still carrying a hint of baby fat, was shaped like a delicate oval. Her innocent, deer-like eyes shimmered like mist on a summer morning, blending a soft docility with a damp, lingering allure.

It was precisely because her face was so much to his liking that he had yet to put his foot down and seriously reject her harassment.

But this time... Charles looked at the girl clutching his hand tightly. His lack of a clear refusal seemed to have emboldened her.

"Your hand is so cold. Let me warm it up."

Meeting Charles' amused yet unreadable gaze, Mist felt a little guilty. But the guilt only made her hold his gaze more persistently, as if doing so could prove her sincerity.

Sincere, my ass...

Charles tried to pull his hand away, only to find that Mist was holding on tightly. The corner of his lips curled beneath his mask. "Enough. My hand isn't cold. If you're so eager to touch my hand, why don't you read my palm instead?"

Mist blinked, as if she either hadn't caught onto his sarcasm or was playing dumb. "But your hand really is cold."

"Is it my hand that's cold or yours?"

"Then why don't you warm mine?"

"Let go."

Mist obediently released one of her hands-but with the other, she flipped his palm upward and said, "Then I'll read your fortune."

The soft pad of her fingertip glided lightly across his palm, sending an uncontrollable shiver through Charles' body. He swiftly pulled his hand away.

Seeing Mist's innocent expression, he couldn't tell if she was genuinely clumsy or just too skilled at playing the helpless little mouse trying to tease the cat.

Every time he thought her approach was too clumsy to be effective, she would do something next that somehow managed to fluster him.

But he was hardly that easy to win over.

Their gazes met. Charles, wearing his baseball cap low, exuded a cold and detached aura, slipping back into his usual aloof and world-weary demeanor.

His wheelchair began rolling forward, and Mist hurried to keep up. "Aren't you curious what I saw in your palm?"

"I don't need you to tell me. I already know."

Charles scoffed lightly.

"How could you know?"

Mist blinked, knowing full well that whatever he was about to say wouldn't be anything pleasant. But if she didn't continue the conversation, the topic would die, and their relationship wouldn't progress at all.

The wheelchair stopped by the lakeside. Charles leaned lazily against the headrest, watching a black swan fearlessly flap its wings and snatch up a bug nearby, all while moving in his direction.

"I'm experiencing a wave of romantic luck lately. My admirer is a pervert."

After he said that, there was a long silence.

Hearing nothing from Mist, Charles pulled down his mask slightly and glanced at her-only to find her staring blankly at the lake.

Was she hurt by his words?

Charles frowned. He didn't think she was that thin-skinned.

Besides, calling her a pervert wasn't wrong.

He had only moved here recently, and during his strolls, he had noticed her a few times. Since she never tried to interact with him, he hadn't bothered to strike up any polite conversations just because she was his friend's little sister.

They wouldn't even make eye contact when they passed each other.

Everything changed a week ago.

His dear neighbor-this very Mist-had either been suddenly overwhelmed by his irresistible charm or had simply been suppressing herself for too long and finally exploded, becoming unbelievably eager to get close to him.

At first, he found it amusing. She wasn't particularly good at socializing, yet she made an effort to talk to him.

But within days, she started getting handsy, and he realized her intentions.

This pretty, harmless-looking girl was very interested in him. And after setting her sights on him, she had apparently learned some unreliable seduction tactics.

The first time she kept touching him, he thought he was imagining things.

Then, she "accidentally" tripped and sat on his lap for half a minute.

Then, she offered to push his wheelchair, pressing her body so closely against the backrest that the back of his head felt something it really shouldn't have felt.

If that wasn't perverted, what was?

Charles recalled the moment he realized what was pressing against his head yesterday. His expression had darkened immediately, and he had told Mist to keep her distance. Mist, of course, had put on an innocent yet guilty look.

He had assumed she'd tone it down for a while.

Yet today, she was already back at it, trying to warm his hands.

How much was she into him?

How badly did she want to touch him?

At first, he had found her sudden interest a little odd. He had known her since she was thirteen or fourteen, trailing behind her brother with a sweet, obedient smile.

But the oddness quickly turned into entertainment.

Life was too boring, she was too much his type, and, well-his mother had never given him an 18-year-old sister.

Since she was someone else's sister, why should he hold back?

Mist wasn't silent because she was hurt by his words. She was just thinking about the term "pervert."

A month ago, she would've never imagined that such a title would be associated with her.

But from the age of fifteen or sixteen, whenever she saw ambiguous scenes in dramas, novels, or comics, her reaction was... excessive.

Her friends called her "innocent" because her face would turn red, but she alone knew whether it was innocence or something else entirely.

Still, it wasn't a big deal.

The real problem started after her college entrance exams. Whether it was adulthood, newfound freedom, or the natural consequences of maturity, she found herself reacting intensely to any attractive man she saw.

Her heart remained calm, but her body...

It was terrifying.

She had tried isolating herself, but that wasn't a long-term solution.

She even considered seeing a doctor-but what if it was a male doctor? Wouldn't that turn into one of those adult stories where the patient ends up being examined too thoroughly?

So, she had made up her mind. If her body wanted something, she would give it what it wanted.

But who?

She had hesitated for a long time until her gaze landed on her neighbor-

A stunningly handsome, sharp-tongued, disabled heartthrob.

(...)

"Charles, do you know about 'Hand Angels'?"

Charles, who had been focused on Mist clinging to his back, felt both amused and exasperated.

"What kind of angel?"

Mist covered his eyes with her hands. "A kind-hearted angel who can make you feel very, very good."

After taking a shower, Mist opened the drawer, her eyes sweeping over the various toys inside. After a moment's hesitation, she closed the drawer again.

Ever since she realized something was off with her body, she had bought quite a few things online to bring herself some relief.

These items helped suppress the restlessness in her body to some extent, but not by much.

And after trying them a few times, instead of getting addicted, she found them tedious and boring.

Thinking she might have bought the wrong things, she did some research on different social platforms, but the experience remained the same-her body was restless, and even when relieved by a machine, she didn't feel much pleasure.

The bottom line was, her damn body just wanted a man.

Throwing herself onto the bed, Mist gritted her teeth for a long time before finally pulling out her phone and opening WeChat to check on her newly added contact.

Charles' profile picture and bio were incredibly unromantic.

His profile picture was just a bold, flaming, embossed text that said "Thomas."

His bio was simple and powerful-

My surname is Thomas, breaking the deadlock with a backhand. 😎

This combination of a cringey, over-the-top profile picture and a nonsensical social media quote was more of a turnoff than taking an ice-cold shower.

Mist wasn't sure if Charles was playing around with absurd humor or if he genuinely liked this kind of thing.

Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, Mist decided to ignore his empty, three-day-visible Moments and instead opened the chat window.

A guy with such a try-hard persona was one thing, but at least his legs wouldn't make him a player. She could tolerate it.

Opening the chat was easy, but figuring out what to say left her stuck.

She had known since childhood that her looks were an advantage. Adults liked her, peers actively sought her friendship, and as soon as romance became a thing, she was never short on admirers.

Despite receiving so many love letters and gifts that her drawers couldn't hold them all, she never had any real desire for romance. Especially after her body started acting up-her body wanted it, but her mind found relationships gross.

So, she had never dated anyone, nor had she ever actively pursued someone.

But what she wanted with Charles wasn't a real relationship anyway.

She wasn't looking for a boyfriend-just a safe, long-term hookup.

But how was she supposed to bring that up?

Mist searched online for advice, How do you suggest having sex with someone?

The answers were all over the place, but she liked the third most upvoted comment the best-

As long as the woman is pretty enough, one look is all it takes for a man to understand.

So... was she not pretty enough in Charles' eyes?

If that were the case, then not only were his legs useless, but his eyes were, too.

Just then, a WeChat notification popped up. Charles had texted her first.

Charles, [?]

Mist hadn't even figured out how to start the conversation yet. She stared at the question mark for a moment before responding in kind.

Mist, [?]

Charles, Weren't you going to explain that "angel" thing to me?

Mist, Oh.

Mist, I forgot.

Charles, .

Mist could practically feel his speechlessness through the screen. She started typing out a long explanation but deleted it before sending it.

The term "hand angel" was about using hands to help disabled people feel pleasure-a purely service-oriented thing. But her goal wasn't about giving pleasure; it was about getting pleasure.

If she explained it too bluntly, what if he misunderstood?

Tapping her fingers on the phone case, she went back to the answers she had read earlier, focusing on the second-highest upvoted one.

Thinking about her upcoming work commitments and the flood of attractive male classmates she'd be surrounded by once school started in a month, Mist gritted her teeth and typed out a message.

Mist, I just got out of the shower. My body's all wet.

Half a second after she sent the message, Charles' chat status changed to "Typing..."

Mist held her breath.

Charles, Go find a towel.

Mist, But I don't feel like using a towel~

This time, Charles took a while to reply. Just as Mist thought he was ignoring her, her screen lit up with his message.

Charles, Mist, have some self-respect.

Mist, "..."

AAAHHHH!

Kicking her blanket off the bed, Mist felt like crying. If it weren't for this damn body, why would she have to suffer like this?

She didn't even want to be dealing with men in the first place!

Stupid men! Stupid men!

Frustrated, Mist opened the app store and downloaded a hookup app.

But when she got to the registration page, she hesitated. She really wanted to give up on Charles and find a man who actually understood, but there were too many unknown risks.

The physical disparity between men and women aside, even if they met in a hotel and didn't know each other's real identities, she couldn't keep her face hidden forever.

And once her face was exposed, the guy would inevitably know who she was.

For the first time, Mist questioned her career choice. But she had already gotten into university, signed a contract with a company-she couldn't let this bodily issue derail her future.

Besides, she really enjoyed acting.

After weighing her options, she realized Charles was still the safest bet. He avoided crowds because of his leg, hated socializing, and always wore a hat and mask when he went out.

After a week of knowing him, he seemed decent enough. He was always so detached and indifferent-he didn't seem like the kind of guy who would brag online about sleeping with an actress.

But how was she supposed to make a move?

Lying in bed, Mist agonized over the question until she dozed off.

While she was half-asleep, the sound of a notification woke her.

Charles, It's going to rain tomorrow. I'm not going out.

Charles, Want to come over and play video games?

Huh?

Mist's drowsy brain took a few seconds to process the message.

Was Charles inviting her to his place to play games?

So when he told her to have self-respect earlier, was it just a way to make the first move himself?

Mist had no interest in video games, but she was thrilled by Charles' invitation.

Mist, Yes!

Charles, Excited?

Mist, Not excited.

Mist, I'm going to be reserved.

Hah.

Seeing her message, Charles smirked. He hoped she would actually stick to that.

Charles, Get some sleep.

Mist sent him a bunny blowing a kiss.

Charles exited the chat just to check how it displayed on his home screen-[Animated Sticker] Kiss.

She couldn't even say goodnight properly, just had to send a kiss emoji instead. Did she think she was being subtle?

When Mist woke up in the morning, the first thing she did was check her phone. Seeing that Charles' invitation wasn't just a dream but an actual message, she let out a big sigh of relief.

Going to bed early meant waking up early.

Mist went to the dance studio for her daily stretching routine. While making breakfast, she casually asked if Charles wanted some.

Receiving no response, she figured he was still asleep. After finishing her meal, Mist continued with her daily tasks.

She opened the assignment given by her company's acting coach and completed the required exercises. But soon, her mind began to wander. First, she wondered what game Charles would play with her, then her thoughts drifted to Charles' long, well-defined fingers, his distinctly masculine hands.

And then, her body started heating up.

After scrolling through her phone for a while, she realized she couldn't focus on anything except thinking about a man. Giving up on mindlessly watching short videos, she headed to the kitchen.

She busied herself for a while, then checked the time-it was only 10,30.

Mist, [I want to come over. Are you awake?]

This time, Charles responded,

Charles, [7702]

Realizing that these numbers were his home's passcode, Mist's heart raced with excitement.

Mist, [Are you up?]

She waited for three minutes but got no reply.

She wasn't sure if he had fallen back asleep or was just busy with something else.

Holding the sandwich she made, Mist arrived at Charles' door in under five minutes and entered the code.

"Charles?"

Mist called out into the living room. Hearing no response, she stood at the entrance for a minute.

A lot went through her mind in that minute.

First, she panicked for a moment, imagining Charles as a psychopathic killer. A disabled man who lured women into his home only to torture and murder them.

Then, her thoughts took another turn-if Charles had indeed gone back to sleep, she could sneak into his room, climb on top of him, and he wouldn't be able to fight back because of his legs.

The thought of pinning a man down won out in her mind.

Mist found a pair of disposable slippers in the shoe cabinet and started exploring.

As neighbors, their houses were structured similarly, though decorated differently.

Since she preferred open views, she lived upstairs. The first floor of her home had two rooms-one for dance and exercise, the other for storage.

Thinking about Charles' legs, Mist opened the room closest to the living room.

She was lucky-she got it right on the first try.

The room's blackout curtains were tightly shut, and the only light came from the open door.

A night of being sealed in had left the entire room filled with Charles' scent.

The overwhelming masculine pheromones made Mist grip the doorframe just to keep herself steady.

A large mound was visible under the covers of the two-meter-wide bed, making it easy for her to locate Charles.

Her gaze shifted to the wheelchair beside the bed before slowly moving to the foot of the bed. She debated whether to take off her shoes and sneak in quietly, lifting the covers and crawling from the foot of the bed to the head-where she'd press him down completely.

"Charles, are you still sleeping..."

Mist's head buzzed. She didn't want to do something as vile as forcing herself on a disabled person. She just wanted to wake him up. But her body was so desperate to do bad things that her voice grew softer and softer.

"Charles, are you awake?"

Mist slowly moved to the head of the bed, her eyes locked onto Charles like a hungry wolf spotting its prey.

Since the moment she met Charles, she had noticed that while he occasionally removed his mask, he always wore a hat.

At first, she had even wondered if he was balding.

Now, however, she set that concern aside.

His hairstyle was completely at odds with his usual aloof, indifferent demeanor-it was an American-style textured crop, a bold choice that truly tested facial attractiveness.

His naturally messy bedhead only enhanced his charm.

It made her want to devour him even more.

Mist's gaze traveled from his hair to the diamond stud in his ear, then to his slightly parted lips-lips that looked like they were waiting for a kiss.

Her dry tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth as she leaned down, her voice barely above a whisper,

"Charles, did you shower last night?"

If he had, she wasn't going to hold back!

A damp, soft tongue brushed against his skin. Even though he was asleep and unaware of what was happening, Charles's body still shuddered uncontrollably. His eyes snapped open.

"Mist?"

He hadn't even seen her face, but just from the familiar scent, his mouth worked faster than his brain, immediately recognizing who the head nestled against his neck belonged to.

Realizing that the sticky sensation on his skin was from Mist's tongue and that she wasn't satisfied after licking him and had started sucking instead, he quickly pushed her head away.

"What are you doing?"

The hoarseness in his voice only made Mist more eager to feast, but unfortunately, the man was pressing down on her head with firm strength, making it impossible for her to move forward or retreat.

Charles's sleep-heavy eyes were filled with complex emotions. Everything that had just happened clearly went beyond what his half-awake brain could comprehend.

Pinned by him, the shameless Mist had glistening lips, a flushed face, and even her neck was tinged with pink.

She blinked innocently, feigning ignorance. "I didn't do anything."

Charles touched his neck with his free hand. There wasn't any saliva left, but he could feel a faint dampness on his fingertips.

Staring at Mist, who was dishonest both in action and words, Charles recalled the shivers that had run through him moments ago. His sleep-deprived brain began to ache.

He had only gone to sleep near dawn, and halfway through, his phone had woken him up. Seeing a message from Mist, he hadn't thought much before sending her the door code.

Who knew she'd give him such a surprise?

If he had woken up any later, judging by her hunger for him, his innocence would have been lost.

No-considering his current state, his innocence was already hanging by a thread.

Feeling a certain part of his body stir, Charles pulled the blanket higher over himself. His deep voice carried a hint of restrained anger.

"This is what you call restraint?"

Mist licked the corner of her lips, determined to deny everything. "I didn't do anything just now."

"Brave enough to act, but not to admit it?"

Charles sat up on the bed, supporting himself with his hands.

Mist rolled her wheelchair closer. Seeing that Charles didn't seem to want her help, she obediently stayed in place.

Charles was indeed about to get out of bed-but not while someone was watching.

Especially not when that someone was Mist, who was clearly up to no good.

Tugging at the oversized collar of his sleep T-shirt, Charles stated, "I'm not wearing pants."

Mist blinked. Was this a hint?

If she had known, she wouldn't have wasted time shyly licking his neck-she should have gone straight under the covers. Maybe by now, she'd already be eating.

The main issue was that she wasn't sure if Charles had showered. Compared to most people, he had more difficulty maintaining hygiene due to his legs, and she didn't want to lift the blanket and see something that would kill her appetite. That's why she chose a more innocent approach.

Seeing Mist remain silent and showing no sign of turning away, Charles smirked. "You're not leaving. Do you want to watch?"

"Can I?"

"Of course," Charles paused, looking straight into Mist's eyes. The teasing curve of his lips fell, and he enunciated each word, "No. You. Can't."

So stingy.

Mist let go of her wheelchair, reluctantly moving toward the door.

Charles watched her take three steps and look back every time. Only when she finally disappeared into the bathroom did the corners of his lips curl up again.

He really needed to consult a fortune teller. What kind of luck did he have to attract someone like Mist?

Just how obsessed was she with him? Her face was as red as a tomato, her voice was trembling, yet she still wouldn't stop acting thirsty.

Running a hand through his hair, Charles sat in front of the mirror for a while before finally starting his morning routine.

Mist waited in the living room for quite a while, long enough for the housekeeper to arrive, but Charles's bedroom door remained shut.

She wondered if he had fallen back asleep. Testing the door handle, she found that he had locked it.

So uncute.

Locking eyes with the housekeeper for a few awkward seconds, Mist felt that waiting around was a waste of time. Since her agent had sent her a new script, she decided to go back home to read it.

Her journey into acting hadn't been particularly special.

Her uncle owned an entertainment company, and she had guest-starred in a few roles as a child. She officially debuted at sixteen when her mother's personal life stabilized, and Mist no longer needed to stay by her side.

Looking through university majors, she found that she had no interest in science, no expectations for liberal arts, and no desire to turn her hobbies of painting and music into a profession.

In the end, acting was the only thing that intrigued her.

It wasn't about being a star or basking in attention-she simply enjoyed the novelty of playing characters with personalities different from her own.

And besides, acting was one of the few jobs where doing well meant receiving endless praise.

Who wouldn't enjoy a work environment full of encouragement?

After confirming her decision, she told her mother, who had no objections. Mist then signed with her uncle's company.

A few months later, she landed her first significant film role.

It was a school romance adapted from a manga. She wasn't the female lead, but because her looks perfectly matched the second female lead's character setting, she gained some recognition when the film was released.

For a while, many scripts came her way, some offering leading roles. But since she wanted to be an actor rather than just capitalize on fleeting popularity, she turned them down. Instead, she took small supporting roles in major productions to gain experience.

After finishing high school, her uncle, confident in her academic abilities, started pushing more resources her way.

Last week, she had just shot a well-known shampoo commercial. Now, another script had arrived.

Her agent had sent over a police-thriller film funded by their company. The director and cast were top-tier, and her role-a kidnapped heiress who connected various subplots-wasn't just a pretty face but a character with depth.

Appreciating her uncle's efforts and intrigued by the script and cast, Mist replied to her agent, agreeing to audition.

Only then did she notice a message from Charles, sent two hours ago.

Charles, Where are you?

Looking out at the drizzling rain, Mist typed a reply as she grabbed an umbrella.

Mist, Hmph.

Charles, ?

Staring at Mist's message, Charles finally understood what it meant for a guilty person to complain first.

She had been the one who sneakily licked him in his sleep, refused to leave his room when he wanted to get up.

He should be the one saying "hmph."

Just as he was contemplating how to make her realize her wrongdoing, he heard the front door unlock.

Seconds later, Mist appeared in the entryway.

"That wasn't direct enough. Say 'hmph' to my face."

Charles raised his phone and waved it at her.

"What do you mean by 'Neighbor With Ulterior Motives'?"

Mist, with sharp eyesight, caught the contact name immediately. She changed into disposable slippers and walked toward the living room, eyeing Charles's phone.

Charles had no intention of hiding it. "What's wrong with that name? Aren't you?"

"If I am, what's my reward?"

Mist sat beside him-originally planning to keep some distance, but her uncooperative body had other ideas, and their legs ended up touching.

Charles glanced at the fabric of her long skirt pressed against his sweatpants. "Do you think 'having ulterior motives' is a compliment?"

"Then I don't have ulterior motives. Change it."

Mist suddenly turned and pounced on him, reaching for his phone.

But instead of grabbing it, her eyes were locked on Charles's face.

Their gazes met, and she found herself leaning closer, her lips burning with the desire to kiss something.

But just like that morning, Charles pushed her away.

Mist gritted her teeth. Maybe he just didn't like women?

But if that were the case, why had he reacted when she accidentally fell on his lap and touched him before?

If he wasn't interested in women, why was he playing this game of push-and-pull?

Yes, push-and-pull.

Feeling triumphant at finding the right term for Charles's behavior, Mist let out a heavy "hmph."

"Hmm, that was more direct."

Charles opened the contact page and actually changed her name.

Mist glanced over-

"Red Tomato With Ulterior Motives"

Mist, "..."

At least she had gone from a neighbor to something edible. That was progress, right?

Fanning her burning face, Mist no longer cared about blushing in front of Charles, but the heat was genuinely uncomfortable.

"I'm getting water. Do you want anything?"

"There's cold water in the mini fridge."

Charles pointed it out, and Mist grabbed a bottle, pressing it against her cheeks. "Why do you have face masks in your fridge?"

"Why can't I?"

Charles countered, then, realizing why she was asking, added, "I'm not allowed to use them?"

"Oh..."

Mist dragged out her response. Before sitting back down, she hesitated and asked, "Do you have a girlfriend? Or a wife?"

She spoke cautiously, her eyes widening in fear of hearing an unwanted answer.

"Isn't it a little late to ask?"

Charles leaned back lazily on the couch, adjusting his game settings. The daylight was bothering him, so he closed the curtains.

The motorized tracks hummed as the room darkened, leaving only the glow of the screen illuminating Charles's figure.

Watching his chiseled features in the dim light, Mist couldn't decipher the meaning behind his smirk.

Her heart tightened.

I can't be this unlucky, right?

She had assumed his legs might lower his desirability in the dating market, but she hadn't considered how much his face and wealth would boost it.

Just because she hadn't seen any women around him lately didn't mean he didn't have a partner. Maybe she was traveling, on vacation, or just momentarily distracted by another wildflower.

"Charles, answer me properly."

Charles thought about saying yes-after all, he had countless girlfriend fans and wife fans.

But considering Mist's usual conversation style, he didn't want to reveal unnecessary information that would ruin the fun.

Setting down his controller, he turned to Mist, raising an eyebrow. He deliberately gave her a proper answer.

"There's a long line. Want to take a number?"

Mist's heart, which had been on edge, instantly settled.

She lunged into his arms. "I have no morals-I'm cutting in line!"