Bingge must have taken his permission to heart and turned the parasites all the way up, because suddenly Shen Qingqiu's whole body is singing. The glide of Luo Binghe's finger stops feeling like an intrusion and starts feeling the way his tongue in Shen Qingqiu's mouth had, new and perfect and electrifying. When Binghe crooks his finger he gasps, biting at his own lips, chasing Binghe's mouth as it brushes against his own, glancing, not enough. "How—how you tease your poor wife."