EIP 17

The moment their lips met, both of them let out a soft breath. Zhou Jun’s kiss was tender, his tongue lightly tracing along Yong Jin’s lips.

Yong Jin tightened his grip around Zhou Jun’s waist and forced his tongue inside his mouth. He withdrew his hands from Zhou Jun’s back and gripped his bare thighs, which peeked out from beneath the robe. Then he leaned in, pressing their bodies together.

Zhou Jun’s tongue ached from the rough sucking. His brows furrowed, yet he did not pull away. Instead, he gripped Yong Jin’s hair more tightly, pressing their faces even closer. His legs wrapped instinctively around Yong Jin’s waist. Though the submissive posture made him uneasy, something inside him stirred with unexpected heat. Yong Jin’s hand slipped beneath his robe, brushing along the edge of his waistband.

The silk was smooth, but the skin beneath it was smoother. Yong Jin began tugging at the edge of his underwear, only for Zhou Jun to snap out of the haze and block him. Despite the blush staining his cheeks and the kiss-swollen lips, he managed to breathe out a refusal.

“You said just a kiss.”

It was clearly self-deception. To say he felt nothing for Yong Jin would be a lie. But if he truly gave in, that would mean betraying his family. A few kisses, a few touches—those were just fleeting pleasures. As long as they did not go too far, he could still convince himself there was nothing between them. He could still tell his brother that it meant nothing.

Yong Jin took a long moment before finally pulling his hand away. His gaze burned with frustration. He had been stopped halfway, his desire interrupted, and it left him seething. He let out a heavy breath.

“So… what now?”

Zhou Jun’s underwear had not been removed, but his arousal was obvious. His boxer shorts were loose and thin, unable to conceal the bulge pressing against the fabric. Even without looking, one could tell the cloth was damp. As Zhou Jun sat there dazed, biting his lip, Yong Jin reached forward and pulled at his robe. The fabric slipped down to reveal his chest. Against the pale skin, a delicate nipple peeked through. The areola was faint in color, like the tip of a budding lotus, soft and vulnerable.

Zhou Jun’s chest was held gently. It was not the first time Yong Jin had touched him there, but the sensitivity never faded. He took a shallow breath, convincing himself it was fine. It was just a bit of touching. He was a man. It should not matter.

But then Yong Jin leaned in and pressed his lips to his chest. The moment that had been interrupted by a phone call last time at the Yong residence was finally resumed. Yong Jin took the nipple into his mouth and let out a low, muffled sound. It was the same tone Zhou Jun made when he was about to come. A sound of pleasure, heavy and masculine.

Zhou Jun did not neglect himself either. He reached down, rubbing himself through the fabric. He had never felt anything like it before. Just brushing the tip made his back arch and his vision blur. It felt too good. So good that his eyes were damp, just like the heat gathering between his legs.

Yong Jin could not stand it. He could not accept seeing Zhou Jun so lost in pleasure, while still refusing to take off that last layer of clothing. So he grabbed Zhou Jun’s wrist, forcing his hand away and pressing it down against the table. Zhou Jun’s fingertips left wet traces along the wood. His body twisted in protest. He kicked his legs, struggling against Yong Jin’s force.

His nipple slipped from Yong Jin’s mouth with a soft sound. It bounced back against his chest, now swollen and darkened from the attention. Annoyed, Zhou Jun told him to stop. Yong Jin did so but immediately reached down to unzip his pants. He did not remove Zhou Jun’s underwear—only his own.

That thing Zhou Jun had only felt before but never seen emerged from the open zipper. Its presence was imposing, the tip pressing against his thigh with unmistakable weight. Yong Jin adjusted it with one hand, and with the shift of his hips, the pressure moved lower, sliding between Zhou Jun’s legs. The desk creaked softly beneath them.

As the contact intensified, Zhou Jun’s lower abdomen tensed. Heat bloomed in his cheeks, and he dared not look down. Yong Jin buried his face in Zhou Jun’s neck and licked softly along a pulsing vein. He took Zhou Jun’s hand and gently interlaced their fingers, letting the sensation flow between them.

They were not doing it, but they might as well have been. The intimacy, filtered through thin fabric, created a damp mess between their bodies. Zhou Jun spread his legs, trying to escape the friction, but the pressure only grew. Yong Jin gripped his waist tighter, no longer content with just rubbing.

Then he lifted Zhou Jun off the desk. The robe slid upward, revealing skin. Yong Jin leaned in, kissing him again, and Zhou Jun opened his mouth automatically. The edge of the robe was pushed inside. His eyelashes trembled. He bit down and held the fabric between his lips. Yong Jin’s hand moved from his chest to his thigh, caressing with changing pressure. Finally, it slipped inside the waistband.

Zhou Jun frowned and looked at him, a hint of reproach in his eyes. Yong Jin smiled. There was a wickedness in that smile.

“I won’t take it off,” he said.

But his hands were already inside, grabbing his bare buttocks and kneading shamelessly.

Realizing he had been played, Zhou Jun refused to comply. Seizing the chance, he shoved Yong Jin away. He intended to run into the bathroom, lock the door, and take care of himself there. Kill two birds with one stone.

But Young Master Zhou never had a chance to escape. Yong Jin caught him midway and lifted him into his arms, carrying him to the window.

It was already late. The streets outside were empty. The window was wide open, and Zhou Jun was held against the ledge. His body trembled. The floor they were on was high. If he fell, he would not survive. He hated this kind of thrill.

His face turned pale. He clung tightly to Yong Jin, shaking as he pleaded, “Put me down. I don’t want to be here.”

Yong Jin leaned close, desire burning even brighter at the sight of Zhou Jun’s fear. He held him steady and closed his eyes, breathing deeply near his ear.

“Jun Jun, can you smell the flowers?”

But Zhou Jun had no intention of enjoying anything. He was furious. If he had a gun, he would have shot Yong Jin without hesitation.

Yong Jin opened his eyes and spoke again, this time with unexpected softness.

“Maybe it’s not the smell of flowers after all.”

He lowered Zhou Jun from the window and turned him around, switching their positions. Now Yong Jin stood with his back to the window, as if one step backward would send him falling into the night.

Zhou Jun’s legs were still shaking. He clutched at Yong Jin’s shirt with both hands, his knuckles pale. “Can we change places?”

Yong Jin held him close and kissed his temple. “You smell so good.”

Then his hands moved again, reaching for the robe.

Zhou Jun’s face was bloodless, unwilling to play along. But then he heard Yong Jin’s voice. “You always seem afraid of me.”

Before Zhou Jun could respond, Yong Jin leaned in, his breath warm at his ear. “All it takes is one push from you. Just a little effort, and it will be over.”

Zhou Jun froze. “Are you insane?”

Yong Jin answered calmly. “If you don’t push, then I’ll do something you don’t want.”

Zhou Jun’s voice trembled. “You really are insane.”

Yong Jin grinned and whispered slowly.
“To die beneath the peony… still makes a charming ghost.”