Chapter 37 - Parallel Lines

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Chapter 37

 

 

If they were going to do it, then they'd make sure to enjoy it.

 

Whether on top or bottom, Shuai Zhaomin wasn't one to wait for someone else to undress him. He'd always been straightforward, and drawn-out foreplay just wasn't his style. In the end, everything had to come off—might as well do it himself and save time.

 

Tengshe, on the other hand, seemed quite accustomed to having someone help him. Shuai Zhaomin was already back to his bare-skinned, birthday-suit state, while Tengshe remained lounging against the chair, arms lazily spread over the backrest, watching him with those deep red-brown eyes, brimming with amusement.

 

"I'm not Fitch." He had no qualms about being naked. Unlike Tengshe, he never bothered grooming down there, but the advantage of being East Asian was that his body hair was naturally fine—though its color made it stand out.

 

Still, he had no intention of servicing Tengshe to this extent. Being underneath was already humiliating enough. He had no idea how Fitch usually attended to this man, but this snake was downright spoiled.

 

"Mmm, I know. The color's different." Tengshe's long, powerful fingers twitched slightly, as if tempted to reach for a cigarette, but in the end, he resisted.

 

The color?

 

Squinting, Shuai Zhaomin instinctively glanced downward. A few seconds later, his face burned red. He cursed under his breath.

 

"Fuck! If you're not coming on top, I'm flipping you under me instead!"

 

Tengshe shrugged, tactfully keeping his mouth shut for once. His lazy, sprawling body finally stirred.

 

The room was warm from the heating, and he was wearing nothing but a soft-knit sweater. As he moved, his sculpted muscles flexed beneath the fabric, his golden-bronze skin catching the light with a faint marble-like sheen.

 

Shuai Zhaomin's breath hitched slightly, his throat going dry. Without his glasses, his vision was slightly blurred, but that haziness only made Tengshe's figure appear even more stunning.

 

He heard himself swallow.

 

Damn it! Was he really this desperate?! Had his brain been taken over by his libido?! It had only been six months since his last time. He'd been getting along just fine with his right hand—so why the hell was he salivating like this?!

 

"You know, Attorney Shuai, I'm actually quite shy," Tengshe said with a wide grin, his hands resting idly on his knees as he leaned in ever so slightly.

 

To get a clearer look—and to make his next move feel even more natural—Shuai Zhaomin shifted forward, settling himself between Tengshe's casually spread legs. Tilting his head up, his gaze met those deep, red-brown eyes.

 

A breathtaking color—complex, intense, fierce, yet laced with a certain restlessness beneath the surface.

 

Reaching up, he tangled his fingers into Tengshe's short, wavy black hair, twisting the strands between his fingers. With a smirk, he gave a sharp tug.

 

"Shy, my ass! You were buck-naked the first time we met, remember? What, did your shyness make you waste forty whole minutes just to 'distract yourself'?"

 

"You really understand me. Could this be what they call a meeting of the minds?" Tengshe quipped, completely unfazed, even as his hair was being yanked painfully.

 

Shuai Zhaomin scoffed. Like hell it was.

 

He couldn't be bothered to argue. Tilting his head up, he bit into Tengshe's lips in a kiss—harsh, demanding. The taste of cigarettes lingered faintly on those full lips, bitter yet oddly tolerable. As his tongue flicked out, tracing along the edge of Tengshe's mouth, he brushed against straight, even teeth.

 

"One word—are we doing this or not?"

 

Of course, this wasn't a question of whether they were going to do it. It was about who was taking whom. The damn bowstring had been pulled taut—it was far too late to back out now.

 

Tengshe let out a quiet, knowing chuckle, then suddenly bit down on Shuai Zhaomin's tongue.

 

There was never a question. When food landed in his mouth, he never spat it out.

 

Red-brown eyes gleamed with provocation, filled with a distinctly masculine hunger for conquest.

 

Shuai Zhaomin let out a muffled grunt, feeling the sharp nip draw blood. A subtle metallic tang passed between their lips, neither one willing to yield. They tangled, sucked, and bit at each other with a kind of raw, almost predatory pleasure.

 

The neat rows of teeth, the warmth of a firm tongue—interwoven with the distinct flavors of alcohol and cigarettes—it was exactly the kind of kiss one would expect from a mafia man. To be completely honest, despite hating Tengshe, Shuai Zhaomin much preferred him like this. The literary, artsy side of him was just too disgusting to stomach.

 

Even though it was just a kiss, heat slowly pooled in his lower abdomen before spreading through his entire body.

 

The air in his chest was gradually being drained away, yet neither of them was willing to pull back first. One part was sheer stubbornness; the other was the undeniable fact that this deep, almost devouring kiss felt damn good.

 

Shuai Zhaomin's grip on Tengshe's hair tightened. The next moment, strong arms hooked around his waist, effortlessly hauling him up into a half-kneeling position. Their chests brushed against each other, the rapid beats of their hearts almost colliding.

 

A dizzying numbness overtook his mind, each ragged breath mixing with the other's scent—a fusion of crisp cologne with a grassy note, the bitter, aged sharpness of tobacco, and the faint aroma of soap. Tengshe was strangely meticulous about cleanliness. Shuai Zhaomin had almost never smelled sweat on him—except after a fight.

 

"I like your scent." Tengshe was the first to pull back, panting roughly. His full lips, still slick with warmth, pecked at Shuai Zhaomin's kiss-swollen mouth, teasingly light yet lingering.

 

The sound of their lips parting, soft and wet, sent a feverish rush through Shuai Zhaomin's body, as if his blood was boiling over.

 

No matter how irritating Tengshe Brelini was, it was undeniable—he was a man dripping with allure, a master of seduction. That deep, poetry-like murmur of his... Even when he whispered cliché, nauseatingly sweet lines, they somehow sent an unbidden shiver of pleasure down one's spine.

 

"What scent?" Shuai Zhaomin did not return the kiss. He enjoyed these light, teasing touches from Tengshe, each kiss deeper than the last. When he opened his mouth to speak, their tongues barely brushed, faintly yet deliberately.

 

"To be precise, it's like brandy." The last syllable was swallowed between their lips, consumed together in that searing connection.

 

Brandy, my ass! Shuai Zhaomin rolled his eyes. There were dozens of different kinds of brandy—what the hell was he supposed to be?

 

As if sensing his internal grumbling, Tengshe let out a low, amused chuckle from deep in his throat, then forcefully dragged Shuai Zhaomin's tongue into his mouth, biting and sucking as if to consume him whole.

 

"Mmm…" His body was pressed forward by the firm grip at his waist, knees nearly lifting off the ground. His fingers tightened their grip on the dark curls, while the other hand braced against the back of the couch for support.

 

With a wet pop, Tengshe pulled back, licking his damp lips. A thin strand of saliva still connected them, but before it could break, Shuai Zhaomin instinctively leaned in again—this time, only to press a soft kiss to the corner of Tengshe's smirking mouth.

 

Any more and he'd suffocate. He needed a breather.

 

"Brandy poured over a sugar cube—when set on fire, it burns with a beautiful golden glow." Tengshe deliberately brushed his slightly coarse stubble against Shuai Zhaomin's kiss-flushed cheek, whispering sweet nothings as if they cost him nothing at all, his breath steady and unshaken.

 

"Fuck." Damn it. Even knowing that this man was full of cunning, that his mouth was as sharp as a blade, Shuai Zhaomin still couldn't help but feel flustered by the overly sweet description.

 

"Attorney Shuai, we've been kissing for twenty minutes." With effortless strength, Tengshe pulled Shuai Zhaomin fully onto his lap. Between his parted legs, beneath a layer of coarse fabric, his arousal was unmistakable—the tip already glistening with clear liquid.

 

Tengshe was, of course, not unaffected either. Though still clad in his jeans, the bulge straining against the denim was impossible to ignore, as if moments away from tearing through the thick fabric.

 

Even with the barrier between them, this could technically count as their first proper "meeting," right? Should he say hi?

 

Shuai Zhaomin sank down slightly, aligning his stiff arousal against the swell beneath Tengshe's pants, rubbing up and down in a slow, deliberate motion. The rough texture of the denim only heightened the sensation, making his already hard member twitch as beads of fluid seeped from the tip.

 

"Mmm…" A pleased sigh hummed through his nose as he adjusted his angle, grinding his length against Tengshe's restrained erection. His firm, rounded hips rolled instinctively, seeking more friction.

 

"Aren't you going to help me out?" Tengshe's hips moved in shallow thrusts, grinding against Shuai Zhaomin's teasing motions. Occasionally, he deliberately pressed the harder ridges of his zipper against the sensitive flesh beneath.

 

Shuai Zhaomin tipped his head back, Adam's apple bobbing as a low growl of pleasure rumbled in his throat. He might have lost their little game earlier, but right now, he was the one in control. Tengshe was at his mercy, held in place by his strong grip, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, leaving deep red imprints against the pale skin.

 

"Fuck… ah, ah… so good…"

 

Help? Like hell he would. Shuai Zhaomin couldn't be bothered with Tengshe right now. He was having too much fun on his own, the pleasure curling through his spine like an electric current. His hardness trembled slightly with every motion, each brush of friction sending another jolt of pleasure through his body.

 

"Don't even think about it."

 

Full lips curled in a smirk as a sheen of sweat appeared on Tengshe's forehead. His hips bucked harder, increasing the friction between them. At the same time, one of his hands snaked downward, gripping the base of Shuai Zhaomin's shaft with merciless precision.

 

"Attorney Shuai, I'm not a damn sex doll."

 

"Fuck—let go of me, you bastard!"

 

The sharp grip cut off his building pleasure, trapping the heat inside his body, making the itch and burn unbearable. Shuai Zhaomin trembled slightly, his breath hitching from the sudden, ruthless denial.

 

"What's wrong with a little mutual assistance?"

 

Taking full advantage of his large frame and long fingers, Tengshe tightened his grasp ever so slightly, his fingers grazing over the slit where moisture welled up, teasing the sensitive opening with slow, deliberate strokes.

 

"Fuck! Hah… ahh… like hell I will!"

 

His knuckles whitened against the chair's backrest as he panted heavily, forehead leaning against Tengshe's before suddenly slamming forward.

 

"Let go, you bastard—ngh… fuck… don't poke me there…"

 

The forceful impact left his mind momentarily blank, a different kind of dizziness swirling through the haze of lust. Tengshe winced at the pain but didn't loosen his hold—instead, he gripped even tighter, nails pressing into his sensitive skin, mercilessly stimulating the already slickened tip.

 

"Attorney Shuai, just a little favor—mutual, of course…"

 

The strain in his pants was unbearable, but Tengshe refused to back down.

 

He knew what kind of person he was—vicious, shameless, rotten to the core. But so what? He was a mafioso. He'd grown up in a world of blood and power struggles. He had little interest in controlling others, but he did have a deep fondness for taming wild beasts.

 

No matter what drove him, one thing was certain—he wanted Shuai Zhaomin to yield, to let him consume him whole.

 

"Would you ever take the initiative to let someone fuck you?"

 

Shuai Zhaomin's slender waist trembled slightly, his entire body shaking under Tengshe's masterful touch. But his defenses weren't so easily shattered.

 

Fuck! This was just a battle of endurance—whoever broke first would lose.

 

Damn it! How could sex feel this good yet also make him curse nonstop?

 

"No."

 

A low chuckle vibrated in Tengshe's throat. He pressed his lips against Shuai Zhaomin's, kissing hard against the bite-swollen flesh.

 

"Fair enough."

 

And yet, the one to back down first—was him.

 

Releasing his ruthless grip, Tengshe swiftly unzipped his pants, undoing the button before pulling out his flushed, engorged length.

 

"Wanna lick?"

 

His lips curled wickedly as he caught Shuai Zhaomin's hand, sliding his index finger into the wet heat of his mouth.

 

"Your dick or your finger?"

 

The warmth of his tongue wrapped around the digit, gliding slowly down its length, teasing over each knuckle until it reached the base, the tip flicking between the sensitive crevices.

 

Shuai Zhaomin felt himself on the verge of release.

 

Six months without getting off—yeah, that made a difference.

 

Fuck! He'd really held out for too damn long!

 

Compared to this, all their previous mutual fondling had been as bland as a glass of water.

 

"Which one do you want?"

 

Fuck! What kind of sinister question was that?

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