Chapter 261 - Utterly undone
Xing Yu’s restraint shattered in the next heartbeat. With a sudden turn, he pressed Jian hard against the door, the impact echoing faintly through the quiet hall. His body loomed over Jian’s smaller frame, his breath hot and ragged, and before Jian could even steady himself, Xing Yu’s mouth was on him again—this time harsher, fiercer, desperate with fevered passion.Jian gasped into the kiss, one hand flying up to Xing Yu’s chest as if to push him away. But the moment his trembling palm pressed against that solid wall of muscle, Xing Yu caught both of his wrists in one swift move and pinned them above his head. Jian squirmed helplessly, caught between the unyielding door and the man who refused to let him go. The pressure of his body caging him in left Jian trembling, shivers running through his spine as he was kissed with all the fire Xing Yu had been holding back.
When at last Xing Yu pulled away, Jian slumped against the wood, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick. Drool glistened as it slipped down the corner of his mouth, his breaths harsh and shallow as if he’d been starved of air. Xing Yu stared down at him, panting just as heavily, his own face shadowed by heat.
And Jian—gods, Jian looked utterly undone. His golden haloed eyes were half-mast, pupils dilated with something dangerous, something that pulled Xing Yu in like gravity itself. His flushed face burned crimson all the way down to his slender neck, and his lips... those lips looked bitten, bruised, and unbearably tempting.
Xing Yu’s pulse hammered in his ears. He had given Jian only a fleeting breath, a momentary reprieve, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The sight of him like this—ravaged, trembling, yet glowing with something close to pleasure—was more than Xing Yu’s control could bear.
With a low groan torn from his throat, he dipped down again, capturing Jian’s mouth once more. This kiss was even deeper, hungrier, as if he meant to consume Jian entirely, to leave no room for doubt or escape.
Xing Yu’s lips finally tore away from Jian’s, but only so he could trail his mouth lower. His breaths came rough and heated against Jian’s damp skin, each one sending a shiver racing down the younger man’s spine. Fingers gripped the edge of Jian’s shirt, tugging insistently until the fabric gave way, baring pale skin to the open air. The shirt slid down his arms and crumpled to the floor, forgotten.
Jian clutched at the door behind him, nails dragging grooves into the wood as though bracing himself against the flood of sensation. His chest rose and fell too quickly, the rise trembling, the fall uneven.
Xing Yu’s mouth hovered just above him, as though he didn’t know whether to savor the sight or give in to the hunger twisting inside. His rough palm slid across Jian’s back, calloused fingertips kneading the tension there, before pressing flat against him, pulling him close. His lips brushed at his collar, slow at first, then deeper, burning marks into skin that seemed to glow faintly under the weight of every touch.
A startled gasp slipped past Jian’s lips, and Xing Yu’s head tilted lower, his movements deliberate yet frantic, reverent yet desperate. He pressed kisses down the line of his throat, down the taut center of his chest, lingering, worshipful. The older man sank lower, every motion filled with a near-aching devotion, until he knelt before him, his hands spread firm at Jian’s sides, holding him steady as though Jian might otherwise collapse under the storm he had unleashed.
Jian’s haloed eyes fluttered half-closed, his mouth parted as though caught between wanting to cry out and wanting to bite back the sound. His nails dug harder into the wood, anchoring himself to something solid while his body trembled at the sensation of being consumed so thoroughly.
And Xing Yu, head bowed against him, seemed lost in a world where nothing else existed—only the taste of him, the shape of him, the overwhelming need to show with every breath and every touch just how much restraint had been burning him alive these five years.
Jian’s legs trembled so hard that the strength drained from them. His nails slipped down the wood of the door, leaving faint scratches as his knees buckled. Xing Yu’s arms caught him before he could crumple, his rough hands unexpectedly tender as he lifted him as though Jian weighed nothing at all.
The younger man pressed against his chest, dazed, breath ragged. His haloed eyes shimmered wet, his flushed cheeks glowed with feverish color. Xing Yu carried him across the room in silence, every step heavy with the gravity of what he was finally allowing himself to do.
When he lowered Jian onto the bed, the younger man sank into the sheets, strands of hair spilling across the pillow like spilled golden ink. Xing Yu hovered above him, and for the first time in five long years, he truly looked—without restraint, without forcing himself to look away.
Every line of Jian’s face, every tremor in his breath, every curve of his body seemed carved to undo him. He had seen this beauty before—day after day, year after year—but never had he dared to let it take hold of him. He had buried his want, strangled his yearning, forced his eyes to look elsewhere out of sheer terror that it would consume him.
But now, with Jian laid bare beneath him, there was no escape.
Xing Yu’s chest rose with a shuddering breath, his throat tightening as his gaze dragged down every inch of exposed skin. The hunger in him coiled tighter, snapping the leash he had held himself on. His hand pressed against the bedding beside Jian’s head, the other brushing along his waist, fingers twitching as though fighting the urge to clutch him too hard.
A low, guttural sound rumbled out of him before he even realized it—a growl, raw and primal, scraping up his throat and filling the air between them. His lips pulled back slightly, not in anger, but in the kind of want that went past reason.
Jian’s eyes widened, lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out—only a hitched breath.
Xing Yu leaned closer, shadows falling over Jian’s flushed form, and his voice came out rough, strained, almost broken by the weight of all the years he had denied himself.
"Do you even know," he whispered, his breath hot against Jian’s lips, "what you’ve done to me all this time?"