He Sold My Designs to the Chairman, So I Married the Chairman novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Glass

Against the penthouse glass the chairman undresses him with a tailor's tape in his pocket, and Yichen takes him in his mouth until the cold man's voice breaks.

The glass was cold against Yichen's back, and Weicheng's mouth was hot on his.

He had been kissed against a wall before, by a boy who was afraid of being seen.

This was nothing like that.

Weicheng kissed him.

One hand spread along his jaw and tilted his head back exactly where he wanted it.

Yichen made a sound into his mouth that he didn't mean to make.

"Say it," Weicheng said against his lips. "The terms say one of us has to."

"So," Yichen said.

"So what?"

"So say it yourself, Chairman. You're the one with your hand on my face."

Weicheng's thumb pressed into the hinge of his jaw, and Yichen's mouth fell open.

The kiss came back deeper and rougher, with teeth.

Yichen fisted both hands in the grey waistcoat and dragged him closer.

He felt a cock hard and heavy against his hip through two layers of wool.

He rolled his hips into it on purpose.

Weicheng's breath hitched.

"Careful," he said.

"Or what?"

"Or I won't make it to the bed."

"There's a whole city out there that says you shouldn't bother."

Behind Yichen's back the Bund lay lit and glittering a hundred floors down, and nobody could see in.

Weicheng looked at the glass, and at him, and made a low sound in his throat.

He took his hand off Yichen's jaw and started on the buttons of the black work shirt.

His fingers were quick and sure.

Each button he opened, he put his mouth to what it uncovered, the hollow of the throat, the left collarbone, the dip above the sternum.

Yichen's head thudded back against the glass.

"You're slow," he said, and his voice was already ragged.

"I'm thorough."

The shirt dropped off his shoulders.

Weicheng pushed it down his arms and held his wrists against the glass for a moment, one in each hand, and looked.

Yichen let him.

He was lean and pale, and chalk dust still lay in the creases of his wrists.

There was nothing on his body that he was ashamed of.

"Beautiful," Weicheng said, flat and low, like reading a figure off a ledger.

"Is that a compliment or an appraisal?"

"Both."

He let go of the wrists, reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat, and took out a folded yellow tape measure.

Yichen stared at it. "You carry that?"

"Always."

Weicheng shook the tape out to its full length and laid the end of it against the hollow of Yichen's throat.

He drew it down the middle of his chest, slowly, and watched the numbers go by.

The tape was cool and thin and it tickled over his ribs.

It ran across his stomach, and Yichen's muscles jumped under it.

"Stop teasing," Yichen said.

"I haven't started."

Weicheng stepped closer and took the tape around his waist, once, with both hands behind him, so that his arms held him in a loop.

His chin brushed Yichen's temple.

He pulled the tape snug, and then snugger, until it bit.

Yichen's cock jerked in his trousers.

He knew Weicheng felt it, because the corner of that grave mouth turned up a hair.

"Seventy-one centimetres," Weicheng murmured.

"Is that what I'm worth?"

"It's what you are."

He let the tape drop to the floor and put both hands to the button of Yichen's trousers.

Yichen caught his wrists.

"Your turn," he said.

"I'm not finished."

"You're a chairman. You must be very good at finishing."

Weicheng's eyes darkened, and for a moment Yichen thought he'd gone too far.

Then Weicheng let go of the button, and stepped back, and spread his arms an inch from his sides.

"Then show me."

Yichen's mouth went dry.

He had never seen a man so still on purpose.

He pushed off the glass and walked up to him, and took hold of the waistcoat's lapels.

The buttons gave one by one, grey horn, each as heavy as a coin.

He pushed the waistcoat open and the jacket with it, and pulled the white shirt out of the trousers.

Under it Weicheng was broad and hard, with a long old burn scar over his left ribs that the suit had hidden perfectly.

Yichen laid his palm over the scar.

Weicheng's whole chest rose under it.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Does this?"

He dragged his nails lightly down the muscle.

Weicheng's breath left him in a rush.

"No."

"Good."

Yichen sank down onto his knees on the cold stone.

He undid the belt and the trousers and pulled the black cotton down.

Weicheng's cock sprang out thick and flushed and already wet at the tip.

It was bigger than he'd expected, and the sight of it went through him.

He wrapped his fingers around the base and felt it throb.

Weicheng's hand came down into his hair and tightened.

It didn't push.

It only held.

"Lan Yichen," he said, and it was the first time his voice wasn't steady.

Yichen looked up through his lashes, and held his eyes, and licked a slow wet stripe up the underside.

Weicheng's hips twitched.

He did it again, from the root to the slit, and then closed his lips around the head and sucked.

The taste of him was salt and heat.

"Fuck," said Qiao Weicheng, very quietly, as if the word had been stored somewhere for years.

Yichen hummed around him, and felt the sound go into his hand.

He took him deeper, slowly, an inch at a time, letting his tongue work along the vein.

His own cock throbbed painfully in his trousers.

He reached down and pressed the heel of his hand against it, once, to keep himself level.

Weicheng saw.

"Don't," he said hoarsely. "Not yet. Look at me."

Yichen looked up with his mouth stretched round the thick weight of him.

The Chairman's face had come apart.

His eyes were half shut, and his mouth was open.

Color had risen along his cheekbones all the way to the scar in his brow.

He looked ten years younger.

Yichen pulled back until only the head stayed between his lips, and swirled his tongue over the slit, and Weicheng's thighs shook.

Then he took him all the way down, till his nose touched the dark hair at the base, and swallowed.

"Yichen," Weicheng said.

It broke in the middle.

It was not the full name this time, only the last two syllables.

He said them.

Yichen heard it and his cock twitched hard in his trousers.

He did not know why that one word undid him.

He drew back and sank down again, faster, and again, wet and obscene in the quiet.

The hand in his hair clenched.

Weicheng's other hand came flat against the glass beside them, and his arm shook.

"I'm going to," he said. "Move, or I will."

Yichen did not move.

He gripped Weicheng's hips and pulled him in, and took the next thrust all the way into his throat.

Weicheng came with a shout he cut off halfway, heavy and hot, in long pulses that Yichen swallowed as they came.

When it was over he stayed there with his cheek against a trembling thigh, wiping his mouth with his thumb.

Weicheng slid down the glass beside him and pulled him up, roughly, by the front of his open trousers.

He caught Yichen's face in both hands and kissed him, tasting himself, hungry and unsparing.

"You're still hard," Weicheng said into his mouth.

"Painfully."

"Good."

His hand slid down inside Yichen's trousers and closed around him, and Yichen's knees almost went.

"Chairman," he gasped.

"Weicheng."

"Not yet."

Weicheng laughed, a low, ragged, private sound, and began to stroke him, hard and exact, with a thumb that found the slit on every pass.

He turned Yichen around and pressed him chest first to the glass, and stroked him from behind with his mouth at his ear.

"You were loud in my head all night," Weicheng said. "I want to hear it out loud."

"Then work for it."

"Gladly."

He tightened his fist, and twisted at the head, and ground his own softening length against the cleft of Yichen's ass.

Yichen heard himself groan.

The cold of the window on his nipples, the heat of the man at his back, and the long smooth pull of that hand were too much to hold apart.

"Say my name," Weicheng said.

"Chairman."

"Not that one."

"Make me."

Weicheng bit the side of his neck, hard, and Yichen swore and bucked into his fist.

It took less than a minute after that.

Yichen came with his forehead on the glass and a cry he didn't try to stop, spilling over the long careful fingers.

They stood like that against the cold glass, breathing, until their hearts slowed.

On the floor by their feet the yellow tape measure lay curled in a loop.

Beside it, Yichen's phone lit up face-up on the stone.

ZHIYUAN, it said, in big white letters, for the forty-second time.

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