He Broke Me to My Lover's Music, Now the CEO Chases Me novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Music Room
Forced onto Qin Yuheng's lap while the pianist plays across the room, Mingzhou says he is an alpha, shuts the piano lid on the pianist's hands, and is asked whose song it is.
"So how does it feel," Qin Yuheng said into his ear, "to ride your husband while your lover plays for us?"
Xia Mingzhou was in his lap on the black leather sofa, shirt hanging off one shoulder, thighs shaking on either side of Yuheng's hips.
His face was wet.
He was biting his lip so hard it hurt, to keep the sounds in.
Across the room, at the grand piano, the pianist played the opening of a slow piece with his eyes shut and tears running down his face.
"Stop," Mingzhou said. It came out cracked. "Not with him here."
"He's not here. He's working."
Yuheng's hands held his hips and moved them, slow and deep, so that Mingzhou felt every inch of what he was sitting on.
Mingzhou dug his nails into Yuheng's shoulders through the open shirt.
Yuheng didn't flinch.
He never flinched.
He was an apex alpha, thirty-one, six foot four, and the scent coming off him filled the whole room.
It sat on Mingzhou's chest.
It made his knees go soft and his cock leak against Yuheng's stomach, and he hated it, and he could not make his body hate it with him.
"You're hard," Yuheng said.
"That's the bond," Mingzhou said.
"Is it."
"It's pressure. You know it is."
Yuheng's mouth moved against his jaw. "Do you still insist you're an alpha," he said, "even like this?"
The piano climbed into the second phrase.
Mingzhou knew every note.
He knew where the left hand dropped and where the right hand ought to hesitate, because he had written the hesitation himself, alone, at two in the morning, in a rented room, three years ago.
The piece was called Night Suite. The programs listed Fang as its arranger, and nobody had ever asked who wrote it.
Fang was playing it perfectly.
For four months Mingzhou had called him a friend.
That was the worst part.
"Look at him," Yuheng said. "Go on. He's the one who touched your hand in the rehearsal hall. He's the one who walks you to the car."
"He's a friend," Mingzhou said.
"He kissed your knuckles."
"How do you..."
Yuheng thrust up, hard, and the rest of the sentence broke apart in Mingzhou's throat.
He cried out, loud enough to carry.
The piano stumbled for half a beat. Then it went on.
Mingzhou pressed his forehead against Yuheng's collarbone and shook.
Eight months.
Eight months of two bedrooms, two wings, one table where nobody spoke, and a bond Yuheng renewed every fourteen days on schedule.
Not once had Yuheng touched him as if he meant it.
Tonight he meant every inch.
"Say it, and I'll send him home," Yuheng said. "Say you're not an alpha. Say you're only mine."
Mingzhou lifted his head.
Yuheng's eyes were grey-brown and level. A thin scar ran through his left eyebrow.
His face was calm.
Only his breathing gave him away. It was ragged, and it was fast, and his grip on Mingzhou's hips had left marks.
"I am an alpha," Mingzhou said.
"Even now."
"Even now."
He put both hands on Yuheng's face, so that Yuheng couldn't look at the piano or anything else, and he began to move.
On his own, this time.
He rose and took Yuheng back down, and the sound Yuheng made was low and startled.
"Mingzhou."
"You want to see an alpha?" Mingzhou's voice shook all the way through. "Then watch."
He rode him.
Not softly, and not for show.
He braced on Yuheng's shoulders and drove down, again and again, until the leather creaked under them and the heat gathered low in his belly and spread.
Yuheng's head went back against the cushion.
His hands slid from Mingzhou's hips to his ass and spread him, and Mingzhou groaned.
"Louder," Yuheng said hoarsely.
"Go to hell."
"Louder, so he can hear what he's not getting."
The piano stopped.
It stopped in the middle of a bar, and the silence that followed was worse than the music.
"Keep playing," Yuheng said, without turning.
A long pause.
Then Fang's hands came down again, unsteady, and the melody started over from the top.
Mingzhou laughed once, high and ugly, through his tears.
Yuheng caught him by the nape, right over the old bond mark, and thumbed it.
Everything in Mingzhou's body went white.
His thighs locked. His cock jerked between them, untouched, and he came all over Yuheng's open shirt with a cry that tore out of him.
Yuheng didn't let him slow down.
He rolled them, in one move, and put Mingzhou on his back on the leather with his knees pushed up against his chest.
"Now it's mine," Yuheng said.
He fucked him with short, brutal strokes, the way he always did on the fourteenth day, only harder.
Mingzhou took it with his fingers digging into the sofa seam.
He could feel the knot swelling at the base of Yuheng's cock, and the tight stretch of it every time Yuheng pushed in to the root.
"Don't," he gasped. "I just came, I can't..."
"You can," Yuheng said.
"Yuheng..."
"You will."
The knot caught inside him, thick and hot, and locked.
Yuheng's mouth found the mark on his neck and he bit down.
Pain, and then a flood of pleasure so strong that Mingzhou's whole body arched, and his second orgasm tore through him wet and long.
He heard himself sobbing.
He heard Yuheng groan against his skin, and felt him pulse, deep, over and over.
Then there was only the two of them breathing.
And the sound of someone not playing the piano.
Yuheng lay on top of him for a while, heavy and still.
Neither moved. They were locked together and neither could.
When the knot finally eased, Yuheng slid out and sat up, and Mingzhou felt the warm mess run down his thigh.
He didn't cover himself.
He turned his head on the cushion and looked at the piano.
Fang sat there with his hands in his lap. His eyes were open now. He looked sick.
"Mingzhou," Fang said. "I didn't know it would be..."
Mingzhou stood up.
His legs gave once and he caught the arm of the sofa. Then they held.
He walked across the room naked below the waist, with Yuheng's come on his skin, and nobody in the room said a word.
He stopped at the piano.
"Take your hands off the keys, Jinyan," Mingzhou said. "And don't play it again."
Fang took them off.
Mingzhou lowered the lid over the keyboard and let it fall shut.
The bang rang through the house.
He turned and looked back at the sofa.
Yuheng sat there with his shirt open, his hair out of place and his arms along the back of the leather, watching him.
"Fourteen months," Mingzhou said. His voice was steady now. "Then I'm gone, and I don't come back."
"I know the contract."
"Then know this. You can make me come on your cock whenever the bond runs out, and I'll hate every second of it, and you'll know that too."
For the first time in eight months, something moved in Yuheng's face.
It wasn't anger.
He stood, and fastened his trousers, and crossed the floor until he was close enough to touch.
He didn't touch.
"You told him not to play," Yuheng said quietly. "Just now."
"So?"
"You said 'don't play it again.' You said it as if you had the right to forbid it."
Mingzhou's mouth went dry.
Yuheng looked at him for a long moment, and then past him, at the closed lid.
"Whose song is it, Mingzhou?"
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