"It's midnight. I'll ask you one more time." Pei Yang's voice was low and hoarse, like sandpaper rasping, and impossibly seductive. "Lin Wen or me?"
Feng Wanting said nothing. His eyes stayed on Pei Yang's face as though he were under a spell, while the hands at Pei Yang's waist had already begun tugging at his trousers. His fingertips flicked open the belt buckle, the clink of metal especially clear in the silent suite.
Pei Yang kept stopping him. "Answer me f-first."
"Even if I don't answer, you won't be able to hold out, will you?" Feng Wanting's words carried a pointed implication. His palm burned against Pei Yang's waist, and he lowered his eyes slightly with a soft huff.
"Director Feng still has the upper hand." Pei Yang bent his knees and settled a little lower. "I just want to know... where exactly did those rumors about you being impotent come from?"
"Take a guess."
"I'm not guessing." Pei Yang breathed heavily, leaning back a little. "If you don't answer, I won't let you touch me."
Feng Wanting suddenly caught Pei Yang beneath his thighs and rose from the sofa with him still in that position.
Pei Yang lost his balance at once, his entire body suspended against him. "Feng Wanting!"
"I choose..." Feng Wanting's gaze lingered on Pei Yang's lips, but his kiss landed on his earlobe instead. His voice was low and husky. "Pei Yang."
"..."
Once they reached the master bedroom, Pei Yang was laid on the large bed.
Two in the morning.
"...Take a break, Feng Wanting! Stop for a bit. I'm going to die."
"...Wait a little longer."
His attempts to negotiate got him nowhere. At three in the morning, Pei Yang lay against Feng Wanting's shoulder, his eyes hazy and his voice barely