Chapter 04#
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Zhou Yan was drunk.
Even though his status as heir made his claim to the group’s power legitimate, a single year hadn’t been enough to fully win over the others. Necessary social engagements and moderate sweeteners could effectively pacify those restless old men.
He’d always had a high tolerance for alcohol—he’d toasted over a dozen tables at the wedding banquet without being taken down. Tonight’s level was probably only slightly worse than that night; not enough to impair his lower-body function, but enough to give him the illusion that he was dreaming.
After all, the real Song Zhiyan would never throw himself naked into Zhou Yan’s arms like this, gazing up at him with eyes brimming with moisture when he was picked up. He was trembling with excitement all over, yet wearing that pitiful, seductive face, he said “no” with a coy reluctance that was really an invitation.
No to what?
No to stopping?
Zhou Yan lifted his head and kissed Song Zhiyan, carrying the still-struggling person from the doorway to the bed. He set him down and immediately pressed himself on top to pin him down.
Song Zhiyan was frantic. His hands shoved uselessly against Zhou Yan as they were seized and pinned above his head in one motion. His lower body was immobilized too, and Zhou Yan’s tongue thrust into his mouth for a deep, crushing kiss. His mind went blank, unable to understand how things had come to this, or how he was supposed to stop this man from violating him.
He bit down on Zhou Yan’s tongue until it bled, desperately trying to bend his knee to strike Zhou Yan’s lower abdomen—but the disparity in their strength was simply too great. All his struggling was futile in front of Zhou Yan, and only invited rougher suppression.
“Zhou… Zhou Yan, mm… let me go… ah!”
Two fingers forced their way into his unprepared entrance, and the pain made Song Zhiyan arch his back with a shriek. His fierce protests finally dissolved into choked pleas—don’t go in, it hurts, please.
Tears streamed down his face, washing away the faint blush from the hot steam and leaving only pallor behind. He cowered, trembling, frail, terrified and humiliated.
Zhou Yan stopped, staring at Song Zhiyan for a moment. He seemed to sober up a few degrees and stopped forcing it. He pulled open the nightstand drawer, rifled through it, and found what looked like a tube of hand cream. He twisted the cap off one-handed and squeezed a large glob of cream into his palm, coating his fingers before sliding them over Song Zhiyan’s still-trembling lower back and the tops of his thighs, then working between his buttocks to the hidden opening there, slowly pushing in.
With the cream’s lubrication, the dry passage could barely accommodate deeper penetration. Zhou Yan’s patience was limited; soon he added a second and third finger, thrusting in and out with the melted slickness.
Song Zhiyan’s hands were still pinned by Zhou Yan. Tear tracks had dried at the corners of his eyes and on his cheeks, leaving his skin taut as if sealed under plastic wrap.
Biting his lip to endure the aching discomfort below, he took deep, gasping breaths, trying to steady his erratic heartbeat. It was no use—every beat slammed violently against his chest, rattling his head and ringing in his ears, until he lacked even the strength to cry out in pain.
“So tight.” Zhou Yan bit Song Zhiyan’s earlobe, his voice low. “First time?”
Song Zhiyan didn’t want to answer, but he was too afraid of pain. A single casual comment from Zhou Yan—“Add another finger if you won’t say”—made him surrender, and he answered yes with humiliation.
“Really?” Zhou Yan’s scorching breath swept past Song Zhiyan’s ear, carrying with it a bone-chilling coldness. “Little liar.”
Song Zhiyan had dated Qin Shu for three years. How could he never have been touched?
He was dirty long ago.
Like a red rose fallen to the ground, trampled wantonly by passersby—withered, blackened, dirty to the bone.
“I didn’t, mm… I’m not lying.” Song Zhiyan was incoherent. “I haven’t, we never did…”
Zhou Yan was irritated by what he heard. He withdrew his fingers and wiped them clean on Song Zhiyan’s fair thigh, unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers, pulled out his painfully hard cock, pressed it against Song Zhiyan’s wet, slick opening, and with a sharp thrust of his hips, drove himself all the way in.
“——!”
Song Zhiyan’s eyes flew wide, unseeing. The searing pain of his body being split open drained the last of his strength, and tears gushed forth again. Zhou Yan gave him no chance to recover—he gripped Song Zhiyan’s two slender white legs and pressed them down, beginning to pound into the body he could only touch in dreams—Song Zhiyan’s body.
A rose should never have fallen to the ground.
It should have been plucked, crushed against someone’s chest, or left to rot on a luxurious bed.
Zhou Yan fucked Song Zhiyan mindlessly for a while, and only when he sensed the other had stopped resisting did he release his grip. He cradled the back of Song Zhiyan’s neck and kissed those lips that looked especially red against the pallor of his face.
The first time, Zhou Yan didn’t pull out. He gripped Song Zhiyan’s slender waist and came deep inside him. Song Zhiyan numbly accepted the pain and pleasure Zhou Yan inflicted, twitching from the semen flooding his insides, his half-erect cock leaking a few strands of thin white—but it never fully hardened.
“Song Zhiyan.” As Zhou Yan held him in the afterglow, he touched the limp thing between Song Zhiyan’s legs and gave a cold laugh, almost self-mocking. “You really don’t want to do it with me?”
Song Zhiyan was drowsy with exhaustion. Hearing Zhou Yan’s voice, he shook his head instinctively, not understanding what he’d been asked.
He somewhat regretted not taking Zhou Yun’s words to heart, so that he’d paid the price for his blind, reckless hope—becoming the object of the pervert Zhou Yan’s drunken lust.
But he didn’t really have the right to condemn Zhou Yan.
Because he was a pervert too.
Almost every night, he dreamed of having sex with Zhou Yan, or secretly watched him masturbate. He could even get hard and come when Zhou Yan forced himself inside him.
The thing he’d never actually done in three years with Qin Shu—Zhou Yan made him taste the peak of pleasure in a single night.
This was too depraved.
Song Zhiyan even felt he wasn’t fit to accuse Zhou Yan.
…So let it be.
The worst outcome would be getting kicked out by Chairman Wan. As long as his mother could stay in the care facility, he could agree to anything.
Song Zhiyan thought hazily, and finally, unable to hold on any longer, fell asleep.
The first time wasn’t very satisfying—it’ll be better in the future (shooting my mouth off