Chapter 42

Chapter 42

Shen Mo’s tongue burned hot. Kneeling made his position awkward, so Jiang Yao simply lay back. As he shifted, his robe fell open, revealing expanses of creamy skin.

Jiang Yao bent one leg, the hem of his robe slipping aside to expose two smooth thighs, their innermost curves veiled by white cloth. The robe’s belt cinched his waist, shaping him into a form begging to be gripped.

A crimson mole caught the eye. Jiang Yao’s collarbone was half-bare, his neck slender, his defined jaw leading up to thin, flushed lips, slightly parted—undefended, as if inviting conquest.

Shen Mo swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears, blood pounding with each frantic heartbeat. The pressure in his eardrums left him dizzy.

Shen Mo thrummed with excitement. He ripped away his tie and crawled up from the foot of the bed until his gaze met Jiang Yao’s, his entire body looming over him, casting him in shadow.

Jiang Yao curved his lips.

Hunger darkened Shen Mo's gaze. He was like a serpent, his cravings already coiling around Jiang Yao, primed to consume him entirely.

Finally, searing breath ghosted over his brow, followed by the first tentative lick of a tongue. Jiang Yao felt only a warm, damp sensation.

A teasing tingle edged with a sharp, almost painful prick.

But Shen Mo quickly grew unsatisfied. He leaned down, pressing his body low, his broad tongue dragging wetly across Jiang Yao’s forehead, leaving a slick trail.

Jiang Yao felt like he’d been licked by a dog. He tilted his head back to escape, but his neck was suddenly seized by Shen Mo.

That split-second loss of control made Jiang Yao’s heart skip a beat!

Then, a soft kiss landed on his forehead, trailed down to the tip of his nose, then his lips…

Since when did this brute show tenderness?

Jiang Yao turned his head away, distracted, lost in thought.

Shen Mo furrowed his brows. “Give it to me.”

Jiang Yao turned back lazily, eyeing him.

Shen Mo: “This trip to South Africa, I secured two flawless ivory tusks. I’ll have them carved into buttons and sent to the German tailor for your new suit.”

“I heard there’s a type of rose that never withers—available in Dubai. After the F1 race, I’ll take you there.”

“Alright?”

“Can I?”

Shen Mo pleaded, swallowing twice between each sentence, his stare turning feral with need.

His cravings laid even barer, unrestrained.

“Promise me! Give it to me! I’m going mad!”

“It hurts… aching to the point of torment…”

“Why… why won’t you give it to me?”

“Give it to me, I need—”

Jiang Yao played at indifference. “Need what?”

“Let me take you.” Shen Mo whispered, “Just once, just once, sir… sir…”

Shen Mo stared down at Jiang Yao, desperate, even clawing at his own clothes in his urgency to release—a pathetic spectacle.

“Hm.” Jiang Yao let out a soft hum. Shen Mo’s mouth was on his in an instant, claiming and consuming.

He sucked and licked at the tender flesh, attempting to force Jiang Yao's lips open, but Jiang Yao held firm, silent, forcing Shen Mo to restrain himself.

Only when Jiang Yao’s lips were swollen from the assault did Shen Mo break away, breath ragged, before descending to nip at his neck.

100%

From this angle, Shen Mo’s head was clearly visible.

He buried himself against Jiang Yao, too lost to remember asking for permission, possessively mapping every centimeter.

Even after covering Jiang Yao in marks, he wasn’t satisfied—nowhere near. He pushed aside the robe, clamping delicate flesh between teeth.

“Nn…” Jiang Yao’s brows knitted, his slanted eyes glazing wetly, squeezing shut as a tear escaped the corner.

Shen Mo knew Jiang Yao was enjoying it. He redoubled his efforts, employing every filthy trick he knew. He was a man too—he knew a man’s sensitive spots.

But he never thought this would be one. Yet Jiang Yao reacted so intensely to even the slightest touch…

“So responsive… perfect…”

Shen Mo freed one hand to explore lower, but Jiang Yao blocked him with a bent knee. Annoyed, Shen Mo's teeth threatened punishment but delivered only teasing scrapes.

Even that was too much. Jiang Yao’s expression twisted, and he struck Shen Mo with enough force to whip his head sideways!

“Hurt me again, and you’ll kneel at the front gate till morning!”

“I’m sorry.” Shen Mo apologized, though the depravity in his thoughts would make Jiang Yao name him monster.

“Hit me more… hit me again…”

“You don’t even realize… your fragrance overwhelms me before the slap's burn registers…”

Shen Mo watched Jiang Yao with worshipping eyes.

Jiang Yao: “What are you thinking?”

So he answered: “That it wasn’t painful enough to make me remember.”

Jiang Yao barked a humorless laugh. He’d nearly forgotten—Shen Mo—normally all calculated control—craved this violent proof of being necessary.

Butler Jiang carried himself with dignity, never uttering a crude word, let alone striking anyone unjustly. So his warped need to inflict pain…

Could only be vented on Shen Mo. And Shen Mo wore it like a badge.

“No one serves you like I do.” Shen Mo seized Jiang Yao’s hand, nuzzling into the punishing hand. “No one.”

Jiang Yao knew what he meant but deliberately asked, “What’s that supposed to mean? Why rub my hand?”

Shen Mo's expression contorted painfully—more vulnerable than pleading. “Did it hurt?”

Jiang Yao's lips quirked.

The metrics of Shen Mo's devotion held steady. If anything, Jiang Yao sensed his desperation mounting. Shen Mo said, “Hitting me… your pain becomes mine.”

“Oh.” Jiang Yao took the opportunity to trace mocking fingers along Shen Mo's jaw. This was his Shen Mo, after all. With that thought, he dispensed two sharper blows.

The slap sent Shen Mo's face tilting to the side, but he righted himself, offering his face again like a submissive plaything for Jiang Yao to torment.

"Aren't you afraid of hurting me?" Jiang Yao asked.

Shen Mo straightened up, his eyes red, and yanked the belt from his waist, handing it directly to Jiang Yao. "Use this..."

"Hit me... don’t leave me..."

Shen Mo was unraveling, desire burning through his mind, warping him. In his head, he was both the suave, untouchable tycoon and the one desperate for companionship, craving to be needed.

"Jiang Yao, you’ve got some nerve, daring to hit me? You whore... I’ll ruin you—"

"No, don’t leave me."

"The belt..."

Shen Mo’s eyes were bloodshot: "The belt—the belt’s good, like this... you hit me? Yes! This is perfect!"

Sweat dripped, soaking through Shen Mo’s shirt. His lips trembled as he cupped Jiang Yao’s face and kissed him deeply. "Give me... more..."

His kisses spread, but they weren’t enough anymore. Shen Mo’s arms shook as he unzipped himself, stroking his own aching length, demanding release...

Never breaking the kiss.

Soon, the climax came faster than he expected. He could no longer focus on Jiang Yao, crumpling over him, breathing harshly, begging brokenly: "Help me... give it to me..."

Jiang Yao drawled, "I won’t."

Shen Mo’s gaze was like a noose, tightening around Jiang Yao’s arm. He grabbed Jiang Yao’s hand, guiding it... "Like last time."

"That time?" Jiang Yao asked.

Shen Mo gritted his teeth and nodded. Jiang Yao, his own throat dry, tried to soothe Shen Mo, whose burning breath seared into him!

He was suffering too, but Shen Mo was considerate—without needing to be told, he began to serve, more meticulous, almost reverent, more devoted to teasing every sensitive spot.

Unlike Jiang Yao, who was rough, treating him like a useless wooden toy, hacking mindlessly, like whittling trash.

Savage, unrelenting, as if only reducing it to a broken stick would satisfy him.

Shen Mo’s every move, however, was like a blind man clinging to his cane—careful, fearful of damage, because it was his lifeline.

Jiang Yao suddenly furrowed his brows. He turned and bit Shen Mo’s arm, his breathing growing heavier. Between bites, it was as if Shen Mo could quench his thirst—his expression flickering between pain and pleasure, as if tasting something cloyingly sweet!

"It’s fine, you can do whatever you want..." Shen Mo panted, unbothered by Jiang Yao’s bites.

Jiang Yao was losing strength. His mouth fell open, his gaze unfocused, staring blankly at the ceiling, his pupils glazed over.

He grew lazy, leaving it all to Shen Mo, who worked tirelessly, working him over.

Shen Mo was methodical, schooling Jiang Yao how to handle him—guiding his hands gently, sliding them together... catching Jiang Yao’s fingers to intertwine and provoke.

Jiang Yao disliked it, so he treated Shen Mo’s "broken stick" mercilessly, mustering the last of his strength to wrench viciously!

"You... bitch... ah—!" Shen Mo seethed silently—though in truth, he was in ecstasy. "So good! Ah—!"

Shen Mo choked out, "Jiang... ah."

The sound was too thick and filthy, like piercing a rotten fruit, slick and obscene.

Shen Mo caught Jiang Yao’s signal—just as he was about to—

Jiang Yao’s thin lips parted, his voice hoarse: "Hold it in."

Shen Mo froze.

"Keep it in." Jiang Yao huffed a weak laugh, drenched in sweat, laziness enveloping him. Post-climax lethargy made him playful again.

Baring his teeth at Shen Mo, smirking, mocking, controlling.

This was his favorite—holding, kissing, touching Shen Mo... until they were both drunk on each other, until Shen Mo was shaking apart—then softly telling him: *No.*

"Hold it in." Jiang Yao played with the "cane," cutting him off. "Hold it. Until I’ve had my fill."

This was worse than killing Shen Mo!

Jiang Yao said, "One hour. Endure it."

Ten minutes later, Shen Mo howled: "Ah—!"

Twenty minutes in, Jiang Yao regained his stamina, finding his rhythm, while Shen Mo raged and cursed him in his head.

Thirty minutes later, Shen Mo began seizing up, his body trembling, barely holding back. Just as Jiang Yao was about to relent, Shen Mo grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

"It’s... not time..." Shen Mo’s lips were pale.

"Whining like this," Jiang Yao’s gaze sharpened, a sadistic streak igniting, "and you’re still obsessed with the pain?"

The percentage above Shen Mo’s head suddenly twitched.

From 100%—

To 101!

Jiang Yao’s grip tightened in shock!

Shen Mo passed out mid-scream.

The release was wild, dousing Jiang Yao in a gush that was inhuman.

It covered Jiang Yao’s face, leaving him stunned, dazed. He was weak too, but unlike Shen Mo’s drained pallor, he looked like a flower wilted under the sun—growing softer, more pliant... until even his thorns turned tender.

Like a sacrificial offering, boneless and yielding.

Only when a drop hit his lips, the metallic tang shocking him awake, did Jiang Yao slowly come to. He frowned, licking his dry lips, then kicked Shen Mo off the couch.

Legs weak, he stumbled to the sink.

"Psycho!" Jiang Yao spat.