The force from her fingertips brought Qi Sui back to her senses.
Xiang Yu was frowning, looking thoroughly displeased, as if the two weren't flirting but discussing some important business matter.
He tightened his grip on the cold hand pressed against his cheek and asked again, "What are you thinking?"
Not only was his gaze icy, but his voice was icy too.
Qi Sui's hand, like a small, cold snake, was forced to cling to his cheek. Xiang Yu's brows knitted together, forming fine lines between them. The pale and rosy hues on his face blended, and his otherwise calm expression took on a strange beauty.
Xiang Yu was not unfamiliar with the dazed look on Qi Sui's face—it was the vulnerable expression she wore whenever she thought of her useless ex-husband.
That fake, withered love disgusted Xiang Yu.
His voice was like a cool breeze in a summer night, his tone flat, but one could clearly detect a hint of dissatisfaction. "Ms. Qi, being fickle isn't a good habit. You shouldn't be that kind of person, should you?"
He didn't hide his dissatisfaction but laid out his emotions openly between them, as if he wanted to make a scene over this.
But Qi Sui understood Xiang Yu somewhat. He would indeed take advantage of his emotions to push further, but he was also a contradictory person.
If Qi Sui had to say, it was that deep down, he carried an indelible sense of inferiority.
But unlike Qi Sui—her long, terrible marriage had destroyed her confidence and positivity—where did Xiang Yu's inferiority come from?
The woman stared blankly, her fingertips resting limply on his face. This made Xiang Yu purse his lips, dissatisfied.
But he forgot that her fingertips were still teasingly rubbing his plump lip pearl, like a child sucking milk even in sleep. Xiang Yu, with anger, bit the woman's finger into his mouth, though his face remained cold as frost.
"Allow me to remind you, Ms. Qi, the divorce papers have been submitted. If you back out now, not only will I be stuck with the label of 'male mistress,' but all the hard work you've put in will be for nothing." Having said that, he put on an arrogant look. "Of course, I don't care about the title of male mistress. I only care about you. If you show even a hint of ingratitude toward this marriage, I'll think you're not completely beyond saving."
He had laid down the harsh words, but unfortunately, his mouth was gently holding Qi Sui's finger, making his voice soft and blurry, devoid of any threat.
He probably didn't know that what Qi Sui was thinking about wasn't that nameless scumbag ex-husband, but rather she was repeatedly questioning herself—
Had she picked up some strange kink from Xiang Yu?
For instance, she liked seeing him play the role of a chaste martyr; for instance, she wanted to see a hint of loss of control on that cold, distant face.
Whenever this happened, that familiar electric sensation at the base of her ears transmitted to her brain, making her feel a wonderful warmth from within, leaving her mind dizzy and unable to think of anything else.
She came back to her senses and smiled. Her other hand reached out to pinch the man's chin, making him lift his head until his neck was completely straight, the muscles connecting his jaw bulging into thick tendons.
Qi Sui asked, "If I regret, what would Director Xiang do? Would you beg me?"
Her finger pressed against Xiang Yu's lips, rendering him speechless.
The man couldn't answer. He could only stare blankly at Qi Sui's face—from her beautiful, slender willow-leaf eyes to her pale red lips, made even more glossy by lip oil.
Those lips were different from his. They had no strange lip pearl, nor were they too thin or sharp. They were of normal thickness, with full, round corners and evenly distributed flesh, looking springy and resilient.
He couldn't say whether he wanted to eat them or simply look at them, but Xiang Yu felt deeply unsatisfied.
He said nothing.
Yet it was as if he had said everything.
His misty eyes vaguely settled on her lips, as if he would commit any sin for just one kiss.
But Qi Sui's fingers were still in his mouth—how could she give him a kiss?
Her fingertips moved slightly, feeling no resistance in Xiang Yu's mouth, sliding past his wet tongue and quickly slipping out, leaving behind only a trace of moisture.
Qi Sui frowned.
She felt a soreness in her lower back.
After all, she was an office worker, and lumbar muscle strain was the most common injury. Maintaining this posture was no easy feat—her waist and legs weren't aligned, and the entire position relied on her core strength.
So she let go with one hand and propped herself against the desk, giving her slightly numb lower back a brief respite.
Her temporary pause seemed to give Xiang Yu the wrong idea.
His pupils lost focus, and his face was expressionless to an extreme. Yet he immediately reached out to support her waist, easing the burden on her strained muscles so she wouldn't collapse off the desk from exhaustion.
Thinking she was about to let go completely, Xiang Yu rubbed his fluffy hair against her.
He wanted something, wanted to do something, but said nothing.
He just kept rubbing his face against Qi Sui's hand like a little animal, as if that were enough.
Qi Sui teased him, "Supervisor Xiang, why aren't you saying anything? Could it be that you really have some unspeakable secret?"
Xiang Yu was truly a contradictory person. On the surface, he was glamorous and eloquent, but when he shrunk back, he was like a snail retreating into its shell of inferiority, silent to the extreme.
Indeed, Xiang Yu said nothing. His eyes fixated on the corner of Qi Sui's mouth as he leaned in, his voice indistinct: "Kiss..."
This request was as childish as a child's.
A man whose decisions could sway the company's direction described kissing with just "kiss-kiss," like a fierce Tibetan mastiff that could only whimper like a puppy.
It wasn't Xiang Yu's fault.
His father had learned Chinese only after coming to the country, and his understanding was limited. When Xiang Yu was young and still needed his father's language education, "Kiss" and "kiss-kiss" meant the same thing. His father taught him that "kiss" was simply the act of kissing.
But "kiss-kiss" and "make out" are entirely different in spoken and written language. As people grow up, they gradually abandon the childish "kiss-kiss."
Childish.
But there was indeed a subtle, endearing charm to it when a man did it.