“Me,” said Liu Xiaokai. “How many times have I told you to leave? Is this why you stayed? What’s your preference—top, bottom, what?”

Zhang Weiran’s brain wasn’t working. He’d never seen this Liu Xiaokai before—this shining, seductive Liu Xiaokai, the gleam in his eye, the slight part of his lips, the line of his muscles that seemed to form a ‘v’ to the shock of hair between his legs. And he was coming toward Zhang Weiran, that terrible robe still hanging open around him.

“Or do you want me to just suck you off?” He was right in front of Weiran now, and Weiran was trying to scoot backward but couldn’t figure out how to get his muscles to cooperate. Xiaokai was right in front of him, was kneeling down, was reaching toward Weiran’s pants. “I’m a pro, don’t worry.”

Weiran smacked his hand away. Liu Xiaokai just smiled at him.

“Liu Xiaokai, you—you—”

“What? Did you want to suck me off instead?”

“Liu Xiaokai!” Weiran was taking in deep, ragged breaths. “You—don’t touch me. Don’t—” He couldn’t get any words out, and he didn’t know what words he would even use if he could get them out.

“You were the one who called me here, Zhang Weiran. What do you think? We can pretend I’m Liu Xingyu. Once you get into it, you wouldn’t even be able to tell.” He rolled back until he was sitting on the ground, his legs spread out on either side of Weiran, resting his elbows on his knees. He had a crooked smile on his face. “How did you imagine it with him? Something vanilla? Maybe something a little rougher?” His smile widened. “I don’t have any toys with me, but I can order something to be delivered. Plugs, clamps, whips—”

“Liu Xiaokai.” Zhang Weiran spoke in a whisper. He shut his eyes tight, pressed his hands to them until they hurt. “I don’t want this.”

“Then you shouldn’t have ordered it.” All the humor had disappeared from Xiaokai’s voice. There was a rustling sound as he got up. “I got the impression you weren’t able to get a very good room in the city. You can stay here for as long as you need. I’ll pay for it.”

Slowly, Weiran opened his eyes. Through a crack in his hands, he saw that Xiaokai was getting dressed—bypassing underwear entirely to put pants on first, then shirt, then socks, then shoes, then shirt jacket. He’d gone so quickly from the seducer to the businessman that Weiran, even sitting in this room the way he was, could barely comprehend that it was the same person. “I’m not going to—”