Against the Algorithm

Chapter 61: The Line Between Trust and Fire

He bit down a groan so hard his neck flexed with restraint, his fingers snapping to grip her waist like she might actually float away if he didn't hold her down. The heat between them spiked like a current under his skin, throbbing in every inch of his lower body now, and it took every ounce of discipline he had not to haul her into his lap and show her exactly what that kind of talk did to him. "Yao." This time her name came out lower, darker, raw. His voice scraped across her skin like velvet dragged through fire. "You are playing with very dangerous territory right now."

She blinked again. Then—innocently, sweetly, and so damn deadly—she tilted her head and asked, in a whisper so soft it should've been illegal, "Dangerous like... you're thinking about fucking me into the couch right now?"

His cock jerked so hard it nearly made him curse out loud. He actually closed his eyes for a second. His breath caught, control slipping at the edges as he turned slowly, his arm curling tighter around her back to pull her in close, his forehead pressing to hers with a tension that vibrated between hunger and reverence. "You have no idea what you just did to me." he whispered, voice wrecked.

Yao, dazed and tipsy and completely drunk on affection, blinked slowly—then offered the smallest, softest smile. "...But I want to."

And that?

That nearly broke him. He exhaled, shaking, his restraint trembling in his bones as he fought the fire licking at the edges of his control. "One more word," he warned, eyes dropping to her mouth. "One more thing like that... and I might not stop."

Yao, flushed and dizzy, stared up at him with wide hazel eyes and whispered, "Then maybe... you shouldn't."

Sicheng didn't respond with words at first. He couldn't. Not when the heat in her voice, the soft innocence laced with unfiltered temptation, nearly dragged a groan from his chest and shattered the last thread of his control. His breath came sharp and ragged as her wide hazel eyes stared up at him, flushed, lips parted, and still whispering those dangerous, utterly devastating words. His restraint snapped. But not in the way she expected. Not in the way that gave her what she thought she wanted. No. His hands moved with speed and certainty, arms tightening around her waist as he shifted, yanked her fully into his lap in one swift, unyielding motion. Her soft gasp hit his throat as she landed squarely across his thighs, straddling him now, the curve of her ass pressing down against his cock, which was already thick and straining inside his pants. He grabbed her hips, his grip firm, grounding, possessive, and his voice—when it came—wasn't soft. It wasn't amused. It wasn't playful. It was rough. Dangerous. Low enough to vibrate straight through her. "Nothing," he growled, "is happening like that tonight."

Yao blinked, dazed, still tipsy and flushed from the wine, her body instinctively squirming closer into his lap like she didn't realize what she was doing—or maybe didn't care—but he caught her hips in place, fingers tightening.

"Yao," he bit out, barely holding himself back. "You're tipsy. Boarding on drunk. You have no fucking clue what you're saying right now." Her lips parted, as if to protest but his hand rose, fingers threading into the back of her hair, guiding her head close until their foreheads pressed together, his eyes closing tight as he forced the air out of his lungs. "I am not taking advantage of this." he muttered through clenched teeth. "Not when you're like this. Not when you'll wake up and wonder if I let you say things you didn't mean." Her breath hitched, but before she could answer, before he could move her off his lap and do the responsible thing like he knew he needed to.

She moved, leaned forward and bit him. Right at the base of his neck. Not hard. But enough. Enough to make his entire body lock, his jaw go rigid, his eyes fly open. And then she did worse. She ground her hips down against him. Soft. Slow. Uncoordinated. But deliberate. His cock jerked hard under her, the friction too sharp, too intimate with nothing but a thin pair of lounge pants and her sleep shorts between them, and his entire body roared with need. He groaned. Loud. Raw. Unrestrained. His hands flew to her waist, holding her still, stopping the motion before he lost it completely. "Fuck," he hissed, head dropping to her shoulder, teeth scraping against her skin as he fought the surge of pure fire her body was dragging out of him. "You can't—Yao, you can't do that. You don't know what you're asking for right now."