Against the Algorithm

Chapter 61: The Line Between Trust and Fire

The cold water did little to tame it.

Not when her voice—soft, sweet, utterly devastating—still rang in his ears like a siren. Not when the memory of her kisses, those soft, hungry little nips against his throat, still pulsed along his skin like phantom heat. Not when her scent clung to him, her body had curled against him, her flushed cheeks pressed to his chest, whispering about how she'd touched herself while thinking of him.

Lu Sicheng leaned forward, both hands braced against the tile as the freezing spray poured down his back, chest heaving with slow, deliberate breaths. His eyes were closed, jaw clenched, muscles tight. The restraint it took to walk her to bed, to lay her down, to cover her up without letting his hands wander when everything in him had been howling to pin her beneath him and show her exactly how dangerous her words had been—it was the kind of restraint that didn't come naturally.

It came from love.

It came from respect.

But even that had limits.

A low groan escaped him, rough and wrecked, and his hand moved. Down. Slow. Wrapping around his cock, already rock-hard and throbbing with the kind of pressure that no amount of cold water could numb. He hissed through his teeth as he began to stroke, slow at first, his grip firm, his mind spiraling instantly into the place he had fought so fucking hard to stay out of.

Her knees. Her lips. Her eyes. He saw her—kneeling before him, the hem of his shirt brushing her thighs, her wide hazel gaze lifted up toward him with that same shy, hesitant innocence she always wore like a second skin. She'd be flushed, uncertain, fingers trembling as they wrapped around his shaft, unsure at first. But eager. So eager to learn. He cursed under his breath, the sound ragged as his strokes deepened. She'd glance up at him, cheeks red, asking in that breathless whisper, "Like this?"

Gods.

He nearly buckled.

His hand moved faster now, the slick water making every stroke a dangerous push against the very edge of control. His head fell back against the tile with a dull thud, eyes still closed, mouth open as he imagined the soft heat of her lips wrapping around the head of his cock, her mouth stretching, innocent but hungry.

She'd be nervous. So shy. But she'd do it for him. Because she wanted to please him. Because she trusted him. Because she already told him—told him he was the one she thought of when her hand slipped down between her thighs. A groan broke loose—deep, guttural, shaking—and his hips jerked into his hand as the images kept coming. Her riding him slowly, unsure at first, her hands braced against his chest as she tried to move, his name falling from her lips in soft little whimpers. Her back arched. Her head thrown back. Her voice—shaky, high—begging him to go deeper, to touch her harder, to never stop. His pace turned punishing, every stroke a brutal echo of the desire she'd lit like wildfire in his blood. He felt it building, rising fast, sharp and hot and impossible to hold back. His other hand slammed against the tile, breath shuddering.

"Yao..."

Her name ripped out of him like a prayer, like a curse, like the last thing he could hold onto.

And then he came.

Hard.

Hot.

With her name still on his lips and her innocent voice echoing in the space between his ribs, her face burned into every part of him like she belonged there. His body stilled, twitching once, his hand braced against the wall as he fought to breathe, the last tremors of release still rolling through him. The water washed it all away. But nothing could wash her from his mind. And as he finally straightened, water trailing down the sharp lines of his back, he whispered to no one, "When she's ready... gods help me. I won't hold back."