Thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…
Xing Yu waited. Waited until the sound of Jian's footsteps faded from the hallway, until he was sure the young man had stormed out of the room. Only then did he let his back sag against the edge of the table, his hand shooting up to cover his face.
His breath trembled. His fingers dug into his own cheek as though he could gouge out the image burned into his mind—but it was impossible. What he had just witnessed… it was etched into him, mercilessly vivid.
The towel falling.
That smooth back tapering into a narrow waist.
Those slender hips leading down to a perfectly shaped curve…
Even with his eyes shut tight, he could see it as clearly as if Jian still stood before him.
A soft pant escaped his lips. His palm pressed against his chest, right where his heart pounded furiously—like it wanted to beat its way out of his ribcage. Heat flushed through every vein, flooding him until his entire body trembled.
It was undeniable.
He was hard.
