Midnight shadows stretched across the penthouse when the mattress dipped behind me. Half-asleep, I mumbled into the pillow, "Zhongjing...you're back?"
"Hardly." Zhì's sleep-roughened voice froze my spine.
I scrambled backward, heels digging into Egyptian cotton. "This is your bed." His arm snaked around my waist, anchoring me in place. "And you're in it."
The rules had shifted. For weeks we'd danced around this moment - his strategic "accidental" touches, my panicked retreats to the sofa. Now his breath warmed my nape, a silent dare.
I lasted seventeen minutes before fleeing to the leather couch.
Dawn revealed him kneeling beside me, shirtless and amused. "Sofas suit you now?"
Before I could retort, his mouth captured mine in a kiss that rewrote every clinical encounter from Kazuko's office. This wasn't therapy. This was Zhì unraveling - the calculated CEO replaced by a man who tasted of jasmine tea and unspoken hunger.
"Okinawa," he murmured against my collarbone hours later, flight tickets materializing like magic tricks. "Case meeting Monday. You'll translate."
"Abuse of power," I accused, still trembling from his hands tracing the hem of my blouse.
His laugh vibrated through my ribs. "Call it incentive."
At Haneda Airport, I texted Zhongjing. Zhì's jaw tightened. "You never smile like that for me."
"Jealous of my best friend?" I pocketed the phone. "Grow up."
He cornered me at Gate 14B, fingers toying with my passport. "Make me."
The challenge hung between us as boarding commenced. Somewhere over the East China Sea, his thumb began circling my inner wrist - slow, relentless revolutions that mapped the shifting borders between professional and perilous.
Flight attendants dimmed the cabin lights. Zhì's lips brushed my earlobe. "Still afraid?"
I turned to find his eyes darker than the midnight waves below. The answer terrified me more than any alleyway assault:
No.
Not anymore.