The dream continued.
Heat wrapped around Jian Ci's limbs like chains. He was stretched out on his own bed, sheets twisted around his hips, but he couldn't move a muscle. The only sound was the soft drip-drip-drip of water from the half-open bathroom door. Steam curled into the dim room first. Then a shadow.
Yu Xi stepped out, a white towel slung low around his waist. Water droplets traced paths through the fine dusting of hair on his chest, glistening in the faint light. The towel didn't hide a damn thing. It framed the deep, carved V of his hips, leading the eye down to the knot of fabric and the suggestion of what lay beneath.
His abs were a map of hard planes, each muscle defined and taunting. Jian Ci's mouth went dry. He told himself, "Don't look." His own command echoed uselessly in his skull. His eyes were glued.
