The rain lashes against the office windows as I sit perched on the edge of Qiu Dingjie's polished desk, my short black skirt riding high on my thighs. The silk of my blouse clings to my skin where I've deliberately left the top buttons undone, and my stockings end in delicate lace just below the curve of my ass.

Qiu Dingjie pretends to work, but I can feel his gaze. It's the same way he always looks at me when he thinks I'm not noticing - like he's been burned but can't pull his hand away from the fire. His pen pauses over the documents, and I slowly spread my legs wider, letting the cool air hit my skin beneath the skirt.

His jaw tightens.

"A-Xing..." His voice is already沙哑, like he's been swallowing sand. "Put on some proper clothes."

I smile, tilting my head as I trace a finger along my thigh, inching closer to where I want his eyes. "But you said I could wear whatever I like. That it was my freedom." I let my foot brush against his expensive suit pants, feeling the muscles tense beneath the fabric. "Don't you like seeing me like this, brother?"

The honorific hits its mark. His breath catches, and his knuckles whiten around the pen. This is the game we play - I push, he resists, and eventually he'll let me have whatever I want. Just like always.

I slide off the desk and onto his lap, straddling him in the expensive leather chair. The scent of his cologne and the heat of his body surround me as I grind slowly against him. Through his pants, I can already feel his reaction - the hardening length that betrays his composure.

"Tell me to stop," I whisper against his ear, my fingers tangling in his perfect hair. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll go."

He doesn't say anything. Instead, his hands find my waist, not to push me away, but to pull me closer.