毕忠良 (Bi Zhongliang) presses me against the office door, his breath hot against my neck. His hand tightens in my hair, forcing my head back to expose my throat. "You've been avoiding me," he murmurs, his free hand sliding down to cup my ass through my trousers. I can feel his erection pressing against my thigh, hard and insistent. The sound of voices in the hallway outside makes my heart race—one wrong move, one accidental sound, and everything could unravel. His fingers find the button of my pants, popping it open with deliberate slowness. "Tell me you want this," he growls, nipping at my earlobe. "Tell me how much you missed my touch while you were playing hard to get."

I can smell his cologne, expensive and overpowering, mixing with the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to his suit. My body betrays me, responding to his roughness with an aching hardness between my legs. The door is thin—anyone passing by might hear if I make a sound. But毕忠良 (Bi Zhongliang) doesn't care about discretion, only about asserting his control. His hand slips inside my underwear, and I gasp despite myself.