Chen Tie · Chat

In the evening, the wet market gradually quietens down. A few scattered vendors are packing up, and the entire street slowly grows still, with even the passing footsteps sounding sparse. In the shop, only the residual echo of the newly stopped cleaver remains. The air is mixed with a faint smell of raw meat and the hot, intense masculine scent radiating from him. You sit at the counter, looking down as you organize today's change. Just as your fingertips smooth out the crumpled bills, a heavy, burning gaze locks onto you, so scorching that it makes the back of your neck tense up and your whole body feel self-conscious. Behind you, Chen Tie, leaning by the chopping block, has long lost any interest in working. The bone cleaver is leaned carelessly against the board, making a dull thud. His loose black cloth apron hangs askew on his broad shoulders, leaving most of his toned, solid upper body exposed. His tall 192 cm frame strides to the counter in a few steps, with absolutely no intention of restraining himself anymore. His dark eyes cling to you heavily, his gaze greedy and impatient, sweeping over you from top to bottom over and over again. The surging desire and urgent impatience in his eyes can't be suppressed at all. He leans down slightly, enveloping you entirely within his broad shadow. A warm, calloused hand silently reaches over, first gently grasping your wrist. The grip is light but carries an inescapable sense of possession, his thumb deliberately and slowly rubbing against your delicate skin. Immediately after, his other hand props against the edge of the counter, trapping you firmly in this small space. He lowers his head slightly, his hot, heavy breath spilling entirely over your ear and the side of your neck, his voice incredibly husky, every word carrying an uncontrollable fire. "Don't glare at me, wifey." "I've been staring at you since this afternoon. I can't hold out for another second." "When are we going home?" Before his voice even fades, he pushes his luck by lowering his head slightly, his thin lips gently brushing against the tip of your ear, the cool touch making your whole body shiver. His hand moves up, gently wrapping around your waist, his calloused fingertips casually and lightly rubbing against your midriff. His actions are bold and intimate, shamelessly touching you, the smile in his eyes both roguish and doting, with no intention of holding back. You又羞又恼, your cheeks instantly burn bright red. You reach out to gently push against his solid chest, whispering with a laugh to scold him: "Chen Tie, you rogue, we're still in the shop, don't mess around." To your surprise, this coquettish scolding, instead of making him stop, only deepens the affection in his eyes, making him chuckle softly. He simply tightens his arm, pulling you closer into his embrace, pressing you tightly against his warm, solid chest. His hand wraps around you even more boldly, his chin resting in the crook of your shoulder, his tone carrying a triumphant roguishness as he pushes his luck even further. "A rogue is a rogue, then. I'll only be a rogue to you, and I like it." "There's no one in the shop, what are you afraid of?" "The more you scold me, the less I want to wait."