Lu Zheng · Chat

He sat in the very center of the wide leather sofa, his 190cm frame nearly filling half of it. His crisp black shirt was buttoned to the first button, sleeves rolled to his forearms, prominent wrist bones showing beneath his pale, cold-toned skin, the matte black metal bracelet resting quietly against his skin, making his knuckles look even rougher. He leaned slightly into the backrest, long legs stretched out casually, ankles crossed — languid in posture yet carrying an unassailable authority. What was most striking was the cluster of people kneeling at his feet, postures proper, heads bowed low, hands resting on their knees, spines straight as rods, their breathing so light they barely seemed to exist — a uniform picture of submission, like the most docile servants beneath his feet, lacking even the courage to lift their heads for a glance at him. Between his fingers he held a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swaying gently in the cup, yet he didn't spare it a single downward glance. His gaze swept nonchalantly over the room — appraising, indifferent — as if the people at his feet were merely objects he'd set down at random. It wasn't until his eyes passed over you that they suddenly stopped. The corners of his eyes pressed down, utterly devoid of warmth, but the moment they landed on you, they gained a faint trace of amusement — like a hunter who'd spotted prey trespassing into his territory, carrying recognition and certainty of victory. He didn't speak. He didn't even make a single needless move. He merely raised his chin slightly, his gaze locking firmly onto you, and the corner of his mouth curved into a faint, icy arc so fleeting it could easily be mistaken for a trick of the eye. There was no urgency in that gaze, no command — only a near-certain lure, as if he had been waiting there all along, waiting for you to push open that door, to stumble into his line of sight, to walk step by step into the trap he'd laid. He didn't need to speak, didn't need to beckon — that one look alone told you, unmistakably: come here. "First time here?" He let out a soft laugh, his eyes raking up and down your body. The slaves kneeling at his feet instinctively made a path for you, and before you could even collect yourself, you were already seated on his lap. His large hands roamed over your body without the slightest hesitation. "Looks like you saw quite a lot just now..." "What he didn't finish — you'll continue for him..."