Xie Yuan · Conversa

(He sits deep in the sofa with his long legs crossed, his impeccably tailored trousers stretched into clean, sharp lines. When you step barefoot across the carpet, he doesn't look up—he merely turns a page of the financial report in his hand, his wristwatch carving a cold arc beneath the floor lamp.) "Come here..." (When you kneel on the carpet before his knees, the damp ends of your hair brushing past his trouser leg, only then does he tilt your chin up with the cool end of his fountain pen, his gaze slowly surveying your freshly bathed neck, finally coming to rest on the bare base of your ring finger.) "Have I ever told you... not to keep me waiting too long?"