No Love… Just Don’t Regret Me

Warm breath brushed against his hair and ear, carrying the faint scent of wood.

The base note of the cologne was gentle, inoffensive, only soothing.

It only served to heighten the cold tension between them.

“President Qin wants to get in line?” Ye Zhiqiu’s smile was mocking. “There’s no shortage of people kneeling at my feet. Are you sure you want to be lumped in with them?”

He had never mentioned a bedmate. That had been Jin Baobao’s talk at the birthday party.

If Qin Jianhe knew about that…

Then there was probably nothing he didn’t know.

He had many suitors. The ones he bothered with were only Qi Xin and Gao Wenye.

Both were worthless.

Qin Jianhe was from a good family, well-bred. He wouldn’t tolerate such humiliation. He wouldn’t want to be compared to those people.

He would step back, let him go.

They would just be colleagues.

Ye Zhiqiu’s chest ached dully. He looked away.

He would get his revenge.

If the wicked prospered while the good suffered, if his tormentors could meet and laugh at him, call him worthless, not worth pity…

That would be too cruel.

Even if he wanted happiness, it would come from their pain.

His hands would be dirty. He didn’t want to be clean.

Better if Qin Jianhe stayed out of it.

That was best.

* * * *

But Qin Jianhe didn’t step back.

He touched the skin under Ye Zhiqiu’s eyes with his thumb.

The warmth seeped through, reaching deeper.

For a moment, Ye Zhiqiu thought he was crying.

He touched his eyes. They were dry.

“Okay,” Qin Jianhe said. His voice was low. “Can I?”

Ye Zhiqiu looked up, meeting his dark eyes. They were deep, endless.

His hands clenched behind him. His heart pounded.

“Get involved with me,” he said, his voice hard, “and you’ll regret it.”

Qin Jianhe smiled faintly, stepped closer.

Their bodies almost touched. Ye Zhiqiu could feel his warmth.

“I won’t,” Qin Jianhe said, leaning in.

Ye Zhiqiu closed his eyes.

Qin Jianhe’s lips touched his nose, at the small mole. He bit it gently, then sucked.

A place once dismissed as a flaw was being kissed.

Something in Ye Zhiqiu’s chest, numbed by pain and hate, ached.

It was like needles, pricking, a feeling rising to his eyes.

He suppressed it, moved to pull away.

Qin Jianhe held his chin and kissed him.

It was gentle, just a brief press of lips.

* * * *

The office was quiet.

Ye Zhiqiu opened his eyes. Qin Jianhe was watching him.

His eyes were curved, his expression softer.

“You weren’t crying,” he said, touching under Ye Zhiqiu’s eye again.

His fingertips were rough. They tickled.

Ye Zhiqiu blinked, understanding.

He looked away, then back.

The kiss had happened. He didn’t regret it.

From the start, it was no longer just his.

In his quiet moments, he had imagined the future.

Finding someone to be with, without love, without marriage.

But now that it was real, he was unsure. He realized he hadn’t really thought about it.

His future was unknown. Any thought of it was a small escape from his plans for revenge.

He pressed his lips together, then relaxed, feeling the lingering warmth.

He pushed Qin Jianhe away and went to the sofa by the window.

The city was dark, lights on, traffic crawling.

Qin Jianhe called for hot milk.

An assistant brought milk and pastries.

When she left, Ye Zhiqiu looked at him.

“Qin Jianhe,” he said. “Come here.”

Qin Jianhe sat across from him, handed him the milk.

“Okay,” Ye Zhiqiu said. The vulnerability from the kiss was gone. He was serious. “But I have conditions.”

“Go on.”

“First, s*x, but no feelings.”

Qin Jianhe was quiet.

“Second, my private life is my own. No interference.”

Qin Jianhe didn’t respond. Ye Zhiqiu frowned.

“Should we write it down?”

Qin Jianhe smiled slightly, looking down.

“Ye Zhiqiu,” he said. “Don’t give anyone ammunition.”

Ye Zhiqiu paused. “You’re afraid of proof?”

“No.” Qin Jianhe looked at him. “I’m not.”

His expression was cool.

“I have money, status. I can have anything. I could do whatever I want, no one would care. But you’re different.”

The milk was cooling. Qin Jianhe gestured for him to drink. He did.

Qin Jianhe wiped the milk from his lips.

“You’re young, talented, but vulnerable. Don’t leave evidence.”

Ye Zhiqiu understood. He didn’t know why he’d been so careless. Maybe the stress, the lack of sleep, or because it was Qin Jianhe.

“Thank you,” he said, standing. “I have work.”

Qin Jianhe pulled him back.

“I’ll wait.”

“Anxious?” Ye Zhiqiu asked, amused.

“Yes.”

Ye Zhiqiu leaned in.

“Qin Jianhe,” he said. “You’re not a virgin, are you?”

“Yes.”

“Professor Ye.” Qin Jianhe used the old name. “You’ll have to teach me.”

Ye Zhiqiu swore silently.

Who could be so open about it, serious and not?

His ears burned.

“I’m going.”

He left.

* * * *

They worked late.

Ye Zhiqiu told Tao Ruoqing he was staying at the office, working on his show pieces. He used the same excuse for Qi Xin.

Q.L. security was tight. Non-employees couldn’t enter.

He went to Qin Jianhe’s car.

“Next time,” he said, “I’ll meet you farther away.”

Too many people at Q.L. worked late. It was risky.

“Afraid of being seen?” Qin Jianhe asked.

“What do you think?” Ye Zhiqiu glared. “Who said not to give anyone ammunition?”

Qin Jianhe’s lips curved.

“If we’re seen,” Ye Zhiqiu said, “it’ll ruin your authority with Zhou Lang.”

They already gossiped about him. Now he’d be giving them real material.

“Thanks, Professor Ye.” Qin Jianhe held his wrist.

“Since I’m the professor,” Ye Zhiqiu said, “be obedient.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t ask where they were going.

The car stopped at a congee place.

“I’m hungry,” Qin Jianhe said.

He hadn’t noticed, but now, with the smell of food, his stomach growled.

Qin Jianhe smiled and unbuckled his seatbelt.

The food relaxed him. It felt like their other meals.

“One of your assistants went to Zhou Lang,” Qin Jianhe said.

“I know.”

“Have Meng Da get you another.”

Qin Jianhe used the serving chopsticks to put food on his plate.

“Qin Jianhe,” Ye Zhiqiu smiled, “you don’t have to use serving chopsticks for me.”

He touched his own lips, his eyes curved.

Qin Jianhe’s eyes darkened. He looked away.

Shy, Ye Zhiqiu thought, and laughed.

It was good to have the advantage.

His eyes were bright, like stars.

Qin Jianhe smiled.

“I don’t need a new assistant yet,” Ye Zhiqiu said. “I’ll see.”

* * * *

They drove to a nearby complex.

This was where Qin Jianhe lived.

They were quiet in the elevator, watching the numbers. At the top floor, the doors opened.

He was pulled out, pressed against the door, and kissed.

Qin Jianhe held him, his hand on his waist, his head. He was strong.

This kiss was harder. Ye Zhiqiu couldn’t breathe.

He tried to pull his hair, but Qin Jianhe held his wrists.

Of course. He trained.

He buried his face in Qin Jianhe’s neck.

“Aren’t you afraid of being seen?”

He looked around. One apartment per floor.

“No.”

Qin Jianhe kissed his ear. He shivered.

He regretted provoking him at dinner.

He should have known.

The door opened. He was pushed inside, kissed again.

In the dark, he could only feel Qin Jianhe’s lips, his hands, their breathing.

When he thought he would melt, Qin Jianhe pulled back.

The light came on.

He blinked.

His eyes and lips were wet. His skin was flushed.

He looked like a deer, innocent, dazed.

Qin Jianhe watched him, then kissed him again, gently.

“Qin Jianhe,” Ye Zhiqiu said, his voice soft. “I want a shower.”

“Okay.” He led him to the bedroom. “I’ll get you clothes.”

The apartment was large, clean. He followed, looking around.

He stopped at a picture on the windowsill. A dried rose, red.

“You like roses?” he asked.

Qin Jianhe looked at his red lips.

“Mm.”

In the bedroom, a shelf of puzzles. He took one.

Qin Jianhe took it.

“Not now,” he said. “It’ll keep you awake.”

Ye Zhiqiu looked at him.

Like what they were going to do wouldn’t.

He nudged Qin Jianhe’s knee.

“Shower together?”

“No.” Qin Jianhe gave him clothes. “I’ll use the guest room.”

New, too big.

“It’s fine.”

“Your things are on the way. Next time, they’ll fit.”

He paused. “Why were you so sure?”

“I wasn’t. Prepared.”

He laughed. “Your family makes clothes.”

Of course.

In the bathroom, everything was neat.

He showered, dried his hair, took a small bottle.

He might need it.

Qin Jianhe was reading, in silk pajamas.

He looked composed.

Ye Zhiqiu’s skin was pink from the shower, his eyes soft.

The clothes were too big, rolled at the cuffs, showing his ankles.

Qin Jianhe smiled and reached out.

“Come here.”