The corridors near the royal west wing were empty, echoing only with the soft tap of Lin Qian's embroidered slippers. The palace guards had been dismissed for banquet prep. Lanterns flickered low, casting everything in red-gold shadows.
Qian walked slowly. Deliberately.
He could feel the air shift. Heat trailing behind him.
He didn't turn around.
But he knew exactly who followed.
A heartbeat later, a hand closed around his wrist—leather-gloved and firm.
He was spun around and slammed, gently but unavoidably, against a carved wooden pillar, silk robe catching on the lacquered edges.
"General," he whispered, voice mockingly formal.
Yan Hei's hood was gone. His black war robe hung open at the collar, throat glistening with sweat. That face—fierce and unforgiving on the battlefield—was now lit with something else.
Something ravenous.
"You were ignoring me," Yan Hei growled, hand pressing flat against Qian's lower belly. "In front of her. Again."
"She was being insufferable," Qian whispered. "If I looked at you, I would've smiled. And if I smiled, she might have thrown herself into the pond."
Yan Hei leaned in, lips brushing Qian's jaw.
"You didn't smile when I walked in."
"You didn't kneel," Qian snapped back.
Silence. A tension so thick it could be bitten.
Then—
"You're still wearing it," Yan Hei muttered. His hand slid up Qian's chest, fingers brushing the thin golden chain around his neck, hidden under the folds of silk.
The ring.
The one only they knew about.
"I never took it off," Qian breathed.
He didn't have to say more.
Because Yan Hei grabbed him by the waist, lips crashing against his with a hunger that didn't belong in a palace. He kissed like he wanted to bite—like the world owed him something soft, and he was going to take it until it bled sweetness.
Qian gasped when he was lifted, silk sliding up his thighs.
"Not here," he tried to say.
But his back was already hitting the heavy wooden wall, robe parted. Legs around the warlord's hips. His breath punched out of him in a moan as his heat-sensitive skin made contact with bare, hard muscle.
No heat suppressants. Not tonight.
Yan Hei's mouth dragged down his throat, biting—not hard, but firm enough to make Qian whimper.
"You've been teasing me all day," the general growled. "Wearing that scent like a fucking perfume. Smiling at those maids. Looking untouched."
"I am untouched," Qian gasped.
"Not for long."
He reached between them and pulled the front of Qian's robe up fully, baring his inner thighs. Qian flushed hard—his arousal embarrassingly visible, the flush at the tip gleaming. Small, twitching, already leaking.
Yan Hei sucked in a breath. "Look at you. Fuck, Qian…"
He dropped to his knees.
Qian yelled. A hand flew to his mouth as the general's tongue licked a slow, devastating line over the inside of his thigh. Then up. Then—
"Ah—! Yan Hei—!"
"You ride me tonight," the general rasped, standing again and pulling himself free from the front of his robes. Thick. Slicked with his own pre. He grabbed Qian's hips and carried him deeper into a shadowed room off the corridor—a storage chamber filled with scrolls and darkness.
The second the door slammed behind them, Qian was thrown onto the low padded bench inside. He barely caught his balance before Yan Hei sat down and pulled him into his lap.
"Now. Ride."
Qian trembled. He lifted himself and slowly, slowly, lowered onto his husband's cock. Inch by inch, silk still wrapped around his arms as Yan Hei held him in place with bruising strength.
It was too deep. Too thick.
"G-Gods," he choked, thighs trembling. "You're—"
"Mine," Yan Hei growled, hands spreading his cheeks wider. "Take it. Let them hear you."
Qian moved. Shaky at first. Then faster. Riding him like he needed it—because he did.
His small cock was soaked now, dripping onto Yan Hei's chest as he bounced up and down. His eyes rolled back as the pressure built—tight, wet slaps echoing through the chamber.
And then—
He clenched. Hard.
His body seized. His little cock squirted—wet and messy—all over Yan Hei's stomach. His vision whitened.
"Ah—! F-Fuck—!"
"Beautiful," Yan Hei whispered hoarsely, hips snapping up brutally. "I'm not done."
He wasn't.
Because Qian was still twitching, over-sensitive, crying now from overstimulation—and yet still riding.
Still taking it.
Until—
Knock knock.
Qian froze.
A voice, too familiar. Too perfect.
"General Yan Hei?" Lin Hua called, sickly sweet. "Are you in there? The banquet is about to begin, and I thought we might walk in together."
Qian let out a strangled sob.
Yan Hei didn't stop moving.
He growled against Qian's throat.
"She can wait."