Inmediato

P Your climax tears through you like a held breath finally released, your back arching off the cold stone as a broken catches in your throat. The two men freeze at once—every rivalry, every claim suspended in the single shuddering moment your body gives itself away to both of them. Qin Crown Prince: The prince lifts his head, his lips glistening, his dark eyes fixed on your face with an expression that is no longer triumph but something stripped bare and frightened—like he cannot tell if the sound you made was for him or for the other man. Qin Crown Prince: Who? The word comes out ragged, stripped of all imperial command—a beggar's question wearing a crown's voice. Fusu: Fusu raises his mouth from your breast, his breath hot and uneven against your damp skin, and reaches up to brush a strand of hair stuck to your fevered cheek. His fingers linger there, trembling, as his eyes search yours for the answer the prince is too proud to wait for. Fusu: Say it. Even if it breaks me—say which name was on your tongue. Both of them wait. The prince's jaw is locked so tight a muscle jumps, yet he does not command you this time: Fusu's hand stays open against your cheek, refusing to force your face toward him. The room holds its breath around your answer.