TMCOC CH 7

Chapter 7: The Relationship Between Presidents (III)

This was the first time Wei Gaochen had ever kissed a man.

In President Wei’s understanding, “kissing” was the kind of light, playful peck you’d give a kitten or puppy—just a brief touch before pulling away, almost a tease. Not this. Not something that made him short of breath and left his mind floating and overheated.

“Mm—!”

Wei Gaochen’s hands weren’t restrained, but the entangling of lips and breath completely drained all his strength. His palms pressed weakly against Du Linghe’s chest, as if trying to push him away… yet clearly lacking any real force.

That soft resistance looked more like reluctant yielding.

Du Linghe swept his tongue along Wei Gaochen’s lips, and just as Wei’s lashes trembled, his body leaned back, clearly flustered and about to say something—Du Linghe slipped in directly.

“—!”

If someone were to ask for Wei Gaochen’s thoughts, they would be: So the upper palate is actually a sensitive spot?!

He instinctively tried to pull back, but Du Linghe wouldn’t give him the chance. A hand cupped the side of Wei Gaochen’s face, holding him still.

A few buttons of his shirt, already strained, scattered pitifully onto the thick carpet. A hand slid across his waist, and Wei Gaochen let out a muffled sound. His previously shut eyes parted slightly.

A faint, physiological shimmer appeared in those pale irises. Du Linghe gave a light bite to lips Wei Gaochen didn’t dare react with, then slowly drew back.

A thin strand of saliva broke in the air between them. Du Linghe’s gaze deepened. Casually, he wiped the corner of his mouth.

Too intense. Way too intense.

Wei Gaochen unconsciously licked the place that had been bitten—and instantly froze when he noticed Du Linghe’s expression growing even more heated.

Trapped in the corner of the sofa, he silently shrank further in.

Noticing this, Du Linghe leaned down and asked bluntly: “You don’t like it?”

“…It’s not that.”

Wei Gaochen tried to form a sentence, but all that came out was dry, useless syllables.

Du Linghe was clearly unsatisfied. He frowned and pulled him closer, and Wei Gaochen’s vision spun before he suddenly realized—He was leaning against Du Linghe’s chest.

His forehead hit firm muscle. Wei Gaochen winced sharply. Then, with a stunned expression, thought: Seriously, why is this so hard?!

Somehow, their posture had turned more and more intimate. The CEO’s sofa was high-end; even with two grown men squeezed together, it didn’t feel crowded.

“If it’s not that, then why are you avoiding me? Is this all the capability President Wei has?”

In his ear came Du Linghe’s low voice. The man was fully dressed, not even disheveled, and yet somehow seemed more seductive than ever.

Feeling him lean closer, Wei Gaochen’s breath caught. All his usual swagger vanished.

Like a mischievous cat who always caused trouble—but instantly wilted the moment someone disciplined him.

“Say something, Wei Gaochen. Weren’t you quite good at running your mouth at the auction?”

Du Linghe’s comment was cold and mocking, but the hand stroking Wei Gaochen’s back held no force—just steadying, comforting.

Firm but respectful.

The scolded cat, feeling that hint of mercy, flicked its tail again. His eyes shifted, gleaming with the return of a bad idea.

Wei Gaochen lifted his head cautiously.

“…Didn’t expect President Du to be this experienced at… this kind of thing.”

Du Linghe’s expression shifted into something subtle.

“This is my first time doing something like this.”

“…What?”

Wen Gaochen pointed a finger at him. “Impossible. Even if you’re busy, there’s no way you’ve never touched anyone, right?”

“I only said I was busy. Everything else was from your imagination. And why would you think that, in these past years—when you were driving me up the wall every single day—I’d still have the time to see someone?”

The disbelief on Wen  Gaochen’s face was clear as day. He looked genuinely unconvinced that Du Linghe had zero experience.

“But I did pretty well, didn’t I?”

He lifted Wen  Gaochen’s chin, and before Wen  Gaochen could fully register that the man was going in for another kiss, Du Linghe was already claiming his lips—swift, decisive.

This kiss was different from the earlier cautious taste. This one was an all-out advance.

Wen Gaochen felt every inch of exposed skin brushed over, heat trailing after the man’s hand. His breath hitched when Du Linghe’s fingers slipped into his waistband.

The man moved with a sure, steady confidence. His hand wrapped around Wen Gaochen’s already stirred lower half, and when he felt Wen Gaochen’s whole body tense, he even chuckled softly.

Wen Gaochen froze, gripping Du Linghe’s clothes, his fingers shaking just slightly.

But his trembling didn’t make Du Linghe pause. If anything, it made him want to push a little further.

Their lips met again—no chance to breathe, no time to think. Wen Gaochen knew, in theory, that people were supposed to remember to breathe when kissing… but right now, his instincts had all abandoned him. His mind was foggy, his body reacting faster than his thoughts could keep up.

Every time he tried to catch his breath, Du Linghe stole it away again.

Wen Gaochen ’s legs grew weak. His back slowly slid down the sofa, his body softening under the relentless kissing. When he finally gasped out, “W-wait… hold on…!” his voice was fragile, carrying hints of vulnerability he never showed.

His ears were bright red. His lips, usually thin and sharp like his words, were now swollen, a deep shade of flushed red.

His tailored suit was a mess—jacket gone, tie discarded, shirt half hanging off him. And although there was space between them, Wen Gaochen’s hands weren’t pushing Du Linghe away; they were lightly resting on his arms, almost like a silent permission.

Du Linghe lowered his gaze. Wen Gaochen’s  expression was dazed and unfocused, eyes misty with confusion and lingering heat.

The man’s hand brushed over the tip of Wen Gaochen’s  fully hardened length, now leaking against the fabric. The touch made Wen Gaochen jolt, a helpless shiver running through him.

His reactions were inexperienced, unguarded—yet filled with raw, honest emotion.

Wen Gaochen, for once, couldn’t think straight. He didn’t know why Du Linghe was doing this, nor why his own body was reacting stronger than he expected. His mind was hazy from lack of air and the waves of sensation rising from below.

Words? Gone. Only shallow breaths and trembling remained.

Du Linghe kissed him again, swallowing his soft, choked breaths. Wen Gaochen’s  whole body quivered, torn between fear and a small, shameful hint of anticipation.

A proud, untouchable big cat, reduced to a trembling kitten curled beneath someone’s touch.

Quietly, Du Linghe tugged Wen Gaochen’s pants down. His suit trousers bunched at his ankles, his shirt barely hanging on, his underwear half pulled off without him noticing.

When Du Linghe kissed him again and Wen Gaochen felt himself reaching the edge, panic flared. He struggled weakly, voice cracking as he choked out:

“Du Linghe—don’t—don’t do that anymore—ah—!”

If he had heard himself while fully conscious, he’d probably want to bury himself alive.

But Du Linghe simply moved his hand with practiced ease, increasing the rhythm when he sensed Wen Gaochen was close.

Wen Gaochen had always been too busy scheming, plotting, staying on the move—rarely ever having time to relieve his own pent-up stress.

Du Linghe brought him to release easily.

“A-ah—…!”

Warm whiteness spilled across Du Linghe’s expensive tailored pants, the edge of the CEO’s sofa, and even his hand—hands that handled billion-dollar contracts every day.

Du Linghe didn’t mind. He rubbed a thumb through the slickness and smeared it gently across Wen Gaochen’s trembling lower abdomen.

Wen Gaochen stared blankly at that elegant hand tracing across his skin… and then his gaze drifted lower, to the outline pressing hard against Du Linghe’s suit trousers.

Du Linghe’s voice, hoarse and thick with restrained desire, brushed against his ear.

“I want you.”

(To be continued…)