The drive home took twenty-three minutes. Gu Jingzhou never rushed the route through the old streets; he preferred the longer way that wound past the river, where the streetlights reflected in broken gold across the water. Shen Yue sat in the passenger seat with her seatbelt loosely fastened, watching the side of his face in the intermittent glow.
He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift, close enough that her fingers could brush his if she wanted. She did. Lightly. His knuckles tensed for a second, then relaxed under her touch.
“Still thinking about Senior Zhou?” she asked, half-teasing.
“No.”
“Liar.”
He didn’t deny it again. Instead he turned the car into their residential compound, the security gate recognizing the plate and opening without delay. Their apartment occupied the top two floors of a low-rise building overlooking a quiet courtyard of plane trees. The elevator ride was silent except for the soft hum of the machinery. Gu Jingzhou’s hand stayed at the small of her back the entire time, as if the few meters of hallway might somehow take her away.
Inside, the lights came on automatically—warm, low, the way she liked them. Shen Yue kicked off her shoes and padded toward the kitchen. “I’ll make something light. You barely ate.”
“I ate the tiramisu.”
“That doesn’t count as dinner.”
She heard him set his keys down, then the soft rustle of his jacket being hung. When she turned, he was already behind her, arms sliding around her waist from behind, chin settling on her shoulder. The scent of his cologne mixed with the faint residual sweetness of cocoa still clinging to his breath.
“Don’t cook,” he murmured against her neck.
“You’ll be hungry later.”
“I’m not hungry for food.”
The words were quiet, almost offhand, but the way his mouth brushed the side of her throat made heat bloom low in her stomach. Shen Yue’s hands stilled on the counter. Eight years, and he still knew exactly how to make her pulse skip with the simplest statement.
She turned in his arms. “Then what are you hungry for, CEO Gu?”
His eyes darkened. The polite mask he wore for the rest of the world was gone completely. What remained was the man who had once waited outside her dormitory in the rain for two hours because she had forgotten her umbrella, the same man who now looked at her as if the only thing that mattered in the entire city was the space between their bodies.
He didn’t answer with words. He kissed her.
It started soft—familiar, the kind of kiss that said I’ve missed you all day—but it deepened quickly. His hands framed her face, thumbs stroking her cheekbones the same way they had earlier in the studio when he’d brushed away the powdered sugar. Shen Yue rose onto her toes, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging just enough to make him exhale against her mouth.
When they broke apart, both breathing a little harder, Gu Jingzhou rested his forehead against hers.
“Shower first,” he said, voice rough. “You’re still covered in sugar and flour.”
“You’re one to talk. You smell like boardroom and espresso.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “Then we’ll both shower.”
The bathroom was large, tiled in matte white with a walk-in shower that could easily fit two. Steam rose quickly once the water was on. Shen Yue stepped under the spray first, tilting her head back, letting the heat wash the day from her skin. Gu Jingzhou followed a moment later, closing the glass door behind him.
He didn’t reach for the soap immediately. He simply watched her for a few seconds, water cascading over the sharp lines of his shoulders and chest, down the lean muscle of his abdomen. Shen Yue’s gaze followed the path of the water without shame. After eight years she still looked, and he still let her.
When he finally moved, it was to take the bottle of her body wash—the one that smelled faintly of osmanthus—and pour a small amount into his palm. He started at her shoulders, hands gliding slowly, thoroughly, as if cleaning her was a task that required his complete attention. Down her arms, across her collarbones, then lower, over the soft curves of her breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples almost by accident, but the way they tightened under his touch made it clear neither of them believed it was accidental.
Shen Yue’s breath caught. She reached for him in turn, soaping the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen, the V of muscle that disappeared beneath the water. When her hand slid lower and wrapped around him, already half-hard and growing harder under her fingers, Gu Jingzhou’s jaw tightened.
“Yue.”
“Hmm?”
“If you keep doing that, we won’t make it to the bed.”
She smiled, slow and deliberate, and stroked him once more, firmer. “Maybe I don’t want the bed.”
Something shifted in his expression—hunger, yes, but also the deep, almost painful tenderness that always lived underneath. He shut off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried her with the same careful thoroughness he had used to wash her. Then he dried himself quickly and lifted her, one arm under her thighs, the other around her back. Shen Yue looped her arms around his neck and let him carry her the short distance to their bedroom.
The sheets were cool against her damp skin. Gu Jingzhou followed her down, settling between her thighs, kissing her again—deeper this time, tongue sliding against hers, tasting the lingering sweetness of the tiramisu and the salt of her skin. His hand trailed down her side, over the curve of her hip, then inward, fingers finding her already slick and ready.
“So wet for me already,” he murmured against her mouth.
“Your fault.”
He smiled against her lips and slipped one finger inside her, then a second, curling just the way she liked. Shen Yue arched, a soft sound escaping her throat. He worked her slowly at first, building the heat until her hips moved against his hand, seeking more. When he finally withdrew his fingers and replaced them with the blunt head of his cock, she was trembling.
He pushed in with one long, controlled thrust. The stretch was familiar and still overwhelming. Shen Yue’s nails dug into his shoulders. Gu Jingzhou held still for a moment, forehead pressed to hers, giving her time to adjust even though they both knew her body remembered him perfectly.
“Okay?” he asked, voice strained.
“More than okay. Move.”
He did. Slow at first, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. The rhythm built gradually, the wet sound of their bodies filling the quiet room, mixed with her soft moans and his lower, rougher breaths. One of his hands found hers and laced their fingers together against the pillow. The other slipped between them, thumb circling her clit in time with his thrusts.
Shen Yue came first, the orgasm rolling through her in long, shuddering waves. Gu Jingzhou followed soon after, burying himself deep and holding her tightly as he spilled inside her, his face pressed against her neck, breathing her name like a prayer.
They stayed like that for a long time, limbs tangled, heartbeats slowly settling. Outside, the plane trees rustled in the night wind. Inside, the only sound was the quiet, even rhythm of two people who had spent eight years learning exactly how to fit against each other.
Eventually Gu Jingzhou shifted just enough to pull out and gather her closer, tucking her head under his chin.
“Still jealous of Zhou Jiahao?” Shen Yue asked sleepily, tracing idle patterns on his chest.
“A little,” he admitted. “But less now.”
She smiled against his skin. “Good. Because you’re the only one I let do this to me.”
His arms tightened. “I know.”
And for the first time that evening, the tension in his body fully eased.