What Bad Intentions Could a Spoiled Little Brat Possibly have? - Chapter 30

He wanted to throw the man ruthlessly onto the bed.

Cheng Huai stiffly moved his hands from behind his back to the front of his body, his fingertips twisting helplessly together, barely daring to lift his head to look at Fu Zheng.

For a moment, Fu Zheng thought he had fallen into some sort of absurd dream.

Otherwise, how could it be that the moment he pushed open the door, such a vivid and sensual scene appeared before his eyes?

The first thing to invade his senses was a faint fragrance rising with the steam, mixed with the familiar scents of plant essential oils, shampoo, and shower gel.

Immediately following that, his vision was completely captured.

That form-fitting bodycon skirt wrapped around his younger brother’s body with an almost tyrannical snugness, outlining startling curves.

The waist was slender, the hip bones rounded; the full line of the buttocks and the firm thighs were all provocations to his crumbling sanity. Just by standing there, Fu Zheng’s vaunted self-control was on the brink of snapping.

Fu Zheng sneered silently in his heart. Just what kind of upright gentleman did this foolish younger brother take him for? From childhood to adulthood, he always used this method unconsciously and unknowingly to hook him, to tempt him.

Was he really that desperate to be fucked?

His gaze started from the damp hair at the crown of Cheng Huai’s head and began a slow, inch-by-inch patrol downward.

It bypassed the brows and eyes lowered in embarrassment, swept over the long neck flushed with pink, paused briefly at the exquisite collarbones, and then followed the tightened waistline of the dress, moving downward in a slow and highly aggressive manner.

He appeared extremely patient, standing silently at the door like that not speaking, not moving, even keeping his expression controlled in a state of near-indifferent stability. Only his slightly ragged, deep breaths betrayed the fact that he was not unmoved.

Thus, he watched in silence and focus as Cheng Huai scorched bit by bit under the roasting heat of his gaze. A deep blush spread from his cheeks to the roots of his ears, staining his neck and even plating his shoulders with a layer of seductive light red.

“Brother, don’t look at me anymore…”

The corners of Cheng Huai’s eyes were burnt red, and his lower lip was bitten white. He struggled to shift his gaze away, trying to take deep breaths to force himself to calm down, but merely being subjected to Fu Zheng’s gaze caused all his efforts to race toward a total loss of control.

Far from being suppressed, it only grew more intense.

Aside from the visible reddening of his body, that pathetic reaction of his left him with nowhere to hide.

Just by enduring Fu Zheng’s gaze, he felt as if he were being sucked into an invisible vortex; his logic was ground to dust, and his heartbeat was wildly out of rhythm.

The mirror beside them clearly reflected everything, yet he didn’t dare glance at it even once.

That shameful thing was outlined with absolute clarity by the overly tight fabric of the skirt; one could even… clearly see the subtle textures.

Fuck.

Fu Zheng cursed violently in his heart.

Acting so slutty.

He wasn’t even wearing underwear.

His eyelids twitched as he did his best to suppress the impulse to throw Cheng Huai ruthlessly onto the bed and tear the skirt on his body into shreds.

Because Fu Zheng remained silent, Cheng Huai’s heart was a mess of panic.

The shadow of childhood memories involving being punished for wearing skirts had never dissipated. Looking at Fu Zheng’s dark and inscrutable expression, he worried that his brother would fly into a rage in the next second, rushing over to brutally rip this skirt apart.

The skirt was stretched so tight that if it were to be torn, it would surely pinch and hurt his flesh.

Cheng Huai closed his eyes slightly. Even though he was afraid, a faint trace of expectation was secretly spreading deep within his heart.

“Why are you dressed like this?”

Fu Zheng’s voice was hoarse beyond recognition; even he was a bit shocked when he spoke.

“It… it was Assistant Xu…” Cheng Huai’s voice also carried an unnatural rasp. He cleared his throat, trying to explain, “She lent me the clothes she bought for her boyfriend to change into. I don’t know why… it’s a skirt. Maybe it got mixed up with someone else’s clothes.”

It would have been better if he hadn’t cleared his throat; as soon as he did, his body swayed slightly.

Fu Zheng asked coldly, “Where are your clothes?”

Cheng Huai pointed to the washing machine running in the corner: “I put my clothes in to wash…”

“Brother…” Cheng Huai lowered his hand, shielding himself, and asked, “I want to take it off. Can you… can you help me pull the zipper down? It—it’s stuck.”

Fu Zheng’s face grew darker and darker. Just as Cheng Huai thought he was going to refuse, Fu Zheng finally stepped forward.

“If you take it off, what will you wear?” Fu Zheng asked as he walked.

“Huh?” Cheng Huai was stunned by the question. Just now, he had only been concerned with fighting this damn skirt and had no time to think about the aftermath. Now, his brain worked rapidly, providing a hasty answer: “I’ll just wear the washed clothes for now, and wait until I get home to change…”

Fu Zheng had already reached his side. The pressure brought by the height difference made Cheng Huai unconsciously hold his breath. Fu Zheng looked down at him: “Do you want to catch a cold that badly?”

As soon as he finished speaking, Fu Zheng’s arm already encircled Cheng Huai’s side. He didn’t choose to go behind Cheng Huai; instead, he faced him directly, pulling Cheng Huai halfway into his embrace as one hand reached for the zipper that was troubling him.

The two were so close that their breaths instantly became entangled.

Since they had forgotten to ventilate after the shower, the air was currently muggy and damp. Cheng Huai felt waves of dizziness as if he were oxygen-deprived. He murmured a response, “I won’t catch a cold…”

The next second, Cheng Huai was jolted by a touch of cold.

Whether it was the temperature of the zipper or the temperature of Fu Zheng’s fingers, this single touch caused his toes to curl. The tiny hairs all over his body stood up almost simultaneously, and all his nerve endings seemed to gather at that one spot of icy contact, which then turned into fine currents of electricity coursing through his limbs.

Cheng Huai bit his lower lip, his fingers unconsciously climbing onto Fu Zheng’s shoulder.

Not only did his back feel cold… a damp, chilly sensation also came from his stomach.

Amidst their disordered and intertwined breaths, Cheng Huai looked down instinctively.

The pink fabric of the skirt had a small, dark water stain spreading around his navel, which was exceptionally piercing against the light-colored material. It was likely sweat from his earlier struggle, or… something else.

Cheng Huai didn’t dare keep looking… because it was simply unbearable to witness…

That zipper seemed to be stuck at a diabolically tricky angle. Even though Fu Zheng’s fingers were well-defined and his strength steady, he was unable to move it smoothly for a moment.

The slight friction of the metal was exceptionally clear in the silence; every tiny movement tugged at Cheng Huai’s taut nerves.

Fu Zheng let go and stepped back a little. Before he could speak, he saw Cheng Huai’s earlobes, which were so red they looked as if they might bleed, and that head of his which looked like it wanted nothing more than to bury itself in his own chest.

He reached out and, none too gently, pulled the person out of his ostrich-like state.

His gaze dropped, and everything became clear: the position of the wet mark, the overly distinct outline under the tight skirt, and the shame and panic almost overflowing from the youth’s eyes.

He actually knows how to be shy this time.

A trace of indescribable bitterness passed through Fu Zheng’s heart. Previously, when facing him, hadn’t those blunt and burning words been said quite smoothly?

He was just about to speak when two clear and restrained knocks came from outside the CEO’s office—thump, thump.

Cheng Huai looked up pitifully: “Brother…”

“Wait for me here, I’ll go check.”

When Fu Zheng walked out, he didn’t forget to pull the door of the lounge shut, isolating the scene within that made one’s mind restless.

He walked all the way to the office door. Just as he pulled it open, he saw the culprit responsible for Cheng Huai’s embarrassment: Xu Luyao. At this moment, she was waiting outside with a face full of anxiety.

Xu Luyao had sprinted all the way to Olivia’s workstation to swap the mistakenly taken long skirt for the casual outfit that was supposed to belong to her boyfriend. Before she could even explain in detail, she panted and rushed back.

The moment the door opened, her words burst out impatiently: “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

When she saw that it was Fu Zheng opening the door, she froze, thinking to herself that it was all over now.

Xu Luyao found it difficult to describe her current mood. Although she appeared to be alive, her soul had already been gone for a while after seeing this situation.

Countless terrible scenarios flashed through her mind: the embarrassment of Mr. Cheng wearing that sexy long skirt, the boss’s fury upon seeing it, the end of her professional career…

But her life motto since childhood was that if you make a mistake, you must take responsibility for it.

Thinking of this, Xu Luyao took a deep breath. Like a martyr about to die heroically, she spoke quickly but clearly: “President Fu, I am extremely sorry! The clothes I gave Mr. Cheng earlier accidentally got mixed up with someone else’s shopping bag. This set is the new outfit I bought for my boyfriend. If… if Mr. Cheng still needs to change, please help me hand it over to him!”

As she spoke, she instinctively tried to peek through the crack in the door to find Cheng Huai’s figure, but she found nothing. Her line of sight was immediately and inconspicuously blocked by Fu Zheng’s tall and upright frame.

“No need, thank you,” Fu Zheng said. “The mistakenly taken clothes got dirty. I will buy an identical one to return to you, or compensate you with cash at the original price either is fine.”

“No, no, no, it really doesn’t matter!” Xu Luyao waved her hands repeatedly, almost bowing. This was entirely her mistake; how could she dare let the boss compensate her? She would just buy a new one later to pay back Sister Via.

The office door slowly closed in front of her. Xu Luyao held the bag, not quite understanding.

Got dirty…

Why did it get dirty?

Was it that Mr. Cheng accidentally dirtied it while trying it on? Or… did something else happen? Countless question marks circled in her mind, but she couldn’t piece together a logical answer.

While she was in a daze, her phone vibrated. It was a message from Olivia: [Luyao, how is it? Did you swap the clothes back? Nothing embarrassing happened, right?]

Facing her phone screen, Xu Luyao let out a long and sorrowful sigh. She pressed the voice message button, her voice weak and drained: “I didn’t get them back. Sister Via, I’m sorry. For that skirt of yours… I might have to go shopping with you another day to buy a new one.”

After sending it, she walked back dejectedly with the bag, her heart still turned upside down by the mystery of the “dirtied” clothes.

Fu Zheng returned to the lounge door.

The door wasn’t fully closed. Just as he was about to enter, he heard the sound of suppressed sobbing coming from inside, mixed with a series of alternatingly strong and weak whimpers, and occasionally a broken gasp.

Just by listening to these sounds…

Fu Zheng knew exactly what Cheng Huai was doing inside.

This was the child he had raised with his own hands. From the moment that body was born, it had sprouted and grown under his gaze. Every stretch of the bones and every growth of the muscle fibers had passed through his palms. He knew that body as well as he knew the lines on his own hand.

Fu Zheng stood silently outside the door for a full five minutes. Time was like stagnant amber, sealing him in a darkness that was gradually heating up.

The muscles of his entire body were as tense as red-hot iron, yet the intermittent sounds from inside the room only grew more painful.

In the end, concern outweighed logic. Fu Zheng pushed the door and walked in. The sight before him caused him to be slightly shocked for a moment.

Cheng Huai was leaning against the cold door of the washroom, his whole being trapped in a formless chaos. He seemed to be tormented by some unspeakable predicament, and in his extreme distress, he had actually begun to scratch his own arms fiercely with his fingernails.

When Fu Zheng entered, he saw him roughly pushing the sleeve of his left arm up to his elbow, his fingertips sinking deep into the flesh, looking as if he were about to leave a bloody scratch.

Fu Zheng barked, “What are you doing!” He strode forward and grabbed Cheng Huai’s wrist that was causing trouble. The force was not light, but it was just enough to stop Cheng Huai’s actions.

Cheng Huai’s lips trembled uncontrollably. His fingers climbed onto Fu Zheng’s shoulder, and his body pressed against his leg, rubbing against it a few times. “Ugh… it hurts… it’s so hard…”

Fu Zheng’s brow jumped. His first thought was that he was having another episode.

He quickly lifted Cheng Huai’s other wrist and lit up the bracelet’s screen. Aside from a slightly fast heart rate, all indicators were within the normal range.

It wasn’t a sign of his illness.

Then why?

Was it merely because his desires couldn’t be relieved, accumulating to this point?

It seemed like more than that.

Fu Zheng tilted Cheng Huai’s face up. Seeing him bumping around like a lost puppy who couldn’t find his way, he suddenly remembered something.

Lately, these few times when Cheng Huai had a reaction in front of him, it seemed to end in nothing. This really didn’t seem like the case for a healthy young boy.

“Cheng Huai, look at me.” Fu Zheng pinched his chin, gently shaking his head to try and bring back his senses.

Cheng Huai lifted his misty eyes and instinctively bit his lower lip, trying to find relief.

Fu Zheng silently rescued his lip and asked, “Tell me, when you are by yourself, how do you usually solve it?”

How did he solve it?

Cheng Huai looked up blankly.

He tried to sort through his thoughts in his chaotic memory, but after picking through them for a long time, all he could remember were failed attempt after failed attempt.

In those absurd dreams, he was unconscious; only the mess on his clothes after waking up indicated what had happened.

And when he was awake, he had secretly tried as well, fantasizing that it was his brother’s fingers, his brother’s face, his brother’s scent enveloping him… But the result, far from bringing liberation, was like pouring a spoonful of hot oil onto a raging fire, making the torment even more unbearable.

Disordered, burning breaths puffed against Fu Zheng’s ear. Cheng Huai’s voice was fragmented, laced with deep grievance and helplessness: “You never taught me… I tried myself, but… nothing comes out.”

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