Huang Xing pressed his body even closer against the back of the sofa, his hand gently stroking the swollen curve of Qiu DingJie's chest as though cradling something both achingly familiar and strangely foreign. He lowered his head once more, jet-black hair brushing across the man's neck and carrying with it a chill like winter air that had yet to thaw. His lips parted, touching lightly against the still-damp nipple before slowly closing around it—not roughly, but with a deliberate gentleness, as if testing whether the sensation still matched the memories.

Qiu DingJie went rigid as his body reacted instantly. The nipple, already swollen and hypersensitive from days of nursing, was stimulated directly, sending a small electric current spreading from the point of contact throughout his chest. He breathed in short, laboured gasps through clenched teeth, the sound heavy and broken, while every instinct screamed at him to push away, to cover himself—yet his hands only gripped the edge of the sofa until his knuckles turned white. He sat motionless, letting Huang Xing do as he wished, because he knew any resistance would only make things worse for the child sleeping soundly beside them.

Huang Xing sucked gently. His tongue curled around the nipple, licking it softly, coaxing warm milk to flow. At first it came in drops, then in a thin stream that touched the tip of his tongue and spilt into his mouth—sweet yet slightly cloying, exactly as unpleasant as before, carrying that distinct milky scent that filled him with bitter loathing. He frowned faintly but did not stop, swallowing each small mouthful so that the taste dragged old memories surging back like an undercurrent: those nights two years ago when Qiu DingJie had still been the one in control.

He hated the man to the marrow of his bones, hated the way he had betrayed him. Yet now, with his lips wrapped around him and the taste of his milk spreading across his tongue, Huang Xing felt his own heart softening in a way he despised. Why... he asked himself why, for such a treacherous man, he still could not stop himself from wanting to sink into Qiu, to claim him so completely. The more he loved, the more he hated, and the hatred made him suck harder, as if pouring all his rage into that single act, while his other hand unconsciously tightened on the opposite breast, forcing out another rush of milk.

Qiu DingJie trembled as the nipple beneath Huang Xing's mouth burned hot. Each swirl of that tongue made his body betray him, milk flowing more freely. His breathing grew harsher, coming in short, urgent pants, until a small moan slipped from his throat. He bit his lip at once to stifle it, leaving only a choked, muffled sob that sounded like a suppressed whimper.

He felt humiliated beyond endurance—facing someone who clearly hated him this much, yet his own body responded, pleasure radiating from his chest down to his lower belly, where the sensitive place after childbirth and the milk meant for his son had become nothing more than tools for Huang Xing's punishment. He felt lower than he had ever felt, wondering how he had allowed himself to fall into this state, how he had let the person he once controlled now hold everything, even the reactions of his own body.

Huang Xing did not let go. His lips left the right nipple for a moment, only to move to the left. His tongue licked away the lingering trail of milk before closing around it again, sucking more slowly this time, as if deliberately prolonging the moment. His hand caressed the surrounding skin—not tenderly now, but with a cold possessiveness—while in his mind he kept reminding himself that he still hated, hated so fiercely he wanted to bite down hard and make the man hurt the way he himself had hurt. Yet in the end he did not bite; he only continued sucking, letting past and present tangle together in every breath, in every warm stream of milk sliding down his throat.

Then Huang Xing slowly raised his hand and pressed it firmly against Qiu DingJie's shoulder. The grip was neither brutal nor weak, yet strong enough to convey an irresistible intent. He pushed the man down gradually onto the wide sofa. The soft cushions sank beneath his weight, forming faint creases that seemed to swallow the growing helplessness spreading through him.

Qiu DingJie instinctively struggled. His hands rose to push back, his body tensing in an effort to stay upright, but a single light press from Huang Xing made him realize the futility of all resistance. His strength was now pathetically weak; more than two months after giving birth, he had yet to recover fully. More than that, he understood clearly that he no longer had any right to refuse, no position left from which to protect himself before the person who now held everything he and his child possessed.

His gaze unconsciously drifted to the small bassinet beside the sofa, where the baby slept peacefully, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, that tiny serene face twisting his heart. The thought of this humiliation happening right next to his son made his eyes sting red, tears threatening to spill, yet he fought them back, his throat burning as though he had swallowed a handful of hot sand.

Huang Xing saw the expression on Qiu DingJie's face clearly—the pain and forced endurance etched at the corners of his eyes. Instead of extinguishing the fire blazing inside him, it only fanned the flames of his desire to punish even more fiercely, like a violent wave sweeping away every last scrap of reason. He stepped decisively over the arm of the sofa, his tall frame looming over the man like a shadow with no escape.

His hand moved downward, fingers sliding deliberately over the thin fabric of the trousers before gripping the waistband and pulling them down. The motion was resolute and unhidden in its possessiveness. But the instant he did so, Qiu DingJie's hand shot out and clamped tightly around his wrist. The man's eyes met his, filled with bitter resentment, tears already brimming on his lashes, glistening as though they might overflow at any second. That look was both a plea and utter despair, like a cry for help in the middle of a storm about to break.

Yet Huang Xing said nothing. He jerked his wrist sharply, freeing it from Qiu DingJie's grasp with sudden force that made the man release him at once. Then he yanked the trousers down to the man's knees, exposing his lower body to the cool air of the room.

That part of him had, perhaps because of the earlier unintended stimulation, grown half-hard—not fully soft, yet not completely erect, a reluctant bodily response rather than genuine desire. Huang Xing looked at it and felt an indescribable surge of irritation. He remembered clearly how, in the past, a single brush of lips or a lingering glance had been enough to make the man respond with fierce intensity, leaving him utterly enchanted. Yet now it was like this—resistant, distant, clearly unwilling to sleep with him, unwilling to let him touch even the slightest bit.

And Qiu DingJie truly felt no desire for it right now. His body was still exhausted from childbirth; the period of postpartum abstinence had not yet ended, making every contact painfully sensitive. But he asked himself—what was left of this body worth protecting or guarding anymore? A man who had lost everything, who could not even take care of his own child and could only rely on someone else's help. If he had to repay with his body, what right did he have to resist, what right to refuse?

Huang Xing then lifted both of the man's legs and placed them across his own thighs. His hands gripped the soft flesh of those thighs and pressed them down, spreading them wide open in a slow but powerful motion that left no room for closing. The most private part of him was now completely exposed before Huang Xing's eyes.

That place still retained its rosy allure from the first time he had seen it. The skin was taut and smooth despite the birth, the tiny folds quivering faintly with each laboured breath—inhaling, then exhaling weakly, as though inviting violation even while its owner desperately tried to hide every emotion. The soft inner flesh still held an uncanny seductive charm, pink and glistening, making it impossible for him to look away. He had not expected that the allure of a man who had already given birth could still mesmerise him so deeply, his heartbeat stuttering wildly, hot blood rushing through him as if to burn away all remaining reason.

But when Huang Xing's gaze unconsciously drifted up to Qiu DingJie's face, he saw that the man's eyes were no longer merely glistening—they were overflowing. Tears slid silently down his cheeks. His lips were bitten so hard they had split, a fresh trail of bright red blood spreading at the corner of his mouth. That expression of raw pain made Huang Xing's heart clench as though squeezed tight. He knew the man was despicable, knew he had betrayed him, yet seeing him cry still hurt this much—like an invisible blade stabbing straight into his chest. Still, he refused to let himself soften, refused to allow that weakness to creep in. This was the kind of man who, once he had what he wanted, would discard it without mercy. He had spoken of love so passionately, yet behind his back had slept with someone else without hesitation.

The more he thought about it, the more rage boiled up inside Huang Xing, blood rushing to his head. He leaned down closer, his voice low and mocking: "Does sleeping with me disgust you that much?"

As he spoke, he decisively unfastened his own trousers—not removing them completely, only pulling the zipper down and freeing himself, exposing it fully before the man's eyes with no attempt to hide. Qiu DingJie watched the action and felt his heart twist. This was no longer lovemaking; it was the utmost humiliation, treating him as nothing more than a vessel to vent anger and nothing else. More tears spilt from his eyes, but he only turned his face away silently, saying nothing. In his heart he told himself... yes, that was exactly what he was now—a receptacle. As long as there was money to care for his child, anything would do.

Yet Huang Xing was not satisfied with that expression on Qiu DingJie's face—the look of someone not fully broken, the silence still carrying a trace of lingering pride. It made him love the man to the point of madness and hate him to the point of wanting to crush him, a paradox tearing at his heart with every beat.

The more he saw that expression, the more his anger blazed into a fierce, tormenting desire, like a dark flame devouring every last shred of pity. He reached down and touched the small, rosy entrance. This place that had once been a treasure he cherished countless times, that he had once caressed gently with lips and tongue, that he had once opened slowly and patiently until it was ready to receive him with perfect reverence.

But now he no longer wanted any of that. There was no more patience or kindness left for the man. He took his cock, hard and rigid with fury, pressed the tip straight against that entrance without a word, and felt the tight, resistant clench of the soft flesh trying desperately to push him out, hot and narrow enough to make him ache.

At that exact moment, Qiu DingJie whipped his head back to stare at him. He lifted his head in panic, eyes widening as he realised Huang Xing had already pushed the head inside him—and without a condom. The raw, unprotected contact sent a chill of fear through him, mingled with painful old memories. He cried out in alarm, voice shaking with despair: "You... you're not using a condom?"

Huang Xing met his gaze, brows knitting tightly in surprise and bitterness. From the very beginning, he had never used protection with Qiu, never once considered creating that distance—yet this was the first time the man had mentioned it.

His eyes unconsciously flicked toward the bassinet where the baby slept soundly. That bastard child of his and someone else. Of course. The man had let that other person ejaculate inside him without hesitation, had gotten pregnant and given birth for that guy. Naturally he did not want Huang Xing to enter him bare now, afraid of conceiving with him. Yet that time when he had returned from filming, the man had still slept with him as usual. Now he suddenly refused. Why? Huang Xing could not understand the change; he only felt the old jealousy surge up, like acid scorching his chest.

He said, voice cold and mocking: "What's wrong? Afraid of getting pregnant?"

Qiu DingJie looked at him and bit his lip again until the old wound reopened and bled anew. He said nothing, but the resentment burning in his eyes made Huang Xing's fury rise higher than ever. Huang Xing continued, words cutting like knives: "What difference does it make—giving birth to one or two?"

"Does bearing a child for me make you feel that painful and humiliating?"

Qiu DingJie did not know how to answer someone who hated him this deeply. If he truly had not wanted to bear a child for Huang Xing, he would never have risked his life to keep the baby earlier, even when his own life had been in danger. Yet Huang Xing spoke as if saying that once he had carried and given birth to his seed, he no longer had the right to cry or complain.

He did not want to experience that agony again. One child who would never receive full love from his father was already enough to torment him. Why add another, only for it to grow up surrounded by hatred? Every life deserved to be the fruit of love, not a tool for mutual torment. He could understand and accept Huang Xing's hatred toward him, but innocent children did not deserve to suffer. Tears poured down his face without stopping as his voice broke into a choked, pleading sob: "Use a condom... please."

But seeing Qiu DingJie cry like that, seeing the clear refusal to bear his child in every tear, only drove Huang Xing to madness. He wondered bitterly what was so wonderful about that other man that Qiu DingJie would insist on having a child with him, yet found Huang Xing unworthy. The rage pushed him to press forward harder. The entrance, still unprepared and without lubrication, clenched tighter than ever, squeezing him with a burning grip that was both painful and strangely arousing. Qiu DingJie tensed his entire body in resistance, trembling as though trying to close himself off from any further invasion.

He felt as if his lower body were being torn apart piece by piece by the brutal, unprepared intrusion. The physical pain was so sharp it stole his breath, yet it paled beside the anguish in his heart finally erupting like magma long buried beneath a volcano, now exploding beyond control. He let out a broken sob, tears flooding out in torrents. His voice shattered along with every gasp as both hands clutched desperately at Huang Xing's arms, nails digging deep into Huang Xing's skin and leaving angry red scratches. In utter despair he begged, voice hoarse from crying: "Please... use a condom... I'm begging you..."