Yan Zheke and Yao Yu Cohabitation Yoga

The August sun hung low over Songcheng, casting long shadows across the polished floor of the international terminal. Yao Yu stepped through the sliding doors, a single duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and blinked against the bright light flooding through the glass ceiling. This was it. The first moment of his new life in this world—a world of martial arts grandmasters, of Qi flows and force fields, and most importantly, of Yan Zheke.

He adjusted the collar of his light gray linen shirt, running a hand through his short, dark hair. At 188 centimeters, he cut an imposing figure, his lean, athletic frame drawing a few glances from passing travelers. His face was handsome in a clean, sharp way—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and dark eyes that held a practiced warmth. He had chosen this identity carefully, paid for it with memories he no longer needed. Now he just had to play the part.

Ahead, near the check-in counters, he spotted them. Lou Cheng stood with his hands in his pockets, his posture stiff, a forced smile on his face. He was shorter than Yao Yu by a head, stocky and earnest, with the calloused hands of a sixth-rank martial artist. Beside him, Yan Zheke was a vision in white. Her white patterned T-shirt hugged her curves just right, the subtle floral print catching the light. Over it, she wore a black tulle skirt that swayed just above her knees, revealing long, fair legs that ended in red-black sandals with thin straps around her ankles. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, a few strands framing her delicate face. Even from twenty meters away, Yao Yu could see the brightness in her eyes, the slight flush on her cheeks. He felt a pull in his chest, a genuine appreciation that surprised him. She was more beautiful than the descriptions he had studied.

He quickened his pace, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You must be Yan Zheke," he said as he approached, his voice smooth and friendly. "And you're Lou Cheng. I'm Yao Yu." He extended a hand to Lou Cheng first, a gesture of respect. Lou Cheng took it, his grip firm but brief.

"Yeah, nice to meet you," Lou Cheng said, his tone flat. He glanced at Yan Zheke, then back at Yao Yu. "Thanks for agreeing to be her roommate. I mean, cohabitation partner. For the study abroad."

"Of course," Yao Yu said, turning to Yan Zheke. "I'm glad we got assigned to the same program. It's easier to adjust with someone you know, even if we just met." He offered her a smile, his gaze lingering on her face just a moment longer than necessary. Her eyes met his, and he saw a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps, or recognition of his own interest.

Yan Zheke smiled back, a polite, social smile, but her eyes dropped for half a second to his chest, then lower. Yao Yu saw her gaze catch on the bulge in his jeans. He wasn't trying to show off, but at 20 centimeters flaccid, it was hard to hide. Her cheeks reddened almost imperceptibly, and she quickly looked up.

"Just call me Zheke," she said, her voice light but a little breathless. "We'll be seeing a lot of each other."

"Zheke," Yao Yu repeated, savoring the name. "I like that."

Lou Cheng cleared his throat. "You got everything? Passport, visa, tickets?" He was fussing, a nervous habit. Yan Zheke rolled her eyes playfully.

"Relax, Cheng. I've traveled before." She touched his arm, a soft gesture of reassurance. "I'll call you every day. And you'll be so busy with the tournament you won't even miss me."

"I'll always miss you," Lou Cheng said, his voice earnest. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, a quick, almost chaste peck. Yao Yu watched, his expression neutral, but inside he catalogued the interaction. The kiss was brief, the touch timid. Lou Cheng was a good man, but a small one in more ways than one.

The check-in line moved, and they shuffled forward. Yao Yu positioned himself beside Yan Zheke, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed. She smelled like jasmine and something sweet, a scent that made him think of summer evenings. She glanced at him, and he caught her eye.

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

"A little," she admitted. "It's my first time studying abroad. I've been training in martial arts my whole life, so this is a whole new world. But it's exciting too."

"I think you'll do great," he said. "And if you ever need help—with classes, or just someone to talk to—I'm right there."

She smiled, a genuine smile this time. "Thanks, Yao Yu. That means a lot."

The line moved, and soon they were at the counter, checking bags and receiving boarding passes. Lou Cheng stood to the side, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his jaw tight. When Yan Zheke turned to say goodbye, he pulled her into a hug, holding her a little too long. Yao Yu watched, his hands clasped behind his back.

"I'll miss you," Lou Cheng murmured into her hair.

"Me too," she said, pulling back. "It's only six months. We'll be fine."

Yao Yu stepped forward, offering a polite nod to Lou Cheng. "I'll take care of her," he said. It was a simple statement, but it carried weight. Lou Cheng's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

They passed through security together, Yao Yu and Yan Zheke side by side. As they walked toward the gate, Yao Yu felt a lightness in his step. The first hurdle was cleared. Now came the long flight and the months ahead.

Half an hour later, Yao Yu excused himself to use the restroom. Inside the bright, tiled room, he found Lou Cheng standing at the urinal, washing his hands. Their eyes met in the mirror. Lou Cheng stiffened.

"Hey," Yao Yu said, taking the urinal next to him. He unzipped his jeans and let his flaccid cock hang out. It was thick, almost thick as a wrist, the head peeking out from the foreskin. Lou Cheng's eyes dropped to it, and Yao Yu saw the exact moment his confidence crumbled. Lou Cheng's own penis was already put away, but even through his pants, the outline was small. Yao Yu heard him swallow.

"So," Yao Yu said, not looking at him, "you two have been together a while?"

"Three years," Lou Cheng said, his voice strained.

"That's great. Long distance can be tough, though. But I'm sure you trust her." Yao Yu shook himself, tucked it away, and zipped up. He turned to the sink, washing his hands. Lou Cheng was still staring at his own reflection, his face pale.

"She's loyal," Lou Cheng said, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Yao Yu smiled, a thin, humorless smile. "Of course she is." He dried his hands, tossed the paper towel in the bin, and walked past Lou Cheng without another glance.

Back at the gate, Yan Zheke was scrolling through her phone. She looked up as he approached and smiled. "Everything okay?"

"Just fine," he said, sitting down beside her. "Our flight's on time. Ready for this adventure?"

She nodded, her eyes bright. "Ready."

As the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal, Yao Yu allowed himself a small, private smile. In the restroom, he had seen the fear in Lou Cheng's eyes. The inferiority. The doubt. It was the first crack. And in the months ahead, he would widen it until the whole wall came tumbling down.

He glanced at Yan Zheke, at the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts beneath the white T-shirt, and felt a stirring of desire. She was his prize, and he would win her—body and soul, inch by inch.

The key turned in the lock with a soft click, and Yao Yu pushed open the door, stepping aside to let Yan Zheke enter first. The apartment was spacious, just as the listing had promised: two bedrooms flanking a bright living room, a modern kitchen open to the dining area, and a single bathroom tucked at the end of the hallway. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the golden light of the overseas afternoon, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood.

Yan Zheke let out a small, appreciative sigh as she walked in, her white cotton dress swishing around her knees. A pink knitted jacket hugged her shoulders, and her canvas shoes made no sound on the floor. She set her small duffel bag on the couch and turned to face him, a playful glint in her eyes. “Not bad, Brother Yao. You actually found a decent place.”

Yao Yu smiled, setting down his own luggage and closing the door behind him. He was tall, a full head above her, and his frame filled the doorway for a moment before he moved inside. “I figured we’d need somewhere comfortable. Two bedrooms, so you can have your own space, but we’ll share everything else.”

He walked toward the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to check if the previous tenant had left anything. It was empty, spotless. He turned back to her. “I can cook. If you want, I’ll make dinner tonight. Something simple, but good.”

Yan Zheke tilted her head, a slow smile spreading across her lips. She leaned against the kitchen island, crossing her arms in a way that subtly emphasized the curve of her breasts beneath the dress. “Chef Yao, you better fill me up,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “I’m starving.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, carrying a double meaning that neither of them acknowledged directly. Yao Yu’s eyes flickered over her face, then he laughed softly. “I’ll do my best. Let me check what’s nearby, I’ll go get groceries in a bit.”

She nodded, then gestured toward the hallway. “The bathroom is the only one, right? So we’ll need to work out a schedule or something. I take a while in the morning.”

“That’s fine,” Yao Yu said. “I’m an early riser. I’ll shower first, leave the hot water for you.” He said it casually, but his gaze lingered on her legs. The skin-toned stockings caught the light, smooth and seamless, making her calves look impossibly elegant.

Yan Zheke noticed his look but didn’t call him out. Instead, she stretched her arms above her head, arching her back slightly. “Mmm, sounds perfect. You’re too thoughtful, Brother Yao.”

She turned and walked into the living room, running her hand along the back of the couch. The dress swayed with her movement, hugging her hips. Yao Yu watched for a second, then forced himself to look away, busying himself with his phone to find the nearest supermarket.

An hour later, he returned with bags of vegetables, rice, chicken, and seasonings. Yan Zheke had changed out of her jacket and was sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through her phone. She had kicked off her canvas shoes, and her bare feet rested on the cushion. The neckline of her dress gaped slightly as she leaned forward, revealing a hint of pale cleavage.

Yao Yu set the bags on the kitchen counter and began unpacking. She hopped up and padded over, watching him work. “Need help?”

“You can set the table,” he said, handing her plates. She took them, and their fingers brushed. She didn’t pull away immediately.

The kitchen soon filled with the aroma of garlic and soy sauce. Yao Yu moved efficiently, his sleeves rolled up, forearms flexing as he chopped vegetables. Yan Zheke leaned against the counter, a glass of water in her hand, watching him. “You’re really good at that. My boyfriend can barely boil water.”

Yao Yu’s hands paused for a fraction of a second at the mention of Lou Cheng, but he recovered quickly. “I like cooking. It’s relaxing.” He didn’t ask about Lou Cheng. He didn’t want to talk about him.

As he stirred the wok, her phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen, and her expression flickered. “It’s Cheng,” she said, picking it up. “He must be up early.”

She answered the call, her voice softening into a girlfriend tone. “Hey, babe. Yeah, we just moved in. Everything’s fine. The apartment is nice.” Pause. “Mm-hmm. Yao Yu’s cooking dinner right now.” Another pause, longer. “No, it’s fine. He’s just being a good roommate. Don’t worry so much.”

Yao Yu kept his back to her, stirring the chicken with a little too much force. He could hear the tinny voice of Lou Cheng on the other end, but not the words. The time zone difference meant it was early morning in China, and that distance was already settling into the room like a third presence.

Yan Zheke ended the call after a few minutes, setting the phone face down. She let out a small breath. “He worries too much. Overprotective.”

“He cares about you,” Yao Yu said mildly, plating the food. “That’s natural.”

She came to the table, sitting across from him. The dress rode up slightly as she crossed her legs. “Yeah, but I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.”

They ate in comfortable conversation. Yao Yu asked about her martial arts training, praised her rank, made her laugh with stories from his own classes. By the time they finished, the sun had set, and the apartment was lit by warm lamps.

Yan Zheke helped him wash the dishes, standing close enough that her arm brushed his every so often. When they were done, she announced she was going to shower and disappeared into the bathroom. Yao Yu heard the water start, and he sat on the couch, trying not to imagine the hot steam curling around her body.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged in a silk robe, her hair wrapped in a towel. The robe was short, ending mid-thigh, showing off long legs still slightly damp from the shower. She padded barefoot to the living room, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him, but close enough that he could smell her shampoo.

“Your turn,” she said, tucking her legs under her. The robe gaped at the neckline, offering a glimpse of the valley between her breasts.

Yao Yu stood, his throat dry. “I’ll be quick.”

He showered efficiently, cooling his thoughts under the spray. When he returned in a T-shirt and loose pants, she had moved to the floor, sitting on a yoga mat in just a sports bra and tight shorts. The towel was gone, her hair now wavy and slightly damp. She was stretching, legs spread wide as she leaned forward, her back arched.

She looked up at him as he entered. “I like to wind down with some yoga. Hope you don’t mind.”

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Not at all. Go ahead.”

She flowed through a series of poses: downward dog, cobra, pigeon pose. Each movement was fluid and deliberate, showing off her flexibility. The shorts hugged her ass, the sports bra pressed her breasts together. Yao Yu couldn’t look away, and he didn’t try to pretend. He watched openly, a faint smile on his lips.

Yan Zheke caught his gaze more than once, and each time, a small, satisfied smile touched her lips. She arched deeper in a backbend, holding it for a long moment, then relaxed. “My muscles get so tight from training. This helps.”

“I can see that,” Yao Yu said, his voice low. “You’re very dedicated.”

She finished her routine, rolling up the mat. As she stood, she stretched her arms over her head, causing the sports bra to ride up and reveal a strip of pale, toned stomach. “I’m going to bed. Early class tomorrow. Goodnight, Brother Yao.”

“Goodnight, Yan Zheke.”

She walked to her room, pausing at the door. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his. “Thanks for tonight. The dinner, I mean. It was really good.”

“Anytime,” he said.

The door closed, and Yao Yu stood alone in the living room, the scent of her shampoo still lingering in the air. He turned off the lights and went to his own room, the image of her in that sports bra and shorts burned into his mind. He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his pulse still quick. Patience, he told himself. The first night was just the beginning.

The afternoon sun was golden and warm as Yao Yu and Yan Zheke strolled through the ancient streets near Song University. The cobblestones were uneven, worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, and the old buildings on either side leaned toward each other like gossiping neighbors. Yan Zheke wore a light summer dress, pale blue with small white flowers, her hair tied in a loose ponytail that swung with each step. She paused often to look at trinkets in shop windows, and Yao Yu matched her pace, always a half-step behind, watching her with open admiration.

"It's so pretty here," Yan Zheke said, stopping to admire a small bridge arching over a canal. The water was green and still, reflecting the willows that drooped along its banks.

"It's even prettier with you in the picture," Yao Yu said, his voice low and warm.

She blushed and turned away, but a small smile played on her lips. They walked for another hour, through a small park and past a temple, until Yan Zheke slowed and let out a soft sigh of fatigue.

"Tired?" Yao Yu asked immediately.

"A little. My feet are starting to hurt," she admitted, flexing one ankle.

Without hesitation, Yao Yu turned and crouched slightly in front of her. "Get on. I'll carry you back."

"Yao Yu, I'm not that tired," she protested, but there was no conviction in her voice.

"Come on. It's a long way back to the apartment, and you've been walking all day. I don't mind at all." He looked over his shoulder, his handsome face earnest. "Let me take care of you."

She hesitated for only a moment, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. He straightened, sliding his hands under her thighs to support her. She was light, her body warm against his back. As she settled into position, her breasts pressed firmly against his shoulder blades, soft and full through the thin fabric of her dress. He could feel the shape of them, the slight give of flesh, the heat of her body seeping into his shirt.

Yan Zheke's breath was warm against his ear. "You're strong," she murmured.

"Not as strong as you. You're a martial artist, after all," he said, though his hands tightened slightly on her thighs. She had beautiful legs, smooth and firm, and his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh near her knee. She didn't pull away.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Yao Yu's pulse hammered, but he kept his voice steady. "Is this comfortable? Your chest isn't pressed too hard?"

"It's fine," she said softly, and he felt her arms tighten a little around his neck.

He shifted her weight, one hand moving higher to cup the curve of her buttock. It was a natural adjustment, the kind any man would make when carrying someone, but his fingers lingered just a moment longer than necessary, pressing into the firm roundness. Yan Zheke made a small sound, barely audible, and said nothing.

At the apartment door, he knelt to let her down slowly. Her body slid against his back, the friction of her dress, the brush of her hips, before she stood on her own. She was flushed, her eyes bright.

"That was sweet of you," she said, unlocking the door.

"Any time."

Inside, the apartment was cool and quiet. Yan Zheke kicked off her sandals and padded to the couch, collapsing into the cushions with a sigh. She stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes, and Yao Yu sat down beside her.

"Your feet really hurt?" he asked.

"A little. I'm not used to walking so much in sandals."

Without waiting for permission, he reached over and lifted her legs, placing them across his lap. Yan Zheke's breath caught, but she didn't resist. Her feet were bare, pale and delicate, with slender toes painted a soft coral pink. Her ankles were slim, her arches high and elegant.

"Let me massage them," he said, his voice dropping to a gentler register. "I'm good with my hands."

She watched him warily, but a hint of curiosity flickered in her eyes. "Alright... but just for a minute."

He started with her left foot, his thumb pressing into the arch in firm, circular motions. Yan Zheke let out a small moan, immediately covering her mouth with her hand.

"Tense there, huh?" Yao Yu said, not looking up. "You carry a lot of stress in your feet."

"How do you know?" she asked, her voice a little breathless.

"Just a feeling." He worked his way to her heel, then along the ball of her foot, his fingers sliding between her toes. She shivered. "You have really pretty feet, you know."

"What? No I don't." She tried to pull back, but he held her ankle gently but firmly.

"I mean it. Look." He lifted her foot slightly, turning it to the light. "The shape, the color of your skin, the way your toes line up. They're beautiful."

"You're just saying that."

"I'll prove it." He bowed his head and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her foot, just above the toes.

Yan Zheke's eyes went wide. "Yao Yu!"

He kissed the inside of her ankle, then her arch, each kiss slow and deliberate, his lips lingering on her skin. "See? I wouldn't kiss just any foot. Only a beautiful one deserves this."

Her face was crimson, but she didn't pull away. She watched him, stunned, as he kissed the tip of each toe. A strange warmth spread through her chest, followed by a deeper heat between her thighs. No one had ever done this before. Lou Cheng had never even touched her feet, let alone kissed them.

"You're crazy," she whispered, but there was no anger in it.

"Maybe a little," he admitted, lifting his head. "But I mean what I say."

He continued the massage, his hands slow and soothing, until the tension left her body and she melted into the couch with a soft sigh.

That evening, after they had ordered takeout and eaten on the couch in front of the TV, they sat side by side, some drama playing that neither was truly watching. Yan Zheke's feet were tucked under her, but she kept glancing at Yao Yu, her thoughts lingering on his lips on her skin.

"Hey," she said finally, turning the volume down. "Can I ask you something weird?"

"Anything."

She bit her lip, then looked at him directly. "How big is... you know. A man's dick. Normally."

Yao Yu raised an eyebrow, but his expression remained calm and open. "That's not a weird question. Depends on the guy. Average is probably twelve to fourteen centimeters. But that's just average."

"What's... big, then?"

"Eighteen, twenty. Some guys are bigger."

She was quiet for a moment, fiddling with the hem of her dress. "Lou Cheng is about... ten centimeters."

Yao Yu kept his face neutral, but inside he felt a surge of triumph. Ten centimeters. He'd been right. Pathetic. "Oh? That's on the smaller side."

"And he can only last about three minutes," she added, her voice barely a whisper, as if confessing a secret shame. "And... he can only do it once a day."

Yao Yu laughed softly, shaking his head. "That's a waste. If you're going to do it, you should do it right. Three minutes isn't even enough to get started, let alone enjoy it."

Yan Zheke colored, looking down. "Is that... not normal?"

"Normal is a range. But for a beautiful woman like you?" He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "You deserve someone who can actually satisfy you. Someone who can go for an hour, maybe longer. Someone who's built to fill you completely."

Her breath hitched. "That's... that's a lot."

"It's the truth." He leaned back, not pressing further, letting the words settle. "Anyway, it's not really my place to talk about your boyfriend."

She nodded slowly, but Yao Yu could see the wheels turning in her head. He had planted the seed. Now he only needed to water it.

The afternoon sun slanted through the sheer curtains of Yao Yu’s apartment, casting warm rectangles across the polished wooden floor. Yan Zheke sat cross-legged on the sofa, a cup of jasmine tea cooling in her hands, pretending to study the textbook open on her lap. But her eyes kept drifting to Yao Yu, who was stretching on the yoga mat nearby.

He moved with an easy grace, his lean muscles shifting under his thin t-shirt. The apartment smelled of sandalwood incense and something clean, like rain on summer grass. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, a feeling she refused to name.

“Ke,” Yao Yu said softly, his voice carrying that gentle, coaxing tone she’d come to recognize.

She looked up. He was standing now, his hands resting on the waistband of his shorts. “I want to show you something.”

Her heart skipped. “What?”

He hesitated, his cheeks flushing. “I… I’ve been thinking about you. Every day. Every night.” He swallowed. “I’m still a virgin, you know. I’ve never done anything with anyone.”

Yan Zheke set down her tea. The air between them seemed to thicken. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “When I’m alone, I touch myself. For an hour sometimes. And I always imagine it’s you.”

Her breath caught. Her face burned. She should tell him to stop. She should stand up and walk out. But her body refused to move.

Yao Yu’s hands moved, pushing down his shorts. The fabric slid over his hips, and his erection sprang free. Yan Zheke’s eyes widened.

It was enormous. Even in the soft light, she could see its length, its thickness. It stood straight out, curving slightly upward, the head flushed a dark, veiny red. At least thirty centimeters, she guessed, maybe more. Her mouth went dry.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his voice husky.

She couldn’t answer. Her gaze traced the shaft, the way the skin stretched taut over the engorged flesh. Her thighs pressed together, a familiar ache beginning to pulse between them. The memory of Lou Cheng’s small hand, his brief, unsatisfying thrusts, flickered through her mind. This was different. This was a promise of something far more dangerous.

“Please, Ke,” Yao Yu begged, stepping closer. “Help me. Just with your feet. I’ll go crazy if you don’t.”

She shook her head, but the motion was weak. “This is wrong. I have a boyfriend.”

“He’s not here,” Yao Yu said, his voice breaking. “I am. Please. Just this once.”

Her resolve crumbled like paper in water. She stood on trembling legs, the words falling from her lips before she could stop them. “Only this once.”

He guided her onto the yoga mat, and she sat down, her heart hammering. Yao Yu knelt a short distance away, his massive cock jutting toward her like an offering. She stared at it, mesmerized by its size, the way it pulsed with his heartbeat.

Slowly, she lifted her bare foot. Her toes were slender, painted a pale pink. She touched them to the head of his penis. It was hot, silky-smooth except for the slight tackiness of pre-cum. She gasped.

“Yes,” Yao Yu breathed. “Just like that.”

She pressed her sole against the shaft, feeling its weight and heat. The skin slid easily under her foot. She began to move, up and down, a slow, hesitant rhythm. His moans filled the room, low and desperate.

“Harder,” he urged. “Please.”

She increased the pressure, her other foot joining in, cradling his length between her soles. The sensation was strange at first, then intoxicating. His hardness, his vulnerability, his complete surrender to her touch. She watched his face, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, lost in pleasure.

Minutes stretched into an hour. Her feet grew slick with his fluid, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The sight of him so undone, the knowledge that she was doing this to him, sent waves of heat through her core. Her own body ached, empty and wanting.

“I’m going to come,” he gasped. “Ke, I’m going to—”

His hips bucked, and a torrent of hot, white semen erupted from the tip, splashing across her feet, her ankles, her shins. Thick ropes of it, more than she’d ever seen. It dripped down her skin, warm and sticky.

He collapsed forward, panting. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Yan Zheke stared at the mess on her legs. Revulsion warred with a deep, shameful thrill. “You pervert,” she said, but her voice held no conviction.

She stood, her feet leaving wet prints on the floorboards, and walked to the bathroom. The mirror showed her flushed cheeks, her messy hair. She looked like a woman who had sinned and liked it.

Turning on the tap, she began to wash. But as the water swirled the white strands away, a sudden, irrational impulse seized her. She looked at the door—closed. Quickly, she scraped a dab of the cooling semen from her ankle with her finger.

She stared at the thick, pearly substance on her fingertip. Her heart pounded. She had never tasted it before. Lou Cheng always used a condom, even the first time.

She brought her finger to her lips and touched it to her tongue.

It was salty, slightly bitter, with a strange, milky richness. She shivered. Her stomach tightened. She scraped another drop, then another, licking her finger clean. It was shameful. It was degrading. And yet, she wanted more.

A knock on the door made her jump. “Ke? Are you okay?”

She quickly rinsed her hands and face, patting them dry. “Fine,” she called, her voice steady despite the chaos inside her.

When she opened the door, Yao Yu stood there, his shorts back on, his eyes soft and grateful. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I got carried away.”

She looked past him, at the yoga mat where they had been, where evidence of her betrayal still lay. She should feel guilty. She should think of Lou Cheng, far away in his competition.

But all she could think about was how it had felt to hold that enormous, throbbing need in her feet. And how much she wanted to do it again.

Every day after she returned from training, Yan Zheke would sink into the sofa in the living room, kick off her shoes, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. Without a word, Yao Yu would pull the footstool over, settle himself at her feet, and begin the ritual. Sometimes she wore skin-toned stockings that clung to her calves and arches like a second layer of silk, and he would work the fabric against her soles, pressing his thumbs into the stiff muscles until she moaned. Other days she came home barefoot, her toes cool and slightly dusty from the dojo mats, and he would warm them between his palms before starting.

It was always the same sequence: knead the arch, press the ball of the foot, circle the ankle, then gently pull each toe. Yan Zheke would close her eyes and let her head fall back, her chest rising and falling with each pleasured breath. Yao Yu watched her face, the way her lips parted, the slight furrow of her brow when he hit a tender spot. He memorized every reaction.

When the massage ended, he would lift her foot and press his lips to her instep, then to the top of her foot, then to each toe in turn. Yan Zheke would open her eyes and roll them dramatically, letting out a dismissive tsk.

"Every time, Yao Yu. You're such a pervert."

But she never pulled her foot away. She never told him to stop. And when she stood up to go shower, there was always a certain languor in her movements, a dampness that she blamed on the summer heat.

August 31st. The last day of the month, and the last day before Lou Cheng was supposed to video-call her for their weekly catch-up. Yan Zheke came home earlier than usual, her martial arts uniform clinging to her body with sweat. She showered immediately, then emerged in a loose tank top and shorts, her hair still wet. She sat on the sofa and propped her bare feet on the coffee table, waiting.

Yao Yu came out of the kitchen with a glass of cold water. He saw her posture, saw the way she was looking at him—a look that dared him to do something. He set the glass down and took his usual position on the footstool.

"Hard training today?" he asked, taking her left foot.

"Mmm. Sparring with a seventh-rank. He nearly broke my ankle." She winced as he pressed into the joint.

"Here?" He found the knot and worked it gently.

"Yeah... yeah, right there."

The massage was longer than usual. He took his time, and she let him. When he lifted her foot to kiss it, she didn't roll her eyes. She watched him, her breathing shallow. He kissed her instep, her arch, her ankle. Then she did something new.

She lifted her other foot and placed it directly in front of his mouth.

Yao Yu paused. Their eyes met. She held the position, her toes just an inch from his lips. Her face was calm, almost challenging, but her pupils were dilated. He saw her swallow.

He opened his mouth and took her big toe between his lips.

Yan Zheke let out a trembling exhale. She didn't pull away. He licked around the toe, then sucked gently. She tasted of soap and clean skin, but underneath that, a faint saltiness, a scent that was uniquely her. He moved to the second toe, then the third, taking each one slowly, deliberately, watching her face for any sign of disgust. There was none. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted, her hand gripping the sofa cushion.

"They smell so good," he murmured against her sole, and it was true. There was a human scent to her feet, a raw femininity that intoxicated him. He began to lick the whole sole, long strokes from heel to toe, tasting the slight grit of dried sweat. She made a small sound in the back of her throat.

"You're crazy," she whispered.

"Mmm." He didn't stop. He ran his tongue between her toes, cleaning them, worshipping them. Her feet were beautiful—high arches, long toes, pale skin. He wanted to eat her alive.

Yan Zheke let her head fall back and closed her eyes. In the dim living room, with the ceiling fan circling lazily overhead, she allowed herself to feel it. The rough wetness of his tongue. The heat of his mouth. The way he held her foot like it was something precious. Between her legs, she was slick with arousal. She thought of Lou Cheng, of his quick, fumbling attempts, of how he never lasted long enough. And she thought of Yao Yu, who had been living with her for nearly a month, who never once touched her anywhere else, but who every night made her come undone with just his hands and his mouth on her feet.

She was a terrible girlfriend.

She didn't care.

When he finally stopped, her feet were wet and glistening. He kissed the top of each foot one last time and released her. She sat up slowly, her face flushed. She saw the bulge straining against his shorts, prominent and undeniable. He made no move to hide it. She looked at it, then looked away.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"Anytime."

She stood and walked toward her bedroom. At the door, she paused. "Lou Cheng is calling in an hour. I need to be alone."

"Of course."

She closed the door. Yao Yu leaned back in his chair, breathing hard. He looked down at his own arousal, shook his head, and smiled. She knew. He knew. Neither of them said a word.

The game was going exactly as planned.

Yan Zheke checked her phone again as she walked through the mall entrance, her fingers lingering on the screen for a moment longer than necessary. Lou Cheng's message from last night had been brief—he would arrive in Songcheng this afternoon for a few days before heading to the provincial tournament. The news should have filled her with anticipation, but instead she felt a strange restlessness coiling in her stomach.

"Yao Yu, I need to buy some yoga equipment," she said, turning to face him with a brightness in her voice that didn't quite reach her eyes. "My old mat is completely worn out."

Yao Yu smiled, falling into step beside her. The morning light streamed through the glass ceiling of the shopping center, catching the edges of his features in a way that made him look almost sculpted. "I don't know much about yoga, but I'm happy to carry your bags."

"That's all you're good for," she teased, but there was no malice in it. She liked having him around, liked the way his gaze followed her, liked the warmth that spread through her chest whenever she caught him looking.

They found a sportswear boutique tucked away on the third floor, its windows displaying mannequins in various poses of athletic grace. Yan Zheke moved through the aisles with practiced efficiency, her fingers brushing over fabrics and testing the give of elastic bands. She selected a pink yoga mat, rolling it out on the floor to check its thickness, then added a large yoga ball to her growing pile.

"Going to put on a show?" Yao Yu asked, leaning against a display rack.

"Something like that." She grabbed three different sets of clothing and headed for the fitting rooms. "Wait here."

The curtain rustled behind her, and Yao Yu stationed himself a few feet away, close enough to hear the whisper of fabric but far enough to maintain the pretense of propriety. He checked his phone, scrolled through messages he didn't read, and waited.

"Yao Yu?"

Her voice came through the curtain, soft and slightly hesitant.

"Come here for a second. I need you to tell me if this fits right."

He parted the curtain and stepped inside. The fitting room was small, barely enough space for two people, and the air was thick with the scent of her perfume. Yan Zheke stood in front of the mirror, wearing a black sports bra and matching shorts that hugged every curve of her body. The material was sleek, moisture-wicking, cut high on her thighs and low on her stomach.

She turned slightly, looking over her shoulder at the reflection of her back. "Does it look okay? I feel like the straps might be too tight."

Yao Yu's throat went dry. From this angle, he could see the elegant line of her spine, the way the shorts cupped her firm buttocks, the smooth expanse of her bare legs. She looked like she had stepped out of a fitness magazine, every muscle toned, every inch of skin glowing.

"It's fine," he managed. "Comfortable."

She met his eyes in the mirror and smiled. "Good. One down."

She pulled the curtain closed again, and he stepped out, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A moment later, she called him back.

This time, she wore a beige yoga set—a loose tank top with a built-in shelf bra and high-waisted leggings that cinched at her navel. The fabric was soft, stretchy, and slightly translucent in the light. He could see the outline of her figure beneath it, the gentle swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips.

"Better?" she asked, smoothing the material over her stomach.

"Much better."

"You're not even looking at the clothes."

He was. He was looking at everything. "I'm paying attention."

Her smile widened, and she gave a little spin, letting the leggings catch the light. "Alright. One more."

The third time she called him, there was a different tone in her voice. Excitement, perhaps, or nervousness. He pushed aside the curtain and felt the air leave his lungs.

She wore a pink rhythmic gymnastics outfit, one-piece, cut high at the hips and low at the chest, with long sleeves that ended in fingerless gloves. The fabric was skintight, gleaming faintly under the fluorescent lights, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her breasts were pushed up and together, the curve of her cleavage deep and inviting. Between her legs, the material stretched taut, outlining the shape of her mound in explicit detail.

Yan Zheke turned to face him fully, her cheeks flushed. "This one is for... special occasions."

He couldn't look away. The bulge at her crotch was unmistakable, the fabric stretched so thin that he could see the crease where her thighs met her body. She saw where his gaze had fallen and bit her lower lip, watching him watch her.

"You don't need to wear underwear with this kind of outfit," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "The fabric is lined."

His mouth went dry. "Ke."

"What?" She stepped closer, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her body. "You wanted to look, didn't you?"

He had. He had wanted to look from the moment he met her. But standing here, with her in that outfit, knowing she had chosen it specifically for him to see, knowing what lay beneath that thin layer of pink—it was almost too much to bear.

His pants tightened, the pressure building against his zipper. He shifted his weight, trying to hide his growing arousal, but she noticed. Her eyes flickered down, then back up, and her smile turned knowing.

"Maybe I should buy this one," she said, stepping around him to grab her regular clothes from the hook. "For after Lou Cheng leaves."

The name hit him like cold water, but he kept his composure. "You'd wear it for me?"

She paused, her hand on the zipper of her regular shorts. "Maybe. If you're good."

He watched her change back into her street clothes, moving with deliberate slowness, giving him time to memorize every inch of skin she exposed. When she was done, she handed him the pile of yoga wear and the equipment.

"Let's check out."

They paid and left the store, the bag with the pink outfit dangling from Yao Yu's hand. As they walked through the mall, Yan Zheke's phone buzzed with a message. She glanced at it and sighed.

"Lou Cheng's flight is landing in two hours."

"Are you going to pick him up?"

"No." She slipped the phone back into her pocket. "He said he'd come straight to the apartment. Wants to surprise me."

They walked in silence for a moment, weaving through the afternoon crowds. Yan Zheke's hand brushed against Yao Yu's, once, twice, and on the third time, she let her fingers linger.

"When do we start the yoga?" he asked.

Her laugh was soft, private. "He's staying for three days, and then he has to go to the tournament in Jiangxi. You can move back in when he leaves."

"And until then?"

"I'll be a good girlfriend." She looked up at him, her eyes dark. "But I'll be thinking about you."

Yan Zheke walked through the boutique aisles with deliberate slowness, her fingers trailing across silks and laces as if testing their temperature. The saleswoman hovered at a respectful distance, recognizing a customer who wanted to browse without interruption.

The pink cheongsam caught her eye first—a modern cut with a daring side slit that reached mid-thigh. She held it against herself, imagining how the silk would cling to her curves, how Yao Yu's gaze would trace the opening. A flush crept up her neck, but she added it to the growing pile over her arm.

Next came a black suspender top, barely more than straps and a whisper of fabric. She found a lotus-colored lace nightie that seemed almost innocent until she held it up to the light and saw how translucent it truly was. Her heart beat faster as she moved to the lingerie section.

Four sets. She told herself it was practical—she needed variety. The first was white with delicate embroidery, demure but with a plunging neckline. The second in deep burgundy, high-waisted with garters. The third in baby blue, so sweet it was almost sinful. And the fourth—her breath caught as she picked up the black set with its strategic cutouts. The crotchless design made her thighs clench involuntarily.

"Would you like to try them on?" the saleswoman asked.

"No, I'll take them all." Yan Zheke's voice came out steadier than she felt.

She added stockings to her purchases: black with a seam up the back, white thigh-highs with lace tops, and a sheer flesh-toned pair that would look like nothing at all from a distance. The bag felt heavy in her hand as she walked home, heavy with possibility.

The apartment was quiet. She set her purchases on the bed and pulled out her phone, the time difference meaning Lou Cheng should be awake. The video call connected after two rings, his face appearing slightly pixelated.

"Ke Ke!" He smiled, and something in her chest both warmed and ached. "How was your day?"

"I went shopping." She angled the camera to show the bags. "Got some new clothes."

"Nice." His eyes scanned his surroundings—a dorm room, teammates in the background. "Listen, about this weekend... I've got training. The tournament's coming up, and I need to focus. Can we postpone our... you know, our video date? Just two days."

The words hit her like cold water. "Postpone? Cheng, I bought these especially—"

"I know, I know. But Coach says we need every session. I'm so close to breaking through to fifth-rank. You understand, don't you?"

She understood. She understood that he was in another country, that his martial arts career took priority, that he trusted her enough to let another man live in her apartment. She understood all of it, and still, the frustration built in her chest like heat.

"You always say that. There's always something." Her voice sharpened. "Do you even care that I'm here alone? That I moved across the city to be closer to you, and you're never—"

"Ke Ke, don't start. You know I love you. This is for us, for our future."

"What future? One where I wait around while you train and I rot in this apartment with nothing but a—" She stopped herself before saying Yao Yu's name, but they both heard the unfinished word.

"Is he there? Is Yao Yu bothering you?" Lou Cheng's tone shifted, a hint of possessiveness she might have found attractive once.

"No. He's been a perfect gentleman." The defense of Yao Yu came automatically, and she hated how natural it felt. "I'm going. Text me when you actually have time for me."

She ended the call before he could respond, tossing the phone onto the bed. Her reflection stared back from the dark screen, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with anger and something else—something hungrier.

She heard Yao Yu's key in the door.

"Zheke? I'm back. I picked up groceries."

She emerged from the bedroom, still holding one of the boutique bags. "Yao Yu, can you help me with something?"

His eyes swept over her, quick and appreciative. "Of course."

"I bought some new clothes. I want to know how they look." She kept her voice casual, as if asking him to check a dimmer switch or move a piece of furniture. "Just... tell me what you think. Honestly."

"Honestly," he repeated, and something in his tone made her skin prickle with anticipation.

She disappeared back into the bedroom and emerged minutes later in the pink cheongsam. The silk hugged her waist before flaring at the hips, the slit opening with each step to reveal the pale curve of her thigh. She turned slowly, letting him see the back, how the fabric stretched across her buttocks.

"Well?"

Yao Yu's throat moved as he swallowed. "It suits you. The pink... it matches your complexion. Makes you look soft."

"Soft?" She arched an eyebrow.

"Soft like something you'd want to touch." His voice was low, controlled. "But with an edge. The slit says you're not as innocent as you look."

Heat spread through her body. "Good answer. Wait here."

The next outfit was the black suspender top paired with a short skirt she already owned. The straps cut across her shoulders, drawing attention to her collarbone, the curve of her breasts barely contained beneath the thin fabric.

"This one?"

"Provocative." His hands were at his sides, but she saw his fingers twitch. "The kind of thing you wear when you want someone to look but not touch. A tease."

"Maybe I like being looked at." She turned, letting her hair swing, and caught the bulge forming in his pants. Her breath quickened, but she maintained her composure.

The lotus-colored nightie came next, sheer enough that her nipples showed clearly through the lace. She didn't cover herself, standing in the doorframe and letting him drink in the sight.

"This is for sleeping," she said. "Do you think it's comfortable enough?"

"I think it's dangerous." His voice had roughened. "You'd catch cold wearing something that thin. Unless you have someone to keep you warm."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'd offer to be that someone."

The air between them thickened. She retreated to change again, this time into the white embroidered lingerie set. She came out with a bra and panties that covered just enough to be decent while revealing everything worth seeing.

"Yao Yu?"

He was standing when she emerged, and she could see the full extent of his arousal pressing against his jeans. His eyes were dark, hungry, fixed on her body with an intensity that made her feel powerful.

"Beautiful," he said, and the word came out strained. "Every inch of you is beautiful."

She modeled the burgundy set next, the garters hanging empty without stockings. Then the baby blue, sweet and sinful. Each time she stepped out, his gaze grew hotter, his breathing more uneven.

Only the black set remained in the bag, the crotchless one. She paused with her hand on it, feeling the weight of what showing it would mean. It would be an invitation, a declaration. She wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"That's all," she said through the door. "I'm tired of changing."

"Are you sure? There's one more bag—"

"I'm sure." She took a breath, then added, "But thank you. For the feedback."

She changed into a black sports bra and tight shorts, the kind she wore for yoga. When she emerged, Yao Yu was still standing, still visibly aroused, making no effort to hide it.

"I'm going to do some yoga," she said, walking past him into the living room. "To unwind."

She laid out her mat, stretching slowly, deliberately. Each pose arched her back, lifted her hips, presented her body to his view. Downward dog let her see him between her legs, watching from the couch where he'd sat down. Cobra pose pressed her chest forward, her breasts straining against the sports bra.

"Yao Yu." She was in a deep lunge, one leg forward, the other stretched behind. "Can you help me with a pose? I need someone to push against my back to deepen the stretch."

He rose without hesitation, coming to stand behind her. His hands were warm when they settled on her lower back, pressing gently but firmly.

"Like this?"

"Harder." She pushed back against his palms. "I can take it."

His hands pressed harder, and she felt the stretch in her spine, in her hips. His fingers seemed to burn through the thin fabric, and she knew he could feel her heat, her response to his touch.

"Good," she breathed. "Now hold me there."

His hands didn't move, but his body came closer. She could feel the heat of him, the hardness of him, just inches from her curved backside. Her heart raced, her skin flushed, her entire body aware of how close they were to crossing a line.

"Should I stop?" he murmured, his breath warm against her ear.

"No." The word came out before she could think. "Don't stop."

Outside, the sun set over Song University. Inside the apartment, she held the stretch, held the moment, held the knowledge that she didn't want him to let go.

The afternoon sun slanted through the gauze curtains, casting a warm golden glow across the yoga mat in the living room. Yan Zheke stood in a forward fold, her lithe body bent at the hips, palms flat against the floor. The black leggings she wore hugged every curve of her long legs and the firm swell of her buttocks. She breathed slowly, evenly, her spine lengthening with each exhale.

Yao Yu sat cross-legged on the sofa a few feet away, a glass of water in his hand. He watched her with careful, appreciative eyes. Over the past week of cohabitation, he had learned her rhythms. She practiced yoga every afternoon at this hour, a habit she claimed helped maintain her martial arts flexibility. He had offered to assist with a few poses, and she had accepted after a moment's hesitation.

"Can you help me with the downward-facing dog?" she asked, straightening. Her voice carried a note of shyness. Since that night when he had massaged her shoulders, the air between them had thickened with unspoken things. She felt his gaze linger longer than before, and she found herself leaning into it instead of pulling away.

Yao Yu set down his glass and rose. "Of course," he said, approaching her. He was tall, a full twenty centimeters taller than her, and when he stood behind her as she bent into the pose, his shadow enveloped her completely.

She placed her hands on the mat, lifted her hips, and straightened her legs. Her back formed a smooth inverted V. Yao Yu knelt beside her, his hands finding the small of her back. His palms were warm through the thin fabric of her tank top.

"Your hips are tilting a bit," he said softly. "Let me adjust you."

He pressed gently against her lower back, guiding her pelvis into alignment. His fingers traced down her sides, over the curve of her waist, and came to rest on the crest of her hip bones. She shivered under his touch. The pose held her vulnerable, her body open to his adjustments.

He worked his way down. His hands smoothed over the fabric stretched taut across her buttocks, adjusting the angle of her sacrum. His fingers brushed the crease where her thigh met her glute, and she inhaled sharply.

"Something wrong?" he asked innocently.

"No," she said, her voice tight. "Just... sensitive there."

He hummed in acknowledgment, but his hands did not move away. Instead, he pressed his thumbs into the firm muscle of her glutes, kneading in slow circles. "You hold a lot of tension here," he said. "It's from your martial arts training, I think. The constant hip rotation in your kicks."

She made a small, approving sound. His hands felt good. They were large and strong, and they knew exactly where to apply pressure. She felt her muscles loosen under his ministrations, felt a warmth pooling low in her belly.

His hands drifted. They moved from her buttocks down the backs of her thighs, pressing and squeezing as he went. By the time he reached her calves, she was breathing heavily, her face flushed. When he asked her to come into a seated position with legs wide apart, she complied without a word.

She sat facing away from him, her legs forming a V. Yao Yu knelt behind her, his chest to her back. He placed his hands on her knees and pressed them down toward the mat. The stretch pulled at her inner thighs, and she groaned.

"Breathe into it," he said, his mouth close to her ear. His breath was warm. She felt the fine hairs on her neck stand up.

From behind, he leaned over her, pressing his chest against her back, his arms reaching forward to guide her torso toward the floor. In this position, his face was level with the small of her back, inches from the curve of her buttocks. The leggings she wore were thin, and the fabric stretched over her plump mound, outlining its shape.

He inhaled through his nose. A faint scent reached him—soap and clean sweat, and underneath, the musky sweetness of her intimate skin. The smell was intoxicating. His cock stirred in his shorts, but he maintained his composure.

"It smells good," he said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Her body stiffened. She knew exactly what he meant. The heat from her cheeks spread down her neck. She should have pulled away. She should have told him to stop. Instead, she let herself be held in place by his hands.

"Ke," he said softly, using her nickname for the first time. "You're so tense. Let it go."

He eased her torso even lower until her chest touched the mat. Her buttocks rose slightly, pushing back against him. In this position, her crotch was near his face. He could see the fabric of her leggings stretched taut over her pussy, could make out the line of her lips. The scent grew stronger.

She wiggled her hips, a subtle movement that pressed her mound closer to his nose. It was unconscious—or maybe not. Her body was speaking a language she hadn't yet acknowledged.

Yao Yu leaned forward. His face pressed into the plush curve of her right buttock. Through the thin fabric, he felt the warmth of her flesh. He nuzzled, breathing her in. She didn't stop him. Her breathing had quickened, but she remained still.

Slowly, he turned his head. His nose found the faint depression of her anus, hidden beneath the fabric. He pressed against it, feeling the tightness. His mouth drifted lower, settling over the cleft between her legs. Her pussy lips were clearly outlined, and he placed his mouth over them, tasting the damp heat through the fabric.

He couldn't help it. He parted his lips and licked once, a long, slow stroke from her entrance to her clit.

The sensation jolted through her. She gasped, her hips bucking against his mouth. For a long moment, they remained frozen—his tongue still against the wet fabric, her body trembling.

Then she pushed herself up, scrambling away from him. She sat up, her face scarlet, her eyes wide. She looked at him, and he looked back, his expression unreadable.

The silence stretched.

"I..." she started, but no words came.

Yao Yu said nothing. He simply sat back on his heels, his hands resting on his thighs. He made no move to apologize or explain. He held her gaze, letting her see the hunger in his eyes.

A long moment passed. She looked down at her hands. Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths. Then, wordlessly, she turned back to the mat, assumed a new pose—a gentle seated forward fold—and resumed her practice, as if that lick had not happened.

Yao Yu rose and returned to the sofa. He picked up his water glass and took a sip. His erection pressed painfully against his shorts, but he did not adjust himself. He watched her from across the room as she bent and stretched, the flush still high on her cheeks.

Neither of them spoke. But the air between them had changed. It was thicker now, charged with electricity. Every glance she cast his way held a question she was not yet ready to ask. And every time their eyes met, he gave her a small, knowing smile.

The yoga session continued. Her poses grew more fluid, more open. When she performed a bridge pose, lifting her hips high off the mat, he saw the fabric of her leggings strain across her mound. He saw the dark spot where his tongue had been.

He smiled to himself. The game was proceeding exactly as planned.