The Bipolar Overbearing CEO (19)
“I am not kissing you.” Lu Chenhan sat down, patted his thigh, and said, “Come sit over here.”
Song Chubai did not move.
Lu Chenhan narrowed his eyes and repeated with a heavier tone, “Sit up here.”
Only then did Song Chubai shuffle over hesitantly.
Lu Chenhan grabbed his wrist and, with a gentle pull, drew him straight into his lap.
With his large hand wrapped around Song Chubai’s slender waist and the warmth of a body pressed against his chest, Lu Chenhan let out a sigh of satisfaction.
“Since we are not kissing, how about we do something else?”
Lu Chenhan’s voice carried a deep meaning, the corners of his lips curling up as the hand around Song Chubai’s waist moved in a restless manner.
Song Chubai looked blankly at Lu Chenhan. Do something else? What else could they do?
Although Song Chubai had realized his sexual orientation quite early on, due to his severe social anxiety, he had practically never chatted with anyone of the same sex, let alone anything else. He had never even watched adult films, so naturally, he had no idea what kind of methods men used to express that most primitive of desires.
He blinked, tilted his head, and asked curiously, “Do what?”
Seeing Song Chubai look at him with such a clueless expression, Lu Chenhan felt his mischievous streak being triggered.
“Do something intense and exciting.”
“What?” Song Chubai’s curiosity was piqued, and he kept asking further.
Lu Chenhan’s thumb stroked the soft flesh at his waist, inexplicably stirring up a wave of numbness.
Song Chubai forcibly endured that strange sensation, his earlobes quietly staining with a faint flush of red.
His body seemed to refuse to obey his brain’s commands, and his face began to heat up as well.
Relying on his animal-like intuition, Song Chubai turned his head away and whispered, “I am not curious anymore.”
He had a lingering feeling that if he kept being curious, he would end up being swallowed whole.
Lu Chenhan raised an eyebrow slightly, his gaze falling upon Song Chubai’s glowing red earlobes. His heart softened instantly, and a kiss landed lightly upon that earlobe, which was so translucent it looked like glass.
Song Chubai’s body shivered uncontrollably, and his earlobes seemed to turn even redder.
“Mr. Lu,” his voice sounded even softer and more delicate than usual, which also left Song Chubai slightly startled.
He did not seem to understand why his voice had turned so, um, indescribable.
Lu Chenhan’s lips moved downward from his earlobe, landing upon his collarbone.
For a fleeting second, deep within his pitch-black eyes, a scorched, dark red flame seemed to ignite. It carried a hint of bloodshot intensity, filled with tyranny and an unbottomed desire for possession, surging upward and hovering at the bottom of his gaze.
Lu Chenhan slowly raised his head and looked at Song Chubai.
His skin was very fair, the kind of milky white that would blush at the slightest touch. Even though he had not used any force, he had still left a faint flush upon that exquisite collarbone.
He was stunningly beautiful, enough to stir up tempestuous waves that had never been revealed to anyone else.
His chest rose and fell violently, and his breathing seemed to freeze for a split second.
He wanted to dye that expanse of white in an even more tragic color, to fill that clueless face with desire, and to plunge those innocent eyes into the trap of temptation.
These obscure and gloomy thoughts all rushed to his heart at this very moment.
Reason was tottering on the edge, his nerves stretched taut like a wire, and the slightest mishap would plunge him beyond redemption.
Lu Chenhan slowly loosened his grip.
Lowering his head slightly, he spoke in a hoarse voice, “Get out.”
Song Chubai also felt that his body was acting very strangely. Intuition warned him that staying any longer would lead to things beyond his cognitive understanding, so he obediently stood up, took steps forward, and began to walk toward the door.
Only when he reached the doorway did he pause, turn his head, and ask with a hint of concern, “Do you need me to call a doctor for you?”
If you do not feel well, finding a doctor is the right thing to do.
Lu Chenhan slowly raised his head. His eyes had turned completely bloodshot at some point. He stared intently at Song Chubai and pulled the corners of his mouth into a smile.
“A doctor cannot save me.”
He spoke very slowly, word by word.
“No one can save me.”
Ever since he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, he had known that nobody could save him.
He could only trap himself within those unstable emotions, sometimes calm, sometimes irritable, sometimes experiencing high spirits, and sometimes plunging into bottomless depression.
His brain seemed entirely beyond his control, his emotions collapsing and rebuilding over and over again.
Lu Chenhan knew very well that everyone thought he was a lunatic, whether it was his loyal subordinates or his blood relatives; they all viewed him this way.
“Heh.”
Lu Chenhan let out a low chuckle.
“No one can save me.”
He repeated it, stubborn yet fragile.
Song Chubai’s hand, which was gripping the doorknob, paused.
He turned around and looked at Lu Chenhan.
“I can save you.”
His small face carried a trace of firmness.
He took strides forward, walked quickly to Lu Chenhan’s side, and grasped his hand.
“I can definitely save you.”
After a pause, he added, “I am here to help treat your illness.”
“Treat my illness?” Lu Chenhan repeated, followed by another low chuckle. “Do you even know what you are saying?”
“I know.” Song Chubai had never been clearer about his mission than at this moment.
Lu Chenhan was a good person; he should not be plagued by bipolar disorder, and he deserved a much brighter future.
Although Lu Chenhan had not mentioned it, Song Chubai, who had been following closely by his side, knew very well that the board of directors of the Lu Group was already preparing to kick Lu Chenhan out under the pretext of bipolar disorder.
Using bipolar disorder, based on the premise of extremely unstable emotions and the potential for violent outbursts, as justification that he was unfit to serve as the CEO of a major corporation was their excuse, completely disregarding the fact that Lu Chenhan had never made a single wrong decision.
Nor had he ever let his condition impact the overall development of the group.
Yet people always seemed to find some excuse to kick out whatever existence they deemed dangerous.
Song Chubai pressed his lips together lightly, his eyelashes trembling.
“I can cure you,” he repeated stubbornly, leaning forward and pressing his lips to Lu Chenhan’s.
Since Qi Qi said his kiss could calm Lu Chenhan down, he would just have to do this.
This was the first time Song Chubai took the initiative to kiss Lu Chenhan.
Unlike Lu Chenhan’s kisses, which were overbearing and unrestrained, Song Chubai’s kiss was gentle and cautious, yet tender and resolute.
It was like a wisp of breeze blowing across the barren wasteland of Lu Chenhan’s mind. Suddenly, a tender green shoot broke through the barren gray soil, and hope began from that very single shoot. No, to be precise, it began from that wisp of breeze, spreading across his entire world.
Lu Chenhan slowly lowered his head, as if yielding entirely to this trace of gentleness.
His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed the sweetness that belonged to him, and then he seized the initiative.
Song Chubai’s body suddenly lifted into the air. He instinctively wrapped his arms around Lu Chenhan’s neck and looked at him, his pupils, exquisite to the extreme, filming over with a light mist of moisture.
Holding him in his arms, Lu Chenhan carried him into the lounge inside the office.
This was the CEO’s exclusive lounge where no one else would ever enter, and that meant no one would disturb them.