My asshole coworkers. (Ming Zhao POV)

Seriously. Right when I'm pinned down by the sexiest, kindest, most forgiving guy— right when Ahab's about to fuck my brains out, right when I'm so horny all I can think about is crushing his pelvis, some veritable shitstain knocks on my private door. Annoyed beyond measure, I whine, "Ugh, why now?"

Shifting his muscular hips in a way that sets my loins on fire, the bashful hunk clears his throat and asks me, "Hey, Ming Zhao, shouldn't you…?"

"I don't wanna."

"Come on Babe, can't you please answer that?"

I feel his rock-hard member grind against my stomach and wonder how he could want me to get up. "Why?" I complain.

"We need a condom."

"…Oh yeah." Oh yeah.

Fine, I guess we had to stop anyway. "Okay, I keep some in the nightstand, and I'll try to make this prompt— then it'll be just you and me."

But, before I have the chance to get out from under Ahab, the people on the door's other side fling it open without permission; his beautiful eyes burst open in either fear or embarrassment—wait, probably both—and in walk the same two women who saw us earlier.

"Oh Ming Zhao~ are you in here?" Helen calls out in her supremely unctuous voice.

"Obviously, Helen: this is her quarters." Comes Frost's cold tone.

They're well inside my room, although they've thankfully not looked at my bed yet. While the sexy, red-faced barista atop me tries to be silent in hopes that those women won't see naked him again, I know I can't let that duplicitous weasel Frost see me like this, so I do the only logical thing: Flipping Ahab so that I'm on top.

Their high heels click over towards us, and it's only a moment before we hear the businesswomen's wolf-whistles pierce the air; the guy I'm crushing on writhes underneath me, his countenance flushing a deeper and deeper crimson. Wait, crap, I'm holding this shy hottie down too well— he can't hide anything in this position. I swear I see steam pour out of Ahab's ears as my asshole-ish coworkers shamelessly ogle his throbbing manhood.

"My, my, my… would you look at that poor hunk— he looks like he's about to keel over!"

I bound off of Ahab, but he's totally seized in embarrassment; feeling sorry for him, I throw my hands over the raging erection he couldn't hide—just barely obscuring the thing—as I ask, "What the Hell are you doing in here?!"

"Nothing too much, Miss Fāng." Helen says, trying to bore her salacious gaze through my hands, down to the tantalizing prize underneath.

"That isn't a real answer, you jerk."

The director leans in over the bed, theatrically unpinning her silken auburn locks as she tries to make some moves on my guy, "A strong, handsome man like you wouldn't be satisfied with just one woman, right?"

When all Frost gets out of Ahab is a mortified squeak, she turns to me with another unbelievably obnoxious question, "You see, Miss Fāng, we wanted to know if you would share him."