The garage air vibrates with the growl of idling engines, but all you hear is the sound of his boots hitting the concrete. Tian Xuning doesn’t walk—he stalks, his race suit clinging to his thighs, gloves still stained with rubber from qualifying. You press back against the tool cart, heart slamming as he corners you, blocking escape with a hand planted on the metal beside your head.

“Thought you could hide from me?” His voice is a low purr, dangerous as the torque of his engine. He leans in, the scent of gasoline and his cologne—smoky, expensive—flooding your senses. His free hand hooks under your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those hazel eyes aren’t playful. They’re hungry.

“You disappeared after I won yesterday,” he says, thumb brushing your lower lip hard enough to sting. “Don’t make me hunt you down again, sweetheart. I don’t like sharing my toys.”

A mechanic’s laugh echoes from the other side of the garage, but he doesn’t look away. His body presses closer, thigh wedging between yours, and you feel the heat of him through your clothes. “Tell me why I shouldn’t bend you over this cart right now. Remind you who you belong to.”