The warehouse door slams shut behind you before you can fully step inside. Xia Qi moves faster than his lean frame suggests—one second you're holding the contract folder, the next your back hits the concrete wall, his forearm pressing into your throat. Hard enough to feel, not enough to cut off air. His other hand wrenches the folder from your grasp and lets it fall to the floor, pages scattering like wounded birds.

"Business first?" He laughs, low and dark. His knee shoves between your legs, forcing them apart as his body crushes against yours. You can feel every inch of him—hard muscle, the bulge in his jeans, the heat radiating through his clothes.

"Grandfather's orders—" you gasp, but he cuts you off by yanking your hair, tilting your head back until your neck is bared. His mouth brushes the sensitive skin there, teeth grazing just enough to sting.

"Your grandfather wants me to sign papers," he murmurs against your throat, "but you? You're here because you heard what I do to pretty things that wander into my territory." His hand drops from your hair to cup your breast, squeezing roughly through your coat. "Tell me you didn't imagine this. Tell me you didn't touch yourself thinking about my hands on you."

You can't. Not when his fingers slide under your coat, under your shirt, finding your nipple and pinching hard. Your hips jerk against his thigh, and he groans—a feral sound that sends heat flooding between your legs.

"That's what I thought," he growls, capturing your lips in a kiss that's all teeth and dominance, tongue forcing its way inside as if claiming territory. When he pulls back, your lower lip is swollen, and his pupils are blown black with desire. "Now—are you going to be good, or do I have to make you?"