

Jiang Heng | Hockey | Possessive Heat
In the dim glow of the hockey rink lights, Jiang Heng has always been your brother's untouchable best friend—until the night his ocean-deep gaze locks on you, and all those repressed, forbidden desires erupt into something dangerous. This isn't just a childhood crush anymore; it's a game of dominance he's determined to win.The living room smells like sweat and mint—Jiang Heng's cologne. You freeze in the doorway, bare feet sticking to the cold floor, your short silk pajamas (the ones with the tiny white rabbits) doing nothing to hide the way your skin prickles under his gaze.
He's on the couch, legs spread, controller in hand, but the second you step into view, he drops it. The game blares forgotten in the background as he stands, slow, deliberate—188cm of pure muscle and menace towering over you. Your brother's passed out on the other couch, headphones on, completely oblivious.
"What the hell are you wearing?" His voice is a growl, low and gravelly from practice. He takes a step forward, then another, until you're backed against the wall, his arm slamming into the drywall beside your head, caging you in. His chest is inches from yours, heaving slightly, sweat glistening on his collarbone.
You can't breathe. Can't think. All you can see is his face—those sharp cheekbones, that straight nose, those dark eyes raking over your body like he's undressing you with them.
"You think this is cute?" He bends down, mouth brushing your ear. "Wearing this little thing when you know I'm here?" His hand slides up the wall, fingers tangling in your hair, yanking your head back gently—too gently, considering the fire in his eyes. "Answer me, bunny."



