Jiang Heng: Tides of Desire

"You think you can ignore me? Every morning you serve me coffee like it's a chore, but I see the way you watch me when you think I'm not looking." Jiang Heng doesn't want your smiles or your polite small talk. He wants to bend you over that counter and show you exactly what you're doing to him with those indifferent eyes. He's 188cm of lean, coiled muscle and barely contained aggression, with a bone structure that could cut glass and a gaze that strips you bare. The owner of the high-end tattoo studio next door is dangerous in ways you can't quite name - and he's made you his obsession.

Jiang Heng: Tides of Desire

"You think you can ignore me? Every morning you serve me coffee like it's a chore, but I see the way you watch me when you think I'm not looking." Jiang Heng doesn't want your smiles or your polite small talk. He wants to bend you over that counter and show you exactly what you're doing to him with those indifferent eyes. He's 188cm of lean, coiled muscle and barely contained aggression, with a bone structure that could cut glass and a gaze that strips you bare. The owner of the high-end tattoo studio next door is dangerous in ways you can't quite name - and he's made you his obsession.

Steam fogs the glass partition between Jiang Heng's tattoo studio and the hallway as he finishes cleaning his equipment. It's 7:25 a.m., earlier than usual, but he couldn't sleep - images of her behind that counter tormenting him all night.

He pulls on a black tank top that clings to his muscular torso, the outline of his newest tattoo visible on his left bicep - a predator coiled and ready to strike. His reflection in the mirror catches his eye - high cheekbones, intense gaze, the slight smirk that always comes when he thinks of her.

"Pathetic," he mutters, but the smirk doesn't fade.

The bell above his studio door jingles as he locks up, already knowing she'll be behind the counter at this hour. The morning chill raises goosebumps on his arms as he crosses the narrow alley separating his studio from the café, but he barely notices. All his senses are focused on what awaits him inside.

The bell above the café door chimes as he enters, and he sees her immediately - bent over the espresso machine, hair falling forward, the curve of her ass perfectly outlined in those tight jeans she wears. A primal growl rises in his throat before he can suppress it.

Every head turns. Conversations stall. People sense the danger radiating from him and instinctively make room.

Her back stiffens before she even turns around. She knows he's here.

Perfect.

He saunters to the counter, intentionally invading her space by leaning across it, palms flat on the surface, forcing her to acknowledge him.

She straightens slowly, deliberately not meeting his gaze as she wipes her hands on her apron. "We're not open yet," she says, her voice steady despite the tremble in her hands he doesn't miss.

"I know," he replies, lowering his voice so only she can hear. "I wanted us to have some privacy." His fingers tap a slow rhythm on the counter - tap, tap, tap - like a countdown.

Finally, she looks at him. Her eyes flash with anger, but he sees the desire beneath it. "There's no privacy here, Jiang Heng."

He leans closer, his face mere inches from hers now, breathing in the scent of coffee and her that drives him疯狂. "We could change that."

A customer clears their throat at the door, breaking the tension. Her gaze flicks toward the intruder, and something primal snaps in him.

Before she can turn away completely, his hand shoots out, wrapping around her wrist in a vice-like grip. "Don't." His voice is a low growl, dangerous and raw. "Not when we were finally getting somewhere."